章 32: 32. Hunt or Get Hunted.
[On an open field]
The preparations for the impending beast raid proceeded without a hitch. Villagers rallied together, sharing provisions of food, water, and shelter, all vital for their protection should the need arise.
In the heart of the field, a dedicated group of skilled villagers toiled with unwavering focus and efficiency. The air carried a fragrant scent that seemed to invigorate every laborer.
Away from the crowd, "Mistress Eliza, what do you think about this?" Sarena, the daughter of a former village soldier, approached Eliza and presented a pair of Obsidian daggers for inspection.
"Hmm… Slender and clean. Slightly brittle yet possessing the sharpness to dispatch those beasts with a slash or two," Eliza assessed, her scrutiny falling upon the artisan behind this remarkable creation. "Did you craft these?" She inquired of Sarena, but her gaze also dipped to the timid young girl cowering behind Sarena.
Amused by the sight, Sarena chuckled, "For a mere twelve-year-old, Isabella, you handle Obsidian quite deftly, don't you, little one?" She encouraged the girl, who remained reluctant to leave her sheltered spot.
"Umm! N-no... I-I," the girl got flustered by the sudden attention, almost fleeing before Sarena caught her.
"Oh, come on! Show Mistress Eliza your earnestness, you little rascal! Do you think you can outrun me?" Sarena playfully chastised as she tickled the young girl. The little girl's eliciting giggles warmed the hearts and put a smile on the faces of present villagers.
Beneath her icy veneer of discipline, even Eliza couldn't avoid a faint smile to grace her lips. 'Getting her on our side was an excellent decision,' she thought, her focus shifting to Sarena, the beacon of joy in the village.
Earlier, when Eliza had proposed the creation of weapons to Sarena, she participated actively, even refusing payment with conviction.
Sarena declared, "This is our village, Mistress Eliza, and we will fight to the death to protect it. Leave the rest to me." Her confidence and charisma had captivated not only Eliza but the villagers as well.
If the girl who recently lost her father could harbor such unwavering faith in the Lord of the Barony, then why couldn't others follow suit? Those who heard Sarena were inspired, and they, too, participated and declined wages. Collectively, the village decided to use their wages to improve the village after the beast raid.
Unexpectedly, the village's somber atmosphere underwent a remarkable transformation afterward. It was as if the burden of their impending ordeal had been momentarily forgotten. Laughter smiles, and cheerful work prevailed as Eliza supervised and Jon provided guidance.
'This must be the reason of my Lord to send me here,' Eliza mused inwardly, misunderstanding Mordret's motive for sending her off as to rebuild the villagers' unity.
Soon enough, the villagers became deeply absorbed in their tasks.
…
The craft of Obsidian weapons required significant skills, entrusted only to those with expertise.
"Fit the sharp Obsidian flake into this gap, then apply a coating of monster fat. Use these damp vines here to secure it tightly, and then–" Jon, along with Sam demonstrated the process to each group.
While the proficient stoneworkers deftly shaped the Obsidian, those lacking such skills fashioned gaps in the Ashwood sticks, which proved malleable for this purpose.
The villagers tailored their weapons—short daggers, arrows, and spears—to match the size and shape of the Obsidian pieces. Everyone received instruction on spear use, as it would help maintain a safe distance from the wild creatures.
However, crafting Obsidian swords proved futile, as they lacked the strength to swing such brittle blades effectively against the beasts' iron-like bones. Additionally, finding a large enough Obsidian stone to forge a sword was exceedingly rare.
"Is the progress satisfying, Mistress Eliza?" Sarena inquired.
"Yes, indeed. If we account for everything, everyone capable of fighting will have a weapon in hand before the full moon," Eliza responded, her tone succinct.
…
By evening, the crowd had reached its zenith. Eliza's gaze remained fixed on the swelling crowd of villagers as she meticulously surveyed each person in the throng. Her photographic memory allowed her to effortlessly recall the face and name of every villager. At that moment Eliza's gaze landed on an individual and a sense of disquiet washed over her.
An unknown woman, seated in solitude, neither participating nor intervening, drew her attention. Her unremarkable appearance allowed her to seamlessly blend into the crowd, yet Eliza sensed an underlying disquiet she couldn't quite pinpoint.
