DAR Vol. 4 Chapter 15 Part 2

by nellstewart

“Alright! Its movement’s slowed down a lot. Time to finish this!”

The frantic panic from when the Gigant Skeleton first appeared now seemed like a distant memory as Dietrich declared with confidence. Over an hour had passed. The undead behemoth was thoroughly entangled in Roa’s adhesive slime and lay nearly immobile. It twitched occasionally, but every spasm only worsened its entrapment.

The Gigant Skeleton, animated by pure mana, did not weaken from physical fatigue. As long as it remained within the mana-rich zone surrounding the Citadel Dungeon, it could, in theory, move forever. But Roa’s concoction had outdone it.

“I’ll help—”

Roa began drawing a knife, but Dietrich quickly held up a hand to stop him.

“Let us at least have the final blow. At this rate, we’ll walk away with zero credit.”

Roa had already handled everything from detection to immobilization. The actual strike was a mere formality.

“But—”

“If you do it too, his stare’ll burn holes through us…”

Dietrich nodded toward Uncle Gry, who lay sprawled out lazily but had his gaze fixed on them. If Roa did everything, Nostalgia would look like complete freeloaders. Uncle Gry wouldn’t let that slide. Even now, while he stayed silent, there was no telling what kind of lecture awaited them afterward.

Besides, though the skeleton barely moved, it wasn’t entirely inert. If Roa got close, he might get hurt. Dietrich wasn’t about to let that happen.

“…Alright.”

Sensing Dietrich’s concern, Roa gave a reluctant nod and stepped back.

“Relax. We’ve picked up a few tricks on this trip. Like the proper way to kill a skeleton!”

With a confident grin, Dietrich drew his mithril blade.

“So, which part do you want?”

“I’ll take the waist. I doubt I can shatter the spine with a spear.”

“Kristoff, keep watch and monitor the whole thing. With something that big, we can’t keep track of every movement ourselves.”

“Got it!”

“Bernhart, provide cover.”

“…Understood.”

Bernhart gave a small nod.

Thus began Nostalgia’s assault on the Gigant Skeleton; less a battle and more of a public execution.

Dietrich and Cornelia, experienced veterans, picked their paths carefully across the glue-slicked field. Their movement was swift, calculated, and efficient; living proof of their years of battlefield experience.

Watching them, Roa realized that had he joined, he would have only gotten in the way.

Dietrich approached the head, Cornelia the legs. They began with probing attacks; slashes at the extremities.

“Oof.”

A massive skeletal hand stirred slightly in response, but Dietrich dodged with ease. Not once did he misstep and fall into the adhesive traps littering the ground.

“It’s definitely tough.”

“Yeah, but you’ve got a warhammer. I’m working with a sword here—this thing won’t even leave a scratch.”

The Gigant Skeleton might be an animated skeleton, but its immense body possessed a resilience that matched its size. Though it appeared to be composed of ordinary bone, the moment a blade struck, the resistance was akin to cutting into stone. It was likely reinforced by the immense mana contained within it.

“No choice, then.”

Dietrich slid his mithril blade back into its sheath and drew the other sword hanging from his waist; a weapon laced with mithril veins, crafted for channeling magic.

“This one should do the trick.”

He drew a slow breath and focused. Raising the blade, he exhaled as he locked onto his target; the Gigant Skeleton’s neck.

Uncle Gry’s scathing commentary failed to reach Dietrich’s ears; his focus was unshakable.

Not that it mattered. The gryphon had already lost interest in the clash between Nostalgia and the Gigant Skeleton. Truthfully, it no longer resembled a fight at all, merely a one-sided execution. One could hardly blame him for his apathy.

As the magic imbued the blade, Dietrich leapt and swung it cleanly through the Gigant Skeleton’s neck.

His affinity was with wind magic, coincidentally the same as Uncle Gry’s, though Dietrich found that fact irritating. Since Roa also favored wind magic, Dietrich made peace with it by telling himself they simply shared similar tastes.

The sword cleaved through the skeletal neck without resistance.

“Ugh! The slime’s all over my sword!”

Despite effortlessly severing bone, the blade came away coated in sticky residue. The adhesive concoction had proven more troublesome than expected.

“I’ve got dissolving fluid. It’s also flammable, so a little fire will clear it right up.”

“Bernhart!”

At Dietrich’s call, a small fireball soared toward him, incinerating the slime clinging to his weapon. Bernhart had understood his intent immediately and acted. That kind of instinctive teamwork was remarkable.

As the severed head hit the ground, the Gigant Skeleton’s body lost all strength.

While cutting off the head of an undead like a skeleton didn’t necessarily vanquish it, the act often disrupted its mobility; perhaps because their souls had once been human, or due to their humanoid form.

It was a pattern Nostalgia had uncovered over the course of their journey.

And that wasn’t the only discovery.

“I’ll handle the other part!”

Cornelia swung her warhammer with precision.

