The Victims' Trail

"… I'll say this first, Yoarl-sama. If you're only strong enough to put me under your control, you absolutely won't make it back alive, you know?"

"That's quite a threat."

In the bedchamber, Yoarl basked in the languid afterglow of ejaculation. For idle amusement, he tousled Nirn's black hair.

Nestling at his side, Nirn scooped up the semen slathered all over her face with her fingertips. She latched on and noisily sucked it, cheeks flushing as if savoring it.

"I'd be in trouble if you died too… If this lewd crest can't be undone, what am I supposed to do?"

"No problem. I don't die that easily."

"… You do look like someone who won't die anytime soon. I wonder where that confidence comes from."

"If anything, I find it strange that you're so anxious."

The black forest that blankets the entire Witches' Country is a danger zone where even ordinary magi find it hard to set foot.

Yoarl had crossed it. That alone guaranteed at least a minimum level of ability.

Yet, slurping her slick fingertip, Nirn said,

"I told you, didn't I? Her Majesty the Witch‑Queen is always attended by close aides. No matter how strong a mage you are, defeating those two is impossible."

"Her aides, huh."

Of course he remembered that.

The ladies' maid, Airy.

The Royal Guard, Charlotte.

The details were unclear, but he had heard they were quite formidable.

Almaeira likely placed her trust in them as well. Which meant they could not be casually removed.

"Got it. Tell me what you know about those two."

"Eh… i‑information, you say…"

"You don't know?"

"How would I? I'm just an ordinary witch. The abilities of those who actually protect the country are the secret of secrets."

He supposed that was true. In other words, only vague rumors were circulating on their own.

With a feverish look, Nirn chewed and savored the quivering milky jelly, and Yoarl glanced at her.

"Then hearsay or rumor—anything's fine. Tell me about the two of them."

"… Yoarl-sama."

"What?"

"Are you planning to sink your fangs into those two as well…!?"

"How did you get that from what I said?"

He would do so if necessary.

But Nirn suddenly broke into a smile.

"Anyway, I can tell you what I've heard. There was even a time when the two of them—yes, just the two—drove off an army."

"… You sound like you're enjoying this."

"If you hear this story, you might be dissuaded a little, you know? Without doing anything reckless, someone with your power could make it out in the world in any number of— ah… nn… fuu…"

Yoarl cast a glance at the chattering Nirn and once again activated the lewd crest.

A pale pink sigil faintly shone through the black robe.

Tormented by base urges, her body writhed, and she knit her brows alluringly.

"Ah— n‑no, again…!"

"No matter how many times you try, I won't fall for a witch's honeyed words. Talk."

If he relaxed even a little, she might well take advantage.

Even before Nirn, who called herself a semen toilet, Yoarl did not relax his guard in the slightest.

"All right, I— I get it, I get it…!"

Nirn panted heatedly, her breath ragged. Her fair face was flushed as if overheated.

Pressing a hand to her lewdly throbbing lower belly, she began to speak while scooping the semen from her face.

"Yes, that was… in the third year since our current Witch‑Queen came to power—"

 

 

In the spring of Kingdom Year 1512.

To invade the demon domain, the Kingdom of Levelant secretly decided to dispatch troops.

The Kingdom of Levelant borders the buffer zone—the Witchlands—adjacent to the demon realm, and has historically often found itself on the front line of war.

However, this deployment differed somewhat from the past.

First, it was a unilateral operation without cooperation from other countries.

The kingdom's domestic situation was grim. The streets overflowed with the unemployed, citizens were emaciated under crushing taxes, and the gap with the wealthy only widened.

In that climate, buoyed—so to speak—by public opinion, the kingdom's leadership decided to send troops.

Though, in truth, it was the leadership itself that had engineered that public opinion.

"Gentlemen, the role entrusted to us is nothing other than clearing the way for the main force."

At that time, the advance party into the Witchlands was the Levelant Kingdom Mage Corps 4th Company.

The company comprised four platoons of twelve mages each, made up solely of the kingdom's finest.

"From here, we shall sweep aside every hardship lurking in the demonic realm and trample the path to victory!"

"Yes, sir!"

Second: they had no witch guide.

In fact, it was precisely because they had none that the advance party was sent.

The Witchlands lie between the eastern Kingdom of Levelant and the western demon domain, separating their territories.

And to safely traverse the Black Forest that covers the entire Witchlands, a witch guide was indispensable.

The same was true for the demons.

As a rule, for humans and demons to fight, they had to go through the third party that was the Witchlands.

If you trampled the Black Forest indiscriminately, you would not gain the witches' cooperation. For that reason, conflicts between humans and demons had been kept small in scale.

"Captain, something concerns me."

"What is it, Lieutenant Agro?"

