Chapter 169
“Grrr?”
A torso turned toward him.
But above it—no head.
The severed, rotting neck twitched.
Two limp arms reached out toward him.
The zombie kicked off the ground.
“Grrraaa!”
“……!”
It moved at a speed that defied common sense.
The moment he blinked—
The sluggish creature had already closed the distance.
Blackened claws swept toward his face.
But its target was Javier.
Meaning—it had chosen the absolute worst opponent.
Crack!
Before the claws could reach his face—
Javier’s leg moved first.
A lightning-fast front kick pierced the zombie’s solar plexus.
“……Grrk!”
Letting out a grotesque sound through the stump of its neck, the zombie was blasted away.
No—its spine shattered on impact, and it shot back more than five meters.
It crashed into the opposite wall.
Embedded into it.
Crunch! Bones shattered loudly across its whole body.
At the same time, doors lining both sides of the second basement hallway burst open.
“Grrrra!”
“Grrk!”
Headless zombies poured out.
About sixty of them.
A deep, bitter smile tugged at Javier’s lips.
“……Looks like I won’t escape being teased once we go back to the estate.”
He suddenly remembered the bet with Lloyd.
Lloyd insisting Cannavaro was suspicious.
That something was off.
That there was something behind him.
Lloyd had kept saying it.
But Javier had thought the opposite.
He had thought Lloyd was just being paranoid.
Giving him an unreasonable order. Misjudging a man he shouldn’t.
So he bet on it.
‘Sigh. Going back to the estate wearing this outfit…’
Lady Ella.
The angelic girl with a simple apron.
The goddess of the distribution center.
He would have to wear that outfit on the day they returned to the Frontera Estate.
That was the punishment for losing the bet.
“…….”
Enough thinking.
He shuddered.
He forced himself to focus on a sight far less horrifying than becoming Lady Ella in the estate for a day.
“Grrrraaa!”
Sixty headless zombies charged toward him.
Their throats gurgled.
Their killing intent was raw and blatant.
‘Enhanced zombies.’
They were too fast for normal zombies.
Meaning their strength also surpassed ordinary undead.
But it didn’t matter.
To a Swordmaster like him, enhanced or not, they were just walking corpses.
Even if the only thing in his hand was a piece of wood.
Crack!
He reached out.
Snapped a table leg clean off.
A fine club was instantly prepared.
Why use a weapon?
Not because he needed one.
He simply didn’t want to get zombie gunk on his hands.
Crack! Crunch! Thud!
He stepped forward lightly.
With each step he smashed, split, twisted, slammed, lifted, crushed, scattered, and flung zombies aside.
Bang! Thwack!
Every time he advanced down the corridor, three or four zombies flew and embedded into the walls in heaps.
All sixty enhanced zombies were incapacitated.
Then Javier kicked open the door at the end of the hall.
Bang!
The entire door tore off and flew into the room.
It flattened a man who had been drawing a weapon inside.
“Aaaargh!”
The steel door weighed at least twenty kilograms.
With momentum, it was practically a deadly weapon.
The man collapsed instantly, knocked out.
But Javier showed no mercy.
Crack!
He smashed both of the fallen man’s legs with the club. Broke them. At the same time, he kicked backward.
Crunch!
“Aagh!”
The lower jaw of another man who had tried to ambush him snapped upward. He collapsed instantly.
Javier thrust his club.
Aimed at the third man’s brow.
His eyes glinted like ice.
“Speak. What were you doing here? What have you been plotting? And what’s your relationship with Cannavaro?”
“H-hiik!”
The third man trembled violently.
His pants immediately darkened.
‘W-what kind of monster is this?’
He couldn’t believe this situation.
The intruder with silver hair—
At first, he had mistaken him for Cannavaro returning.
But no.
He realized the truth the moment the first zombie was smashed into the wall.
He had released all remaining zombies.
He watched through the peephole, still hopeful.
Sixty enhanced zombies, after all.
Surely they would tear the intruder apart.
He even anticipated hearing a human scream for the first time in a while.
He had watched with excitement.
And then saw the unbelievable—
All sixty enhanced zombies smashed into walls in seconds.
And the silver-haired intruder rushing in like a storm.
Perhaps that was why—
The man desperately forced his brain to work.
And he barely recalled the intruder’s name.
“E-Ella! Lady Ella?”
“…….”
“You know me, right? I work mornings at the distribution center, I—”
“If you say that name again, you’ll never speak again.”
Hic.
His icy glare froze the man in place.
No trick would work now.
No negotiation would save him.
The intruder before him would not tolerate anything.
“W-what do you want?”
“The truth.”
“…….”
“I already asked you. What were you doing here? What are you plotting? What is your relationship with Cannavaro? Answer everything.”
“…….”
The man’s eyes darted anxiously.
He looked at his fallen companions.
A mistake.
Crack!
“……!”
The club smashed into one knee.
“Aaagh!”
He collapsed, clutching his leg.
Javier looked down at him with zero sympathy.
“That headless zombie—your handiwork, right? Then why does it have no head? What did you do with them? I think I know.”
Javier’s mind flashed with memories.
The night a few days ago.
Lloyd’s story.
He’d found many skulls underground.
Each containing a gem filled with condensed mana.
Skulls.
Mana-filled gems.
Headless zombies.
A puzzle he hoped was wrong was forming clearly.
