~Chapter 23~
Another dream.
Screeeech—an unpleasant wail, like metal being scraped, bored into Lysithea’s ears.
She quickly checked the clock on the table.
It was just past midnight on the 13th.
The time she had planned to act was two days later.
Something was clearly wrong.
The room was already filled with the corpses of beasts and blood, as if a battle had already taken place.
Her arm felt strangely heavy—when she looked down, her hand and sword were tied tightly together with cloth.
It seemed she had bound them so that even if her strength gave out, she wouldn’t drop her blade.
Her breathing was uneven. Her chest pounded as if it might burst.
Lysithea gauged how long her body could hold out.
Ten minutes at most.
And that only if those accursed seizures didn’t come back.
Screeeech—! The wailing cry that had been circling outside the window grew louder, and then—CRASH! The glass shattered as a massive bird flew in.
Every time the giant eagle spread its wings and slashed with razor talons, the furniture inside the room was torn apart like paper.
It was a harpy—a man-eating beast born from an eagle’s egg.
CRACK—the harpy’s talons smashed across the bed.
Screech, screeech, screeeeech!
Unable to fly freely in the cramped room, the harpy shook its head furiously, shrieking in irritation.
Lysithea seized the moment—she pulled the ornament from her hair and hurled it.
The ornament struck directly into the harpy’s left eye.
Screeeeeeech!
The harpy shrieked in pain and lunged at her.
She ducked under its talons by a hair’s breadth, sprang off the bed, and landed on its back.
Screeech! Screeeeech!
The harpy screamed and thrashed, trying to shake off the unpleasant weight clinging to it.
Lysithea clenched her thighs tightly, barely holding on, and drove her sword into the joint of its wing.
The harpy lost balance and crashed to the floor.
The impact made her whole body feel as if it shattered into pieces.
Leaning on her sword for support, Lysithea forced herself to rise and stabbed the harpy in the nape, finishing its life.
She had no strength left to stand. Her hand trembled so badly she could barely hold the sword.
If another beast came now, she would surely die.
“Ah… my lady…”
She wasn’t alone in the room?
Lysithea turned her head toward the sound.
There stood Mari, pale with terror.
Her vision was drenched in red—Mari’s clothes and face were soaked with blood.
Lysithea prayed that the blood was not Mari’s as she reached out a hand.
And then, a massive serpent’s shadow fell over Mari.
“Mari! Get out of the way!”
Lysithea shouted—and awoke.
Gasping for breath, Lysithea’s entire body was drenched in sweat.
She hurriedly checked the clock on the table.
There was exactly one hour left until the 13th.
She couldn’t know when the beast attack would begin—she had to move immediately.
She yanked the bell rope beside her bed frantically, summoning Mari.
She changed into clothes that allowed her to move easily and tied her hair back.
She strapped on simple protective gear and fixed a poisoned hair ornament in place.
It was the same ornament she had thrown into the harpy’s eye in her dream.
She couldn’t deny the ill omen.
But it was the most useful weapon she had.
By the time she had finished her rough preparations, Mari knocked at the door.
“My lady, what is it? What’s happened, at this hour…?”
Mari rubbed her sleepy eyes, still heavy with drowsiness.
“Mari, you must leave the estate at once and—”
At that moment—
SCREEEECH!
The ominous wail rang out, and the Aster estate lit up with alarm.
“My lady, isn’t that… isn’t that a beast’s cry?”
Too late.
Telling Mari to escape now, with the estate already surrounded by beasts, was no different from telling her to die.
Skilla… how dare you take my money and botch the job like this?
What she had ordered was a minor disturbance, just a handful of low-grade monsters.
And yet a man-eating beast like a harpy had appeared…
The mistake wasn’t small—it was catastrophic.
Grinding her teeth, Lysithea pulled Mari under the bed.
“Stay here. The knights from the main house will come soon. So—”
“I know. Even if I insist on staying by your side, I’ll only get in your way. So I’ll do exactly as you say.”
Mari forced a smile, swallowing her sobs.
Crawling under the bed, she waved her hand as if to reassure her mistress that she was fine.
Lysithea searched for cloth and tied her sword firmly to her hand, recalling what she had seen in her dream.
There had been two kinds of beasts.
Flying harpies, and a serpent-shaped monster.
The identity of that serpent was the key.
