Chapter 38: The Maiden and the Corpse Whale’s Shadow

A dense white mist had utterly enshrouded the small town, where eerie wails resonated without cease through the night, and a profound stench of decay permeated the sullied world.

Amidst that cacophony of howls, the beautiful melody resonated with remarkable clarity and charm.

A maiden with cherry-blossom hair, clad in dust-laden black, strummed an antique hand harp, slowly making her way through the swirling mist. As if in awe of her power, the wails dissipated entirely in her wake, and dimly waving tentacles voluntarily receded, not daring to act brazenly in her presence.

Specks of blood stained the maiden’s hands, stark evidence of the monsters’ demise.

Strange whispers subtly permeated the air, where the forms of various livestock, poultry, and musical instruments intertwined, weaving a cacophony designed to disturb the maiden’s sanity.

“Please, abandon your efforts; I will not cease my investigation into you.”

The beautiful melody ceased, and as the maiden hummed softly, all other sounds vanished instantly, leaving behind only an expanse of boundless silence.

It was a silence that verged on maddening.

“I cannot forgive your transgressions. My apologies…”

The maiden continued her advance, seeing and hearing nothing within the dense mist. A suffocating dread permeated the atmosphere, as space itself began to twist unnervingly, and blackened bubbles surged forth from the air, seeking to draw near her.

Yet, the maiden remained utterly unconcerned, calmly proceeding forward. Before the bubbles could even draw close, they burst one after another, expelling a putrid red gas.

The melody resumed, and the maiden paused within the swirling mist. She gently raised one hand, causing a subtle radiance to emanate, parting the mist directly before her.

Before the maiden stood a formidable three-story building. A moss-covered plaque adorned its slightly ajar main door, bearing the six bold characters: “Roalsa Knights”.

A piercing shriek immediately rent the air, as powerful gusts of air, swift as lightning, surged forth, cleaving everything in their relentless path.

The maiden remained utterly unfazed, not even stirring. Instead, a flurry of petals danced through the air, and these soft, delicate blossoms effortlessly deflected the sharp air blades.

“Please, do not obstruct me further. I cannot overlook your consumption of so many lives.”

Having visited Mrs. Simpson, the maiden had already formed her own suspicions, and now, she intended to meticulously seek out clues to substantiate her conjectures.

Without a moment’s hesitation, the maiden stepped forward and entered the grand doors of the Knights’ Guild.

Upon passing through the entrance, the maiden’s gaze immediately fell upon a large counter, where a small wooden plaque lay. She leaned in closer to examine it.

“Reception”

Flipping the plaque over, the maiden noticed faint traces of blood seeping from its reverse side.

Moreover, the wooden plaque felt unexpectedly soft to the touch.

With a gentle squeeze, a distinct indentation immediately formed on the plaque’s surface.

Setting the plaque down, she found the bloodstains on her palm had grown more pronounced.

The maiden raised her hand to her nose, taking a light sniff.

A potent, metallic scent, undeniably fresh.

The maiden then surveyed the Knights’ Guild hall. Symmetrical staircases flanked the counter, ascending to the second floor. Beneath the stairs, a neat row of wooden doors stood tightly shut, each adorned with a glittering golden plaque indicating the room’s occupant.

The maiden attempted to pull open the first door, but a harrowing wail immediately erupted from within, startling her.

It was distinctly not the grotesque, distorted shriek of a monster, but rather the agonizing lament of a human.

“Is anyone there? Is anyone there? If someone is, please answer me!” the maiden called out, knocking loudly on the door. Peculiarly, the wail ceased instantly, and the room plunged back into an eerie silence.

“Thump, thump, thump,” the maiden knocked again with increased force, and the wailing resumed.

At the precise moment the wail echoed, a dark shadow flickered behind the maiden.

“Who’s there?”

The maiden, sensing something amiss, turned her head, only to find the hall utterly empty; nothing was there.

“Thump, thump, thump,”

After a thorough scan of her surroundings, the maiden knocked on the door once more.

Predictably, the wailing resumed, yet no matter how harrowing or agonizing it sounded, no one ever answered the maiden’s inquiries.

“…”

The maiden fell silent, and this time, she attempted to turn the doorknob.

This time, a gut-wrenching shriek erupted—a sound so desolate and horrific that it would strike fear and unease into anyone who heard it. Yet, the maiden remained composed; she calmly released the knob, stepped back a few paces, and meticulously scrutinized the door.