The weapon wasn’t imbued with magic, yet it struck the Gigant Skeleton’s pelvic bone with a thunderous crack, shattering it with ease.

“That’s the end of it.”

As Cornelia declared, the skeletal behemoth ceased all movement.

Animated skeletons, when unable to maintain their form, would collapse. Though they could eventually reassemble and revive, the temporary neutralization made this tactic worthwhile.

Nostalgia had discerned the pattern through careful observation.

It was the collapse of the humanoid structure that triggered it.

At first, they had struck randomly. But with time, they had prioritized efficiency, eventually discovering the optimal method: first, separate the head and torso to slow the creature; then, destroy the pelvis to fully dismantle its form.

Such experimentation would have been impossible without the support of the Purification Barrier and Roa’s alchemical potions. Normally, a skeleton’s resurrection would summon reinforcements, rendering such study suicidal.

“Hey, you vindictive gryphon—how long until this big guy resurrects?”

Dietrich poked the fallen Gigant Skeleton with his blade to confirm its immobility, then called out.

“Good. Then we’ll leave it. I’m not wasting our potions purifying a corpse this size.”

Cleansing a Gigant Skeleton with healing potion would demand enough fluid to fill barrels. If it wouldn’t return soon, there was no reason to waste resources.

“Think these bones are useful?”

Roa held his chin in thought. If even a mithril blade had trouble cutting them, perhaps they had some value.

<It’s still a skeleton. Once its mana drains post-defeat, the body will disintegrate. Until it reanimates, it’s just dust. Useless.>

Uncle Gry replied indifferently, lounging on his side with only a lazy glance in Roa’s direction.

“Guess not.”

Still, Roa cast a wistful look at the bones, mulling over potential applications. But no ideas came to mind. He sighed and turned toward his companions.

“Well, time to clean up the adhesive and move out.”

That particular task was Roa’s responsibility alone. If left untreated, the binding agent would remain active for several months; a hazardous nuisance even in such remote terrain. Responsible use of traps included cleanup. Roa knew this as both a hunter and adventurer.

Since the slime was flammable, he incinerated it, then buried the ashes to prevent any lingering danger.

In the end, cleanup took longer than defeating the Gigant Skeleton itself. By the time they were done, the sun had already begun to dip toward the horizon.

“No helping it. We make camp here,” Dietrich announced.

It was too early to call it evening, but any further travel would see them arrive at the Citadel Dungeon’s central tower after dark. Nightfall heralded the domain of monsters; proceeding under those conditions was unwise.

Moreover, despite the ease of the battle, everyone was fatigued from the follow-up work.

Even Dietrich, who rarely used magic, was not at full capacity. Rest was the sensible option.

Though the delay was costly, jeopardizing their lives through haste would be worse. The hostage was important, yes, but their own survival took precedence.

Thanks to Roa, camp was set up in record time. Dinner preparations were completed before twilight fell.

Even Nostalgia’s members looked on in astonishment at the speed. With help from the twins, it was even faster; though truthfully, Roa could have managed without assistance.

As usual, they dined on a hot meal, regardless of location.

Uncle Gry’s presence ensured no monsters dared approach. There was no need to hide their fire, and even pungent food was safe to prepare. In fact, Uncle Gry and the twins expected warm meals, so they had little choice in the matter.

Roa had quickly grilled venison and prepared a light, savory soup. As always, a side of hardy, long-lasting bread was included.

“Then we’ll depart at first light?”

Dietrich proposed the plan between mouthfuls. No one objected. Everyone nodded while continuing their meal.

“As for night watch, we’ll rotate as usual—”

Uncle Gry, who had remained silent until then, interjected without looking up from his food.

“Look, we’ve talked about this—we’re not comfortable going without a watch. Even if you say you’ll notice anything, you still sleep, right?”

Hardly anyone among them could rest easy while camping with no one standing watch; except, perhaps, for Roa. He placed unwavering trust in Uncle Gry and the twin magic wolves’ ability to detect danger, but the others were not so easily reassured.

The absence of a lookout left them deeply uneasy.

“…Says the one who shouted ‘I was careless!’ in a panic last night…”

Dietrich pouted, reminding Uncle Gry of the incident when the two gryphons had ambushed them from beyond his detection range; prompting the feathered beast to cry out in alarm.

“Baw!”

“Bawww!”

The twin wolves puffed their chests with pride as they chewed, their snouts glistening with venison grease.

<Well, no matter. Complain all you like; you will still be put to sleep. Staying awake will be impossible.>

Uncle Gry flashed a wicked smile, very much the kind one would expect of a magic beast.

Though the grease-stained beak slightly undermined the menace.

“…Wait, what?”

“What does that mean?”

“Hold on!”

“Oh no no no no!”

The entire Nostalgia party froze mid-bite. Uncle Gry’s ominously cheerful tone made the meaning of his words instantly clear. Three of them fell into despair. Only one trembled with glee—Bernhart.

“You’re doing that now!? Why now of all times!?”

Kristoff jumped to his feet in protest, but Uncle Gry merely watched, amused.

