Chapter Seven: The Town of Valé

Innate instincts combined with vigilance honed since childhood allowed Eric to react almost instantly, drawing his sword to block the sudden attack from the shadows.

Clang!

His arm tingled from the impact, nearly knocking him off his horse, while fragments he could not deflect rained down.

Eric held his sword firm, clearly seeing the attacker wielding a rusted pickaxe, the substance striking his face nothing but flakes of rust.

Behind the pickaxe was a face ravaged by decay.

Only a few patches of skin remained, seemingly glued on, peeling away in chunks to reveal grim white bones beneath. One eyeball dangled grotesquely outside its socket, twitching erratically, while the other socket was a hollow void, writhing with crawling worms.

An undead!

It was Eric’s first time witnessing such a creature firsthand. Horror gripped his heart, yet he dared not falter. With his right hand, he steadied the heavy pickaxe with his sword; with his left, he thrust a torch forward, unexpectedly impaling it deep into the creature’s chest.

“Ugh… ah…”

With a hiss, the flame nearly died out as the creature emitted a hoarse, guttural roar from its rotting throat—utterly repulsive.

Eric immediately followed up with a kick, sending the decayed body sprawling away.

“Master, are you alright?”

His vision blurred for a moment. The captain of the guards, who had been near the front of their formation seconds before, suddenly appeared before him and swiftly cleaved the undead in two with a single stroke.

The remaining guards halted their advance, quickly dismounting to surround Eric and the nearby carriage, vigilantly scanning their surroundings.

“I’m fine.”

Eric was grateful for his quick reflexes that blocked the initial assault; otherwise, even the captain’s ghostlike, blink-of-an-eye agility might not have saved him.

“That’s the lowest tier of undead.”

Leslie kicked the thoroughly dead corpse on the ground and spat disdainfully. “Though their strength is enhanced beyond what they had in life, their bodies are fragile. They rot away on their own without needing to be touched.”

Eric glanced over the corpse but knew little beyond that. In games, undead were typically low-level monsters, hardly worth studying in depth.

Suddenly, a bright glow appeared behind them. Turning, Eric saw the abbess inside the carriage with her hands clasped, a sphere of light hovering before her.

She raised her right hand, and the glowing orb passed through the carriage roof, ascending to hover three or four meters above, illuminating the area with a broad radiance.

“Light spell…”

A basic yet versatile divine magic.

With his vision significantly expanded, Leslie and the guards swept the perimeter, searching carefully but finding nothing.

“Master, we should—”

Leslie was about to suggest something when he noticed Eric’s distracted expression.

“What’s wrong?”

“...Nothing.”

Eric stared at the slight increase in his swordsman experience bar while his cleric experience remained unchanged, swallowing a sigh he was tempted to release.

You cannot have both fish and bear’s paw.

But now was not the time to dwell on that. He quickly composed himself and scanned the surroundings.

This lone undead in the wild had likely escaped from the mine nearby; no other monsters were visible for the moment.

“Don’t linger. Valé is just ahead; let’s hurry.”

“Understood!”

Leslie had already intended to move quickly. He signaled the guards to reform their ranks and speed toward the town of Valé.

Before leaving, Abbess Alena dismounted and approached the severed undead corpse, quietly uttering a prayer.

As she prayed, tendrils of black mist rose from the corpse and dissipated into the night air.

Deprived of this dark energy, the body rapidly decayed, crumbling until only a brittle skeleton remained.

Alena lowered her hands and sighed softly. “His soul has been released from its bondage.”

The undead state was essentially a curse. If not purified, the restless spirit would become a vengeful ghost—a far greater threat.

Resuming their journey, the group soon arrived at the brightly lit town of Valé.

Militia armed with simple weapons guarded the entrance, but upon recognizing the banner of the lord’s manor, their expressions visibly relaxed.

Eric reined in his horse and addressed a middle-aged man who appeared to be their leader.

“I am Eric Cimino, nephew to Lord Edgar. He sent me here to resolve the situation. What is the current status?”

“Thank goodness! We’re saved now… Uh, the situation? Well, undead have escaped from the mine…”

“Explain in detail.”

Leslie, positioned slightly behind Eric, interrupted impatiently.

The militia began chattering about the specifics of Valé’s troubles and the circumstances surrounding the undead’s appearance.

Several days ago, a heavy rainstorm had battered the area.

After the storm cleared, someone discovered that the fence surrounding the abandoned mine to the town’s north had been washed away.

Driven by curiosity, several young villagers entered the long-sealed mine through the gap.