"There are multiple discrepancies between the maps made in previous surveys and the current terrain…"

"We'll correct as we go. Could be the work of magical beasts. Heighten vigilance."

"Yes, sir."

However, from a certain point onward, the Kingdom of Levelant began to push exploration of the Black Forest.

It goes without saying the aim was a lightning invasion of the demon realm.

The clear trigger was likely the disappearance of the witch Sheraha—the ‘Legendary Witch-Queen Sheraha.'

"How's the miasma in this area?"

"Our ongoing purification is bearing fruit. Even ordinary humans shouldn't suffer harm for short periods."

At that time, the Witchlands were not yet as hellish a demonic realm as they are now.

Because Almaeira had not yet made her interventions. The kingdom had focused on expanding its military and showed little movement.

"Captain, I hear magical beasts were brought down to the rear."

"Report numbers and types."

"Two demon wolves and one demon bear (Ursus). No injuries, but the fatigue is heavy."

"Good… Marching with troops in tow is too dangerous. We'll need escorts."

The survey proceeded smoothly.

They were few in number, but the Black Forest was by no means vast.

Harsh as the environment was, with a small elite force, continuous exploration—and even bivouacking—was not impossible.

—Or so it should have been.

The Black Forest is dark even by day; at night, magical beasts grow active and the danger increases dramatically.

The company pitched their camps by threading between the trees, each platoon taking turns on watch.

"Platoon Leader Agro, Rhodes seems to be missing…"

The anomaly occurred when the second platoon's turn on watch came.

A young soldier in his mid‑twenties reported that a comrade was missing.

"Rhodes reported he was stepping out to relieve himself earlier… and he's not at his post?"

"Yes. We tried to contact him, but there's no response…"

The middle‑aged platoon leader let out a low growl.

In the army, the rule is to do everything quickly. Even unavoidable bodily functions are no exception.

"If you'd like, I can go check on him."

"Do, please, Darwin. There seem to be no magical beast signatures, but it's worrisome."

The assistant platoon leader, Darwin, in his mid‑thirties, volunteered.

As soon as the platoon leader nodded, he pushed into the thicket of the Black Forest.

In one hand he held a lamp lit with mage‑light. It emitted light by inhaling the mana diffused throughout the air.

Not quite enough to light the Black Forest, but within the dense miasma the light shone all the brighter.

"Rhodes, if you can hear this transmission, respond."

Darwin employed communication magic over the second platoon's dedicated channel.

Still no response. Clearly, something ill had befallen him.

But for a simple piss, he couldn't have gone far.

Darwin searched in a widening spiral from the encampment, and soon found his target.

"Platoon Leader, I've found Rhodes."

"… Status?"

The platoon leader's voice was heavy. He suspected the worst.

Looking up at the altered Rhodes, Darwin said—

"Dead. Hanging."

The platoon leader gasped over the line.

Before Darwin, Rhodes' neck was noosed and hung from an ebony‑colored great tree.

The dead face of the still‑young soldier was expressionless. The dangling corpse swayed with a steady rhythm.

The crotch of his uniform was damp with urine.

Darwin carefully probed around the base of the tree and confirmed his suspicion.

"A trap. There are clear signs it was man‑made."

"Impossible… No—come back first. Solo action is extremely dangerous."

"Yes, sir. Acknow—"

Just as he was about to say it—

—a small hand slipped out from behind Darwin.

"Guh!?"

A small palm covered his mouth; he let out a low groan.

White, soft, slick skin.

At the same time, a sharp blade slid into his neck, and Darwin died without a sound.

 

 

"Darwin! Respond, Darwin!!"

No response. He was dead, without doubt.

At this point, Agro understood: this platoon—no, the entire company—was in danger.

But that realization came far too late.

"Aaaaaaah!!"

A raw, unseemly scream rang out from the third platoon's encampment.

A voice unthinkable from trained soldiers.

It wasn't just once. In mere seconds, more than ten men and women died, each with a death rattle.

"We're under attack, under attack!! Unknown enemy is engaging us!!"

Agro broadcast to the entire company.

There was no means to break the situation—each person could only exercise maximum vigilance.

The second platoon forced down their terror and maintained ready watch.

"What's happening! Report the situation!!"

An incoming from the company commander.

"We allowed infiltration by an unknown enemy—my apologies!! Third platoon is likely annihilated! Enemy numbers likely few!"

Agro reported while restraining his panic.

The company commander fell momentarily silent, then made a swift decision.

"All units, retreat! Each platoon will break away and exit this forest at once—"

And that decision also came to nothing.

A faint sound, the wind cut—hyun.

The instant something struck the ground, light tore open the night.

An eardrum‑shattering blast, a blast wind raging through the area, iron blossoms that felled the trees.

It scythed away the first platoon's encampment to the roots.

