Elsa’s vision was blurring.
The fine wood grain on the herb room door swam, splitting into a thousand twisting, overlapping shadows.
She was at her limit.
That feeling of weakness, originating from her very core, an emptiness that felt like being “drained,” was an invisible hand, rcilessly choking her essence. She felt as if she could crumble into a handful of loose sand at any mont.
Just then, from the end of the corridor, ca a series of heavy, rhythmic footsteps.
Clomp… clomp… clomp…
The sound of tal-soled boots on a stone floor.
Elsa’s scattered pupils contracted into pinpricks.
Instinct took over. Her body, which could barely maintain its standing posture, scread with one final, desperate burst of strength.
A hundred contingency plans flashed through her mind like lightning.
Analyze the footsteps. Number of people. Their equipnt.
Assess the threat level.
Predict the enemy’s path. Choose the optimal angle to engage.
If it was an enemy… one or a dozen, it didn’t matter. Even if it cost her this fragile, second life, she had to…
protect her master.
“Elsa?”
A familiar voice cut through the silence. It was exhausted, but underneath it was a wave of relief.
A figure erged from the corner of the hallway. Her suit of silver-white armor, caked in dried blood and dirt, threw back a dim gleam in the afterglow of the sunset.
It was Pandora’s knight—Aurora.
Elsa’s tense body slowly, slowly relaxed.
But that feeling of weakness, deep within her soul, was like a burst dam, instantly flooding her.
She swayed, luckily catching herself on the wall beside her, stopping her fall.
“Aurora… my lady.”
Her voice was so hoarse it was almost a whisper.
Aurora had already returned to the manor with its personnel. Not because sothing had gone wrong during the operation, but purely because… the mission was over.
After receiving the boost from the Corpse-Red Mist Pandora had given her at the creek's edge, her physical fitness had been utterly shattered and rebuilt.
With her new power, a full set of excellent knight’s armor, and uniting with “Gabby” Lucien and “Thumbs” Ham—two other fully-armored knights who’d seen a hundred battles—as her flanks, dealing with the slow, mindless common zombies wasn’t exactly a challenge.
The only things to watch out for were getting sward and avoiding unnecessary injuries in the chaos of a lee.
But with Aurora’s current strength, those were hardly issues.
It took them nearly three days, but they’d cleared every last zombie-infested village in the northern part of Viscount Douglas’s fief.
The rescued survivors were all gathered and settled in a small, easy-to-defend village not far from the manor, managing themselves.
By now, the Corpse-Red Mist in Aurora’s body had also reached a “saturated” state. She couldn’t absorb any more.
Next was Betty, the little kitchen maid. And then “Gabby” Lucien and “Thumbs” Ham.
Betty’s condition was probably fine. Since Betty hadn’t undergone systematic combat training, a re physical boost didn’t necessarily translate into powerful combat ability.
As for the other two, while the total amount of Corpse-Red Mist they’d absorbed was less than Betty’s, they were seasoned soldiers to begin with. Having gained a power boost, their practical combat abilities were likely superior.
As for the other guards and servants who’d tagged along… well, you had to draw the line sowhere.
When distributing this precious and vital Corpse-Red Mist, Aurora had naturally shown so favoritism. The amount they received was considerably less.
But Aurora didn’t feel she’d treated them unfairly. After all, she, Lucien, Ham, and the other core combatants had borne all the risks. Those others had gained an enormous benefit without paying a single cost.
If they were still unsatisfied, that was their problem.
Not long ago, after clearing the north, Aurora had led the team back. Upon returning, she didn’t see Lady Pandora, nor did she see Elsa, so she ca to look for them herself. That was when she found Elsa in what seed to be a bad way.
Aurora quickly saw Elsa’s weakness. This wasn’t the exhaustion from overexertion you’d find on a normal battlefield. This was deeper, a more fundantal emptiness, as if so vital thing beneath her exquisitely crafted, porcelain-like shell was slowly dying out…
“Are you alright?” Aurora hurried forward. Her silver-white armor, stained with dried blood and mud from days of travel and battle, made her steps urgent with her intense concern. She reached out a hand to help the trembling figure leaning against the wall.
“Is my lady inside? Is she alright?”
Elsa subconsciously, almost instinctively, took half a step back, dodging Aurora’s outstretched hand.
Her head shook slightly, a small movent, but one containing an unshakeable resolve.
“My lady is inside. She is doing sothing very important.”
“My lady… is safe and sound.”
Although her body was about to collapse, Elsa’s eyes were like a fla that flared up just before being extinguished, bright and unwavering.
“My command is to guard here. I… can still hold on!”
Watching her look, as if she could collapse at any mont yet stubborn as a mother lion protecting her cub, Aurora felt both worried and a surge of intense admiration.
“I’ll stand guard with you,” she imdiately proposed. “You should go and rest. Recover your strength.”
But Elsa stubbornly refused.
“No… that is my lady’s command!”
She paused, her already blurry vision seeming to struggle to focus, then she added a sentence, as if looking for an ally under her orders, or as if searching for the optimal solution under her restraints.
“…However, if you are willing, you may assist. If an enemy appears.”
Elsa was absolutely loyal, but she wasn’t an unthinking machine, nor a fool. She knew her state had deteriorated to an extre point; having another reliable ally at her side would increase her ability to handle the unexpected by a fraction. So she didn’t refuse Aurora’s offer of help.
Aurora nodded at once, a fresh wave of admiration—and a healthy dose of curiosity about the situation inside the room—washing over her.
“I understand.”
She didn’t say more. She turned, her heavy armor emitting a dense, orderly clank of tal. Then, with a sowhat hurried pace—clomp, clomp—she walked toward the stairwell.
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