“Speak. If you hesitate or lie, I’ll break another part.”
A faint mixture of disgust and anger colored Javier’s voice.
The kneeling man felt it clearly.
He knew the threat was real.
No bluff.
“I-I…!”
Driven by instinctive terror—
His mouth opened.
“I’m… an undertaker. Me, and the others.”
“An undertaker?”
“Y-yes!”
“Am I the one mistaken? An undertaker buries the dead—they don’t create zombies.”
“T-that’s… Cannavaro taught us!”
“Cannavaro?”
“Yes!”
“Explain.”
Javier’s eyes darkened.
The man spoke faster.
“As I said, we were undertakers. Then late last year, Cannavaro approached me. Said there was a job—one that would earn huge money. If we helped, we’d be rewarded beyond imagination…”
“So you learned how to make zombies?”
“There’s no way we could learn such dark magic! We only… processed the bodies Cannavaro gave us.”
“So who cast the spells?”
“Cannavaro… and some others…”
“Who?”
“Gordo, Mikelan… a-all from the trade center. Those who manage it with Cannavaro…”
“The trade center employees are black mages?”
“Y-yes! I didn’t believe it either…”
“Then why no heads on the zombies?”
A cold blade entered Javier’s voice.
The undertaker swallowed hard.
“T-that’s…”
“Answer.”
Crack.
Javier tightened his grip on the club.
The man broke instantly.
“We handled the heads separately.”
“Explain.”
“W-we removed the heads first. Cannavaro said the skulls were needed for something important. So we cleaned them out… left only the bone…”
“And?”
“Put them in various solutions. Cannavaro provided them. Rare magical reagents, he said. About fifteen types.”
“Fifteen?”
“Yes. About two days for each solution. It took nearly a month to finish one skull. But since we had many solutions, we rotated them…”
“And afterward?”
“Cannavaro and the trade center men cast magic on them. I never saw much change… but they seemed satisfied. They collected the skulls. That’s all I know. Truly.”
“No, there’s more.”
Javier’s expression hardened.
“I understand how the skulls were made. And how the headless zombies exist. But you haven’t answered one thing. Where did the bodies come from?”
“T-that…”
“Speak.”
“I—I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’ve committed a grave sin.”
The undertaker burst into tears.
Javier’s eyes did not soften.
Still cold.
The undertaker flinched.
He quickly wiped his tears.
And confessed.
“……The refugees.”
“What?”
“The refugees under Cannavaro’s care. Those who were already sick… injured…”
“So you killed them.”
“……Yes.”
“You know that being originally ill is no excuse.”
“That’s…”
“And you lied to the remaining refugees?”
A freezing sensation seeped through Javier.
He recalled conversations he’d overheard.
Refugees whispering about companions being transferred to a better facility. One warmer, more comfortable. Where their recovery would be fast. But spaces were limited, so not everyone could go at once…
‘Most refugees longed to go there. They prayed for spots to open when others recovered. They hoped and waited.’
That place was here.
This place of death.
There had never been any safe refuge.
Javier felt his nose sting as he asked:
“I heard there were almost two hundred skulls.”
“Y-yes?”
“The skulls holding the gems.”
“…….”
“There weren’t two hundred critically ill refugees.”
“T-that’s…”
“You didn’t kill only the sick ones, did you.”
“…….”
“You did.”
“T-that—!”
The undertaker cried out.
“H-he said it was medicine! To lessen their pain! I really believed it! So—so—!”
“You fed it to them. And killed them.”
“I didn’t know! Truly!”
“Truly?”
“Y-yes?”
“Tell me—who gives ‘medicine’ through an undertaker? If it helps, does an undertaker care for the patient? Does that even make sense to you?”
“That…”
“Enough with the excuses.”
“S-spare me! Please spare me!”
“I’m not killing you.”
“Wh-what?”
“I said I won’t kill you.”
“T-then… thank you! Thank you!”
The undertaker slammed his head on the floor in relief.
But Javier’s expression only grew colder.
“I won’t kill you. But you remember what I said earlier.”
“Eh? What…?”
“That I’d break one part every time you lied.”
“I-I…!”
Crack!
The club came down.
The undertaker’s shoulder shattered.
“Gaaaah!”
He clutched it, screaming.
Javier stared down without mercy.
“That excuse—‘I didn’t know’—is too pathetic. Too filthy. You just wanted to believe you were still a good person. But that fat purse Cannavaro gave you doesn’t match that story.”
“P-please… spare…”
“I told you. I’m not killing you.”
“……!”
Javier raised the club.
Several dull thuds echoed.
♣
A short while later.
Javier emerged from the basement.
His disguise had changed.
The silver wig and plain apron were gone.
He now wore a black hood taken from the black mages.
Under the hood, his expression was rigid.
‘This is no time to hesitate.’
The truth he had discovered.
The events he had witnessed while punishing the undertakers.
‘This is far worse than expected. Cannavaro and the trade center black mages—they’re planning something. I can’t leave them be.’
He considered informing Lloyd and the Count of Namaran.
Ordinarily, that would be the correct choice.
But not now.
‘If the knights move, Cannavaro will notice.’
He would flee with the black mages.
They’d lose the chance.
Therefore—
‘Lloyd, forgive me. I must eliminate them first.’
Subdue first, report later.
That was the Swordmaster’s decision.
He moved toward the trade center.
A cold sword hidden beneath his hooded cloak.