SWY 57

“It’s an arrow!”

Sharhan instinctively pulled Lestel with him and ducked behind the nearby carriage. Abel quickly dragged Derry over as well. The four of them used the large black carriage as a shield and tried to assess the situation.

‘Where’s it coming from?’

The familiar sound of a bowstring slicing the air, one he’d heard countless times on the battlefield, had them diving for cover before they could even identify the archer’s location. If the attacker had the high ground, then even here wouldn’t be safe. Worse yet, there was nothing behind the overturned carriage to fully shield them, which made the situation even more precarious.

“Did you see where the arrow came from?” Abel whispered.

Sharhan shook his head grimly. “No. What about you?”

“Same. I ducked first and didn’t get a look.”

“You think they were aiming for us?”

“Highly likely. We’re the only ones around here.”

There weren’t even any moving corpses in sight. Whoever it was must’ve seen their group passing quietly and fired.

For a while, the group held their breath and strained to listen for any sign of movement. When no more arrows came, they cautiously began to peek out to locate the archer.

Whoosh

Just then, as if waiting for them, another sharp sound of an arrow ripping through the air was followed by a thud as it struck the side of the carriage, quivering in place.

“Behind us!”

Abel shouted, realizing the arrow had come from a higher point behind the carriage. They had chosen the wrong place to hide. More arrows followed, embedding themselves in the side and floor of the carriage.

“We should hide inside the carriage–”

Abel never finished his sentence. A disturbing thumping sound came from inside the carriage. The kind that predators make when they sense live prey.

Whatever was inside had been asleep until the stimulation from the arrows woke it. Judging by the repeated pounding against the door, it wasn’t just one or two.

The thunderous banging echoed through the once-silent street, a sound sure to rouse the other dormant corpses.

“Shit.”

Their faces went pale in an instant. The thought of what could’ve happened if they’d opened that door unprepared sent chills down their spines.

By now, the carriage door had opened enough for a fist to squeeze through. A hand shot out, gaunt and vicious, veins blackened beneath the skin.

The door shook violently, threatening to burst open, and arrows still flew in.

“Wh-what do we do?” Derry asked, barely holding back his fear.

“Whatever their intent is, I don’t think they’re aiming to kill us,” Abel said, voice shaking despite his calm tone. He was guessing from how not a single arrow had hit anyone, despite the archer’s apparent skill. Still, he couldn’t be certain.

“Let’s move. That door’s going to give.”

The door had opened wider now, and even an arm had come out. A face began forcing its way through, its teeth clacking. The face was mummy-like, flesh tightly shriveled, its hollow eyes glowing eerily.

No one needed to say it, they all instinctively stepped back. The clawing hands of the corpses, desperate to grab them, were jet black. Some were missing nails, others had rotten flesh stuck under them. At that repulsive sight, Sharhan clenched his teeth. Then, bones clattered out from the widening gap.

The dried bones still had bits of flesh clinging to them, covered in countless bite marks. Someone had been trapped inside with the corpses and devoured alive.

Abel, eyes heavy with emotion, finally made a decision. He pointed toward something, an empty store across the street. Its door stood wide open, likely looted long ago.

“See that? Let’s head there for now.”

Sharhan carefully peered out and nodded. The group exchanged glances, silently encouraging one another.

Abel held up three fingers. When the last one folded down, it meant go. As a former teammate, Sharhan understood immediately. Lestel and Derry seemed to get it too.

One finger, two… then all three curled in.

They sprang up at once and sprinted a few steps.

Whoosh

That awful sound rang out again. Sharhan stumbled, clutching his chest. He recognized the pain. He’d felt it once before, and his eyes rolled back.

“Lestel!”

He called out his name, heart pounding as the moment stretched painfully long. A cold sweat broke over his body, legs trembling.

‘Is he hurt? Is he–no, no, did he… die?’

Then, Lestel flung his arms around Sharhan and shouted.

“Shan! What are you doing?!”

Sharhan caught a glimpse of blood soaking his nape, but there was strength in Lestel’s arms. It wasn’t a fatal wound.

Relieved, Sharhan ran with Lestel into the store. Abel, who’d arrived first, beckoned them to hurry.

Derry, the weakest and slowest among them, lagged behind. Sharhan grabbed his robe and yanked him inside. Arrows were scattered across the street, as if mocking them.

“Are you okay?”

“What the fuck’s wrong with you?!

Why’d you freeze up like that?!”

Lestel and Sharhan both yelled in unison, not even pausing to catch their breath. Lestel, face pale as paper, seemed unaware he was even injured.

“You’re hurt, idiot!”

“What?”

Even after being told, Lestel blinked in confusion.

“You’re hurt! Damn it, looks like it grazed your ear. Lucky it wasn’t worse.”

Sharhan checked him over, turning him this way and that. Besides the cut on his right ear, which bled profusely, he seemed fine.

It wasn’t serious, so Sharhan exhaled in relief. But Lestel still looked dazed. Slowly, awareness returned to his eyes, and his hands began to tremble.

“Scared now, huh?”

Seeing an opportunity, Sharhan grinned, forgetting the danger for a moment. He nudged Lestel playfully, but there was no reaction. That was strange. Normally, Lestel would’ve snapped back with a smug retort.

“What’s wrong?”

“When you staggered just now… it was because of me, right?”

“Obviously. The damned contract kicked in when you got hurt. You better tattoo this into your chest, if you get injured again, I’ll suffer too. So stop trying to play hero and stay behind me.”

“Fuck.”

Lestel ran both hands down his face with a shaky curse.

“What is it? You’re pale.”

“I’m scared.”

“Scared you nearly died and it only hit you now?”

Sharhan chuckled again, but Lestel’s expression grew darker. In fact, he looked worse than before. Without warning, he pulled Sharhan into an embrace and buried his face against his neck. The scent of blood wafted up.

Sharhan was about to push him away, but stopped when he felt Lestel’s arms shaking uncontrollably. It felt desperate, he couldn’t bring himself to push him off.

Sharhan resisted the urge to stroke his back and kept his voice light.

“You used to act so tough just because you were taller than me. But you’re still the same scaredy-cat. You didn’t piss yourself this time, did you? Back when we were kids, you used to hide behind me and wet your pants.”

“That’s slander. I never pissed myself.”

“But you admit you hid behind me?”

“Well…”

“Got nothing to say now, huh?”

Lestel let him go, face returning to its usual expression, but Sharhan could tell he was still shaken.

‘What’s going on with him?’

He was definitely shocked and scared, but the exact cause was unclear. A mere graze to the ear wouldn’t terrify him this much. Sure, it could’ve been worse, neck or head, but that didn’t explain the level of fear.

In truth, the one overwhelmed with dread now was Sharhan.

‘Damn it, he could’ve died.’

The archer. I’ll kill him.

Sharhan clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles turned white, holding back the flood of terror. Just how many more times would he have to face this fear of losing Lestel in this wretched world?

“Did you find the archer?”

Sharhan’s voice was icy with intent. Abel nodded and pointed to a building diagonally across, a three-story structure, likely a small trading company based on the remnants of its sign.

“Looks like he’s up there.”

The archer stood tall on the roof, making no effort to hide, calmly watching them like prey caught in a trap. It was sickening.

“What the hell is his goal?”

Abel looked at Sharhan, face grim.

“He’s probably a human hunter.”