They found many usable supplies inside and hauled them back. Seeing this, more villagers flocked to scavenge.

When their search proved fruitless, their attention turned to the sealed mine entrance.

“So... you opened the entrance and found undead inside?”

“We didn’t open it—it was Eddie and his brother!” one militia member said excitedly. “They insisted the real treasures were inside…”

Eric raised a hand to halt the rambling, then pressed, “And then?”

“Well…”

The previous afternoon, Eddie and his brother, with two or three others, had struggled to break open the heavily sealed mine entrance.

As Eddie pushed past his companions and entered first, he was struck from above by a rusty pickaxe, the blow crashing from his crown to his chin.

At this, the militia member trembled uncontrollably as if reliving the horrific scene.

Eric understood. “So you were among them?”

“I... I warned them...” the man stammered.

Eddie’s brother tried to save him but met the same fate. The others fled in terror, not daring to look back.

Only when news arrived of other villagers attacked by undead did they report the incident to the local church.

A few low-powered clerics gathered, barely managing to eliminate several undead that had breached the town, but dared not enter the mine. Instead, they patched the fence gap to block further undead, dispatched someone to inform the Lamiel Abbey, and hoped for reinforcements.

“Are you sure all undead that escaped from the mine have been eliminated?” Eric asked.

“I don’t know…” The militia looked around uncertainly. “That’s what I’ve heard.”

“They should be all dead—bodies piled together, sprinkled with holy water, then burned,” another said, though his tone lacked certainty.

“At least we encountered one on the way here,” Eric added.

As he suspected, because they intervened early, the situation had not deteriorated to the disastrous state of last generation’s beta test, when undead roamed the mountainsides unchecked.

Eric considered this, then looked to the captain. “Send two to patrol around the town to check for any stragglers. The rest will come with me to the mine. We’ll camp there.”

Hearing they would camp at the mine, Leslie was momentarily surprised but quickly understood Eric’s intent and agreed promptly. “Yes!”

“Walker, Raman, you two circle the town and keep your eyes sharp.”

“Yes, sir!”

The two guards left the group and began their patrol from the town’s entrance.

The remainder, led by militia, headed straight to the abandoned mine to the north.

The pounding of hooves drew many curious residents to their doors and windows, who breathed easier upon learning the group was from the lord’s manor.

“Are we going too?”

Inside the carriage, Sophie watched the flickering torchlight outside, a mixture of unease and excitement in her eyes.

“Let’s go see first,” Alena said. “Even if we act, it will be during daylight tomorrow.”

Soon, the carriage slowed as the group halted atop a high slope north of the town, beside the fenced mine.

Torches burned brightly everywhere, casting light over the area and sky above.

The carriage stopped, and two nuns dismounted in turn. Eric had finished inspecting the mine’s fence and was discussing the camp setup with the captain.

“We’ll camp in the clearing just ahead,” Eric said, pointing to a nearby flat spot. “Just clear the weeds. Plenty of space and good visibility.”

“All right.”

Leslie surveyed the open, level ground, finding no faults—provided no undead suddenly burst from the mine.

As a fifth-tier warrior, he regarded those low-level, rotting creatures with utter contempt.

He glanced down toward the town, visible in full from here; likewise, the townsfolk frightened by recent horrors would likely sleep soundly tonight.

Looking back at Eric, Leslie felt a surge of admiration.

Faced with danger, Eric remained calm; he commanded the guards with precision and arranged everything meticulously. If he had been Lord Edgar himself, Leslie would have expected such composure, but Eric was barely an adult.

Had it not been for this expedition, Leslie might have dismissed him as merely a young noble with some sword talent—even though Eric had caused quite a stir that very morning at the Goddess Plaza.

Unaware of Leslie’s thoughts, Eric approached the nuns who had dismounted.

“Abbess, Miss Sophie, we will camp here tonight. Dinner will be prepared shortly. Afterward, I will arrange for you to rest at the church.”

Alena nodded with gratitude, offering no objection.

Sophie stepped to the dense wooden fence around the mine, resting her hand on its relatively new logs, curious about what lay inside.

“Don’t get too close,” Eric’s voice warned. “There should be quite a few undead gathered inside the walls.”

As if to prove his point, eerie noises came from within—scraping sounds against the fence and hoarse growls.

“Ugh… ah…”

Startled, Sophie stumbled back several paces.

“If you want to see inside…”

Eric also stepped back, his gaze passing over the fence toward a higher slope on the other side.

“That spot should offer a good view. Want to take a look?”