Outwardly, the door appeared unremarkable, crafted from birch wood, stained a deep brown, and adorned with a glittering golden plaque etched with the room owner’s name.

“Very well, let us try this approach.”

The intricate pattern of a balance scale manifested within the maiden’s pupils, and a soft, pale pink glow emanated, dispelling the lingering mist within the room.

“…”

What now appeared before the maiden was no longer a mere wooden door. In her awakened sight, every door in the hall was, in fact, a human body, grotesquely twisted by some unnatural force into bizarre postures and forcibly transmuted into wood. The ‘doorknob’ the maiden had just turned was none other than the ankle of the woman transformed into that very door.

Her head hung inverted, her hands contorted together, and her feet were forcibly bent, twisted into an unnervingly grotesque square. Viscous black blood streamed down her body, while her bulging eyes stared fixedly in the maiden’s direction, her torn tongue hanging long and limp, trailing powerlessly on the ground.

It became terrifyingly clear that all the vanished villagers had, without exception, met this horrific fate.

A faint, sickening chewing sound reached the maiden’s ears. Peering through the twisted form of the woman, she saw, in the otherwise empty room, a monstrous creature covered in sharp spikes, its head putrefied, its body scaled like a fish, gnawing on something indistinct.

As if sensing the maiden’s unwavering gaze, the monster abruptly turned its head, its pitch-black eyes fixed menacingly in her direction. The maiden noted, with a chilling certainty, that the object clutched in the monster’s palm appeared to be a human head.

Energy began to coalesce in the maiden’s palm. The monster, in turn, coiled its body, emitting guttural, indistinct sounds, while strange, viscous fluid dripped from its form. Its eyes widened, and every muscle in its body tensed—

One second, two seconds, three seconds,

Four seconds, five seconds, six seconds—

The door suddenly exploded inward, sending wood splinters scattering and splattering blood across every corner of the room—

“Durandal…” the maiden murmured. In the very instant the monster lunged, a sharp blade fiercely impaled its fragile body. The delicate flesh was instantly incinerated by a surge of potent energy, leaving not even a trace behind.

A single, fatal strike.

“Fog Dwellers…”

After dispatching the monster, the maiden gazed at the pool of blood on the floor and murmured.

A sudden realization seemed to dawn upon her.

Such grotesquely twisted monsters could only be Fog Dwellers. For them to appear in this place, there was but one terrifying possibility—

“The Corpse Whale…”

The maiden whispered, her eyes glowing with an inner light. She turned her head, glancing toward the door. Unbeknownst to her, a torrential downpour had begun outside, accompanied by flashes of lightning and roars of thunder, plunging the world into a deep gloom.

Corpse Whales—monsters that materialized out of thin air. The humans of Midgard knew neither their origin nor the manner of their appearance. They simply emerged, manipulating wills, corroding minds, and devouring blood. After consuming the lives of an entire nation or the inhabitants of a small town, they would vanish as mysteriously as they arrived, their traces never to be found again.

The Fog Dwellers, in turn, were creatures that followed in the Corpse Whales’ wake, scavenging their remnants. For countless years, bereft of any means to combat the Corpse Whales, humanity could only watch in helpless despair as they and the Fog Dwellers systematically laid waste to one nation after another.

“So that is how it is…” the maiden murmured. With a gentle wave of her hand, all the wooden doors in the room vanished, revealing, one after another, the broken bodies of women lying on the floor.

They were not dead. The Fog Dwellers, in their perverse desire for fresh sustenance, had deliberately spared their lives.

Petals fluttered down, blanketing the ground, and a fragrant aroma diffused through the air, gently healing the dying knights.

The maiden, transforming petals into a hand harp, began to play within the hall, soothing the knights’ fear and unease, while a gentle radiance quietly healed their wounds.

“Henceforth, I entrust this to you, Lord Odin,” the maiden murmured between verses, a faint smile gracing her lips as she observed the recovering knights. “This journey belongs to you and Lord Frigga.”

“Please, resolve this incident yourself.”

“I am no longer connected to this world…”

Once the petals had scattered, the maiden helped up the knight nearest to her, gently patting her back. It seemed this knight was still in a state of hazy consciousness.

Nevertheless, the maiden possessed great patience.

“Hello, could you please tell me where Ms. Roalsa is?” the maiden inquired with a gentle smile once the knight had steadied herself.