'Why can't I recall her name?' Almost as though she sensed Eliza's scrutiny, the woman swiftly redirected her attention towards Eliza and flashed a chilling smile that sent a shiver down Eliza's spine. The mysterious woman then merged into the bustling crowd, whispering something to Eliza, too soft to be heard.
"Mistress, is there something wrong?" Sarena inquired, noticing Eliza's momentary distraction.
Pointing her finger towards the woman, "Who is that woman?" She asked.
"Who?" Due to the crowd, Sarena couldn't discern the woman Eliza indicated.
"That one… Young… or old? Wearing a brown gown, flowing blonde hair, and a choker around her neck. Red eyes," Eliza muttered, her voice barely audible above the bustling crowd.
"Oh, her? I know, she is… umm… she is…" Sarena began but then fell into an unusual silence. She struggled to recall the woman's name, scratching her head in frustration. It was as if a shroud of forgetfulness had descended upon her, obscuring her memories.
"Hey, you!" Eliza was about to call out to the mysterious woman when an instinctual alarm shot through her, causing her to whirl around. Yet, there was no one there, just the ordinary villagers going about their business.
"Kyaaaaaaa!" Before Eliza could regain her composure, the crowd suddenly erupted in chaos.
"Hey! A kid got a cut! Healer! Come fast!" Panic spread through the field like wildfire as villagers rushed to the injured child's aid. The boy had accidentally wounded himself with an Obsidian stone, causing a shallow but bleeding cut.
The commotion subsided almost as swiftly as it had begun, the villagers returning to their tasks as if the incident were a mere blip in their collective effort.
However, when Eliza turned back to find the enigmatic woman, she had vanished without a trace, as though she had dissipated into thin air.
'Who was she?! Have I ever seen her here?' Eliza's eyes widened as realization struck her.
'All of this... It feels like a concerted effort against Mordret, as if they're determined to see him dead at any cost,' a dark gleam flickered in her eyes as she recalled Mordret's cryptic mumbling.
'Somebody has managed to infiltrate this village,' Eliza concluded, her thoughts racing. 'But why hasn't anyone else noticed? Have they all grown senile or something?' Suspicion swelled within her, and anger coursed through her veins as a chilling possibility took hold in her mind.
After a moment of contemplation, Eliza arrived at a rather plausible conclusion: 'Someone is abusing their powers.' With that thought, all the pieces of the puzzle fell neatly into place.
Like torn pieces of paper scattered by the wind, the shadows swirled around her, searching for a familiar yet unfamiliar presence. And when Eliza locked onto that elusive sensation, a wide grin of anticipation crept across her face.
"Sarena, I can entrust you with this work for a while, right? I'll be back soon." Eliza didn't wait for Sarena's response and vanished into the crowd as she followed the shadowy trail she sought after.
'It's been a long time since I smelled blood.' The predatory aura emanating from Eliza was palpable, her signature daggers gleaming in her hand as she seamlessly navigated through the bustling crowd.
Before anyone could even register her absence, Eliza had disappeared into the depths of the village.
…
[Inside Mordret's Mansion]
The radiant light emitted by the [Obelisk of Mirage] bathed the room in an eerie glow. Mordret's crooked smile widened when his gaze met with the stoic mimic on the other side.
"Good to see you again," Mordret greeted before stepping into the surreal world and crossing paths with his mimic. The realm filled with countless small windows, each holding its own enigmatic allure had a charm of its own. He couldn't help but be captivated by its beauty.
Mordret had meticulously planned to gain a deeper understanding of his own abilities and skills, ensuring that when the time came, he would be well-prepared to escape.
"No matter what, I cannot forget that pain," Mordret murmured, his tone tinged with bitterness. Memories of the excruciating battle against the Vile beast, particularly the Karakir tentacle, flooded his mind.
His bones had been crushed as if they were mere crackers, his flesh seared by the touch of poisonous air, and his blood had painted the world in shades of crimson. The vile creature's rancid breath and the grotesque sounds it made while feasting on his flesh remained hauntingly etched in Mordret's memory.
It was only thanks to his past experiences and his passive skill, <Calm>, that he had been spared from recurring nightmares of that harrowing ordeal. Otherwise, the trauma would have driven him to madness each time he revisited it.