The company commander's transmission cut off.

The 4th Company of the elite Mage Corps collapsed with a crashing roar in an instant.

"… R‑retreat!! All personnel, retreat!!"

Suppressing his agitation, Agro issued orders to his platoon.

The chain of command was already in complete collapse. A controlled retreat was out of the question.

The troops held the brink of panic by a hair and began to withdraw.

"What… what on earth is happening…!!"

That was surely everyone's thought, not just Agro's.

The death rattles didn't stop. They came from the direction of the fourth platoon's encampment.

The wind carried a dense stench of death from somewhere. Was it blood, was it iron?

"Run. For now, just run as trained—don't look back!!"

At Agro's harsh exhortation, the second platoon barely maintained morale.

Over comms he confirmed each member's response and kept track of their positions.

"… At the very least, we must be the ones to survive…!!"

And warn the kingdom's leadership: the Witchlands must never be trampled.

Agro ran alongside the subordinates within his line of sight, checking their condition. By tending to each one, he kept his own sanity.

Their expressions were the height of confusion, but their breathing was steady. The fruit of daily training.

In that instant, a wind‑shear whine rose from behind, and the subordinate in Agro's sights had his skull burst like fruit.

"… Wh—?"

Agro, stunned, found himself running past his subordinate.

The headless corpse pitched forward and fell.

Once, twice, three times.

The wind‑shear sound came again and again, and each time another of Agro's men died.

It was as effortless as crushing bugs.

The comms went dead one by one, and in less than a minute the second platoon was annihilated—

leaving only Agro.

"… U…"

Agro stopped in place.

He fell to his knees on the dirt.

His young soldiers had been slaughtered without recourse, and his heart was completely broken.

But even that, they would not permit.

"Stand. Your role isn't over yet."

One of them appeared before Agro.

A petite girl in an apron dress.

Bright silver hair tied in twin tails; sand‑colored eyes betrayed no emotion.

Holding a blood‑stained dagger in one hand, she eased out of the darkness.

"Wh‑who are—"

"You don't need to speak. You need only faithfully carry out what we tell you."

A lovely girl absurdly out of place in a demonic realm.

With the flat of her dagger, she gently lifted Agro's chin.

"… We?"

"Yeah. Us," answered a voice from behind.

Agro flicked his gaze backward, and there stood a tall woman in military dress.

Her hair was cut short, honey‑colored. Keen teal eyes pinned Agro.

She easily held a jet‑black sniper rifle and ground its muzzle against the back of his head.

"I'm sure you get it now. Everyone but you is dead."

"… Ugh."

"But we won't kill you. We need you alive."

A dainty maid before him.

A beautiful officer behind him.

Even so, Agro was certain.

These two were the merciless slaughterers who had brought calamity upon the company.

"You alone—we'll escort to the forest's edge."

"Then you'll go report. Everything that happened here—everything that befell you."

"If you neglect to report, or try to take your own life—You have family, don't you?"

A dagger from the front.

A muzzle from behind.

Agro could only nod, wordless.

Anything—he just wanted to escape the oppressive presence of these two devils as quickly as possible.

The officer's lips twisted wryly; the maid did not so much as smile.

"Good. Then let us be on our way. And don't get any ideas."

"Nothing you try will matter anyway. It'd be a pain if we killed you by accident."

The blade—and then the muzzle—pulled away.

Even so, the chill that tormented Agro's entire body did not fade—and that sensation never left him, even after he exited the forest.

 

 

"—And those two are Lady Airy and Lady Charlotte! Strong, scary, and cool—the complete package!"

"… Isn't your account a little too detailed?"

Yoal couldn't help but mutter to Nyrn, who had finished her tale in high spirits.

Even a bard's heroic saga would pale—though the ones featured were more monsters than heroes.

"It's a hodgepodge of various rumors."

"So it's mostly made up."

"N‑no, that's not true, you know? The kingdom's situation back then is accurate, and it's true they let just one man return alive. He reported everything as it happened, but the kingdom wouldn't accept it, and he supposedly went mad and died within a year."

"That's what makes it nasty—it's plausible enough…"

Yoal knew well how corrupt the Kingdom of Levelant was.

Apparently, that hadn't changed even now.

In any case, it was useful as reference.

A sniper who excelled at extreme long range and a master assassin—an extremely troublesome combination just to imagine.

"Alright, guide me through the forest. We leave when you're ready."

"Eh—w‑wait, even after hearing all that, you still won't give up!?"

The languor was already gone. Yoal slowly sat up from the bed.

"Hurry it up—unless you plan to walk around with a semen‑soaked face."

"… Ugh, fine, I get it already…!"

Half‑desperate, Nyrn stood and began wiping off the drying semen.

Yoal didn't spare her a glance; his thoughts were only on Almaeira.