If it were a two-headed serpent or a wyvern, I might endure…
She took a deep breath and extended her senses.
Faintly, she caught the clash of weapons, the shrieks of beasts, the screams of people in the distance.
The annex was ten minutes from the main house.
If the knights defending the main house sent some men here, it would be fortunate—but that was unlikely.
Only after everything was over would they remember the annex.
What she had seen in the dream confirmed her grim prediction.
In the annex, she would be the only one fighting the monsters.
It’s fine. I was alive and whole until the serpent appeared, wasn’t I?
What she dreamed always came true.
So she couldn’t die before then.
CRASH—the door to the annex splintered, followed by the clack-clack of beastly footsteps.
It sounded like a bipedal monster.
She hid behind the furniture.
One door after another broke down—finally, the door to her room was forced open.
Bathed in moonlight through the shattered window, the intruder was revealed.
Two horns atop its head, cloven hooves, and strange rectangular pupils.
A satyr—goat-shaped bipedal beast, called “the devil’s servant.”
The nickname was excessive; goats were symbols of demons, that was all.
A satyr was nothing more than a goat with tough skin.
The real danger was not its horns or hooves.
I have to finish this quickly and quietly.
She leapt forward and thrust her blade cleanly through its throat.
The satyr collapsed, blood spilling, bleating weakly—meeeh… meeeeh…—before dying.
Holding its mouth shut, Lysithea twisted the blade free.
For the satyr’s bleat was dangerous—it summoned other beasts.
Thus, when fighting satyrs, it was most important to sever the vocal cords in a single stroke.
She wiped the monster’s blood from her blade—
Then—clack, clack, clack-clack! Urgent hooves pounded from the corridor.
Meeh! Meeeeeh! Meeeeeeeh!
The satyr’s cry echoed through the annex like a devil’s trumpet, summoning the beasts.
Screeeeech—the unpleasant cry grated outside the window.
Next comes the harpy.
Lysithea drew her sword from a spider-shaped monster, an Arachne, and checked the clock.
It had just passed midnight on the 13th.
Barely an hour had passed.
And just moving for that much left her throat tasting of blood.
In this household where nothing went her way, the only thing she could control was her own body.
The agony of pushing her body to its limits, the joy of striking a target she had failed to reach yesterday, the satisfaction of achieving something she had only imagined—all of that she had gained through training.
Her hardened body and swordsmanship were the fruits of her own effort.
Yet this world refused even that.
Since that day when she was sixteen, her once-strong body had weakened, her sharp senses dulled.
The things she had built with sweat and determination were stripped from her, one by one.
Her heart felt like it would burst. Her arms trembled, her legs buckled.
CRASH!
The window shattered, and the eagle-shaped harpy flew inside.
Lysithea hurled her hair ornament to distract it.
Just as in her dream, everything replayed.
She was sick of it. No matter what she did, she could never escape the dream.
But she couldn’t give up here.
If she died, the next prey would be Mari, hiding under the bed.
She leapt off the bed, driving her sword into the harpy’s wing joint.
BOOM! Clinging to it, she was slammed into the floor.
Her bones felt as if they were crushed to dust. She barely managed to rise, bracing herself on her sword.
At last, she severed the harpy’s life.
And then—
“Ah… my lady…”
Mari, crawling out from under the bed, was drenched in blood as she called to her.
But when Lysithea saw Mari’s tear-streaked face, she realized.
The one bleeding was not Mari—it was herself.
Blood from her torn forehead streamed down, turning her vision crimson.
And just then—the enormous serpent from her dream appeared, without fail.
She fixed her gaze on it and slowly untied the cloth binding her sword to her hand.
It wasn’t the two-headed serpent she had hoped for, nor a wyvern.
This serpent’s sleek head bore the crest of a rooster.
The Basilisk—the king of all serpents, a great beast of legend.
“Mari! Get back!”
Grabbing the dazed Mari, Lysithea flung her sword with all her strength toward the gaping jaws of the beast.
And then—
As the sword flew, it glowed blue—suddenly engulfed in azure flames.
The blazing blade plunged into the basilisk’s mouth.
The monster writhed in agony, twisting its massive body.
Sssshh, sizzle—! The unquenchable blue fire burned it from within, filling the room with a rancid stench of scorched flesh.