The memory of that experience defied description, leaving Mordret to wonder how people endured such a nightmarish existence. "Wait... people? No... they are just NPCs," he corrected himself, forcefully shaking off the disturbing recollections. 'Right, I am merely inside a game... nothing more. This fear is just an illusion.' Mordret patted his beating chest to calm it.
"But still, at that time, it was this skill, <Killing Blow>, that saved me from certain death," Mordret reflected and thanked his skillset.
During his exhaustive study of reports, he meticulously analyzed every detail of the battle, every action taken, and every event that transpired like tracing back the moves on a chase board. He believed it to serve as a valuable guide to confront the looming catastrophe.
As for the rest beast raid, had it not been for the sacrifice of Serena's father, Mordret might never have defeated the Vile beast. After all, he had faced an entire horde of monsters, while Mordret had contended with just a single creature.
"Although, the ranks of the beast matter, battling hundreds of dormant beasts is no small feat. I cannot confront such a formidable foe without adequate preparation," Mordret sighed, a hint of resignation in his voice. For Zephyr, who had assumed Mordret's role, engaging the final boss without a grasp of fundamental combat skills was a perilous undertaking. Furthermore, the game's condition to conclude upon his first death was a risk Zephyr had no intention of taking.
"You live to fight another day… For that, an escape route is a must." Mordret muttered, his voice tinged with a sense of pragmatism. He wasn't naive enough to believe that he could replicate the same feats as the old Mordret or even Sarena's father.
After all, the previous Mordret had been cunning and powerful enough to feed 32 trainers to beasts, a level of cruelty only achievable with significant strength to back afterward. Now that Zephyr found himself in this new role, his primary objective was to test the limits of the power of the mirrors. He believed that the [Obelisk of Mirage] could serve a similar purpose as Eliza's shadow manipulation ability – transporting him from one location to another.
As he pondered this, Mordret glanced at the mimic, which continued to observe him blankly.
"I wonder what else this mimic is capable of, apart from staring at me." As Mordret started to walk deeper, the mimic ceased mirroring his movements and merely stood there, watching.
"Well, it's time I check the extent of—" However, just before Mordret could embark on his exploratory journey through the nearby windows, a loud, solid knock echoed through the entire mansion.
"Hm?! Could someone have worse timing?" Mordret felt irritation at the untimely disturbance. "So much to do in so little time, ugh!" He was unaware of how many times he could use the strange pillar to access the mirror world, and he didn't want to waste any precious opportunities.
Just as Mordret was about to change paths with the mimic again, he froze. An expression of disbelief swept across his face, accompanied by a shiver that raced down his spine.
On the other side, the mimic departed from the room autonomously. Notably, it flawlessly replicated Mordret's distinctive walking style. It opened the room's door with a fluid motion and entered the hall with deliberate composure.
"Should I follow him?" Mordret contemplated this as he was about to exit the pillar. However, the window in front of him abruptly transitioned to the mimic's perspective.
"What the hell?!" Mordret was utterly shocked by what he witnessed. He could explore the world through the mimic's eyes.
…
Standing in front of the mimic was a woman wearing a revealing outfit, her face flushed with a blush that clashed with her usual demeanor. Her short raven hair typically flowing was disheveled.
Her eyes were hazy, and despite her efforts to appear collected, her nervousness was palpable. It was evident that she wanted to speak but was struggling to find the words.
"Hick! M-my Lord!" Rebecca exclaimed, her hand covering her mouth. Even though Mordret was inside the [Obelisk of Mirage], he could discern the strong scent of alcohol masked beneath.
Mordret waited a moment, then impulsively spoke through the mimic, "Chieftess' daughter, why are you here?" To his astonishment, the mimic repeated his words verbatim.
"I-I-I... you called me?" Rebecca stammered, her words slurred from evident inebriation. Mordret realized her condition was less than ideal, but he believed he had no other choice.
"Didn't I schedule her for tomorrow? I have enough on my plate already!" Mordret thought. "This is just a damn robot! Sorry, Maria, your daughter is going to be busy for a while," he mused with an apologetic smile stuck on his face, finding the situation oddly amusing. He was essentially playing the same character twice within the confines of the game.
***
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