The three were clearly being targeted; Bernhart was not mentioned, likely because his enthusiasm spared him.

Dietrich, Kristoff, and Cornelia all scrambled to formulate objections, but none surfaced.

Not that it would’ve mattered; once Uncle Gry had decided something, it was immutable.

Those words hit Nostalgia like a death sentence. Their stomachs clenched with resurfaced memories. The food now tasted like sand.

They desperately searched for a means of escape, but nothing came to mind. Worse still, each of them knew, deep down, that their magic prowess remained insufficient.

“…I wish I could do it too.”

That envious whisper came from Roa, who had been watching them with yearning eyes.

“You say that now, but Roa—it hurts so bad, you’ll pass out!”

“She’s right. It’s like having insects crawling under every inch of your skin.”

“Like plunging into an icy sea in winter; the blood drains from your body.”

Each described the torment differently: Dietrich focused on the pain, Cornelia the visceral revulsion, and Kristoff the chilling sensation. But in essence, they all agreed; it was unbearable.

Uncle Gry thundered dramatically.

This so-called rite forcibly widened a person’s internal mana conduits by flooding them with foreign magic, increasing both absorption and regeneration rates.

Though dangerous and typically the domain of grand mages or sages, Uncle Gry treated it like a simple routine.

Naturally, such a procedure was agonizing.

The four members of Nostalgia had already endured it once, shortly after their first meeting with Uncle Gry. Their reactions now were informed by that memory.

Roa had never undergone it; both because his body and mind were still maturing, and because his contract with Uncle Gry rendered it unnecessary. He would likely jump at the chance if permitted.

As for Bernhart, he relished any opportunity to increase his mana, pain be damned. In that regard, he and Roa were fundamentally alike.

“So unfair…”

Hearing Roa’s longing, the three had no choice but to surrender. Any further protest would feel shameful.

With resigned expressions, they resumed eating, now pale-faced.

Eventually, the dreaded moment arrived.

“Why did you have to say it during dinner…?”

“This is harassment! You’re just enjoying our suffering, aren’t you!?”

<Don’t be absurd. I’m renowned for my virtuous temperament.>

“Like hell you are, you smug beaky bastard!”

While Dietrich argued, the rest fell silent. Anxiety rendered them mute.

They laid out blankets on the ground and laid down, as instructed. The ritual caused immediate unconsciousness, so it was safer to prepare for it.

Though not inside a tent, they followed Uncle Gry’s preference. He claimed that proximity to open air allowed for a more effective result.

𑁋

There was no reply. All four of them had steeled themselves against the incoming agony, clenching their jaws and shutting their eyes tight. Then, in a single instant, they lost consciousness.

To Roa, it was so abrupt that he couldn’t even discern what had happened. There were no screams, no convulsions; none of the visceral signs one might expect from excruciating pain. It didn’t look painful at all.

But perhaps that was the nature of it: agony so intense and compressed into a single moment that the body simply shut down.

“So, Uncle Gry—what exactly are you planning now?”

Once he had confirmed that the members of Nostalgia were unconscious, Roa spoke.

<Hm? Whatever do you mean?>

“Everyone else might’ve missed it, but I find it suspicious. This is your old home, and yet you’ve let your guard down in a place like this? You’re clearly about to do something you don’t want the others awake for.”

<Mmh…>

Roa looked directly into Uncle Gry’s eyes. He wasn’t alone; the twin magic wolves flanked him, both peering intently at the gryphon. Their gazes made it clear: they would tolerate no evasions.

<Tch… Why are you only sharp when it’s something inconvenient…>

“Hmm?”

Feigning innocence, Roa tilted his head with a mischievous smile; he fully intended to press the matter.

“Baw?”

“Bawww?”

The twins mimicked him, cocking their heads and letting out inquisitive growls.

<Hmph… I was planning to put the three of you to sleep as well, but I suppose it’s fine. The familiar contract with you should keep things under control.>

He clicked his beak, visibly annoyed, and turned his eyes away.

“So?”

“Baw?”

<…I intend to hunt down the master of that skeleton.>

“You mean that giant skeleton—the Gigant Skeleton? There’s someone commanding it?”

Roa’s eyes widened in disbelief. The thought that such a massive undead could be controlled was absurd, and deeply alarming.

<Yes. Since ancient times. My attacks don’t affect it, and its strikes are useless against me. We’ve long been locked in a stalemate, exchanging nothing but petty harassment. That skeleton was one of its little annoyances, you see. Most of the undead here originated because it resides in this place.>

Roa’s expression darkened.

“…I see…”

The sheer malevolence of such a foe left Roa speechless.

<I’ll strike at it in the dead of night. Until then, you’d best sleep. There’s no need to worry—its magic cannot harm me, and this time I’ve prepared a little trick. It’s going to be delightful.>

The setting sun dyed the sky in hues of crimson, mirrored in Uncle Gry’s eyes, now glowing with predatory anticipation.

𑁋