An hour after the adventurers left, none of their reinforcements had come yet.

The bandit leader was still on the ground, writhing slightly from the pain. However, he was in a much better state than how he had been left by the two intruders earlier. The various cuts and bruises he had suffered from the wolf beastkin had already healed and even his broken elbows had regenerated. All that was left was his knees, which had been destroyed more thoroughly than his arms. However, even that had started to heal.

The secret lay in the false teeth the bandit leader had. It contained a high-grade elixir that could heal all of his injuries. Granted, it could only do so very slowly, as there wasn't a lot. Its exact purpose was to be used during a bitter fight. Though the effect wasn't instantaneous, he would still be able to turn a disadvantageous duel to his favor by enjoying the recovery effect while the fight dragged on. Otherwise, it could only be used for that kind of situation.

As he felt the bones on his knees slowly readjust, he thought about the fight earlier. His face became red with shame and rage.

Beastkins were nothing more than bottom-feeding animals. How dare he touch him? He swore to get revenge on that man. He would first break that wolf's limbs as he did to him. Then, he would tear his limbs apart bone by bone until nothing of his extremities were left. Then, he would kill that kid as well. Lastly, he'll hunt down that hooded bastard Lod and wring him of all his money before murdering him.

All he needed to do was to get out of that cave. After that, he could go to another bandit group and work with them to hunt his assailants down. Even though he despised the idea of starting from scratch again, he didn't mind as long as he could torture that beastkin himself.

Once he was at a point where he could move around without much pain, he started the slow crawl towards his axe. Even though his arms were bound by rope, he would still be able to use it to cut his restraints with difficulty. He struggled with the pain from his knees. But after a few minutes of rolling around, he managed to make it halfway to it before something caught his attention.

It was a strange, hoarse moan, not unlike the sound of someone after they had held their breath for a short while. At first, he thought that it was one of his subordinates who had woken up. Some of them were still there in the chamber with him, and until that point, they were still knocked out cold. He strained his core and neck to look around.

They were all still sleeping; a sprig of Mist Fern was still in their mouths.

While those herbs were potent tranquilizers, they didn't do anything on their own. They had to be ingested to work. However, their leaves were moist and tasted very sweet. Upon waking up from a stupor, most people would inadvertently chew on them and send them straight to sleep again.

It was very unlikely that that group of idiots would have the presence of mind to not do so.

"Haaaa…"

There it was again. That time, it was slightly louder. Also, there were more than two sources.

Then, he heard a gasp. The sound of wet flesh hitting the ground rang clearly in the silent chamber. There were two… three… no, four of them. The sound intensified in volume. It was a blood-chilling sound.

He felt all of his hair stand on its end.

The first one to appear hit its head on the prison bars. Its head was covered in beautiful red hair, but disheveled and dirtied by body fluids. Its face, which used to be a pretty image, was now a beat-up mess, with many bruises and fluids covering it. One of its eyes had even caved. Someone had punched its eye severely, causing it to pop and ooze its fluids out of the socket.

The bandit leader immediately recognized what, or rather, whom it used to be.

“Impossible!”

It took a dead body roughly a month before it could turn into an undead. By his estimate, it had only been a couple or so hours since the women had breathed their last.

With great difficulty, the female zombie shambled outside the cell. It stopped outside the gate and surveyed its surroundings with stiff movements. Its lifeless eyes rested upon one of his men, who was still unconscious on the ground.

But mysteriously, it didn’t get down and eat him. She simply stared for a moment and then looked around again.

“Aaaahhhh…”

It groaned strenuously, releasing white and red fluids from its mouth. Frustration laced its guttural moaning. How could that be? The undead were mindless.

… But if that was true, then why was it vexed?

Then, he thought of something that caused his heart to stop.

Was it looking for him? It couldn’t be. There was no way. But at the back of his mind, he truly felt that it was the case.

Thankfully, his axe was at a dark corner of the cave, and he had already crawled partway to it. If he managed to snake towards it without attracting its attention, then he would be able to butcher it after he got out of the ropes.

“It’s just one shitty undead anyway,” he whispered.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

He put power into his elbows. It had stopped hurting a while ago, so he was able to move rather nimbly with just those.

Silently, slowly, he made his way to his axe. It was dirty with the blood and fur of the beastkin he had fought. The closer he got to his weapon, the lighter he felt. He couldn’t wait to get out of the cave and take his revenge. But that could wait until after he got out of his predicament.

As he got on top of his weapon, he was finally able to breathe a sigh of relief.

But then, a glint in the dark caught his eye. Goosebumps shot up his arm from his hands and he felt his blood drain from his face.

It was a severed head. It had been beaten up badly, so much so that none of its facial features could be discerned anymore.

The tension left his body. It was just a head. It wouldn’t even be able to turn into an undead.

He started working on his restraints. Because of his weight, he had a bit of difficulty maneuvering himself over the axe. But after a moment of fumbling, he was able to fit the blade into a small notch on the ropes. All he had to do was to gently saw the rope off.

The battle from earlier had dulled the blade excessively. Granted, he hadn’t maintained it properly even before then. That beastkin’s fur was surprisingly hard, and even his wooden staff was able to damage the metal. What should have been a quick escape was turning into a grind.

There should be enough time for him to escape. He was at a corner where the light from the torches couldn’t reach. Especially after a few hours of nobody replacing the oil, the torches had started to dim, affording him better cover.

When he felt the first loop of rope snap, he smiled. There were a lot more, but the first was always special.

“Do you need a hand?”

A euphonious voice echoed in his head, almost as if to celebrate his achievement. It was almost angelic, with a calming effect that would ease any man who heard it. One could imagine that it could only come from a woman of praiseworthy beauty.

But to him, it only brought horror.

He recognized that voice. He wouldn’t forget it for a long time. It was the voice of the woman who had been screaming at him to stop in the middle of her moans. It was the voice of the woman who had begged him to spare her life. It was the voice of the woman who whispered to him, as the last of her life left her head, swearing that she’ll come back.

In a fit of panic, he frantically tried to look for the source of the voice. But that itself was difficult from just hearing it. The voice seemed to have come from inside his head. Though he entertained the idea that it might have been a figment of his frightened imagination, the voice seemed too real for it to be so.

It was then that, while looking around, he saw the zombie again. They were looking at each other.

He didn’t realize it immediately, but he felt his throat was slightly drier than earlier. Did he shout in fear when he heard the voice?

“AaaaaaaAAAAHHHH!”

A deep, grating, hateful growl.

Three other bodies stumbled out of the cage as if they were called out. All of them were in hideous states. All of their eyes were lifeless. But, much like the first one, the noises they made through their ruined lips were charged with bitter resentment.

There were only four of them, yet as they moved, the bandit leader felt like he was staring at a pitch-black wall.

His hands trembled uncontrollably. Though his tempered will kicked in and he made haste to cut through his bindings, it was fruitless. There were too many layers.

He threw curses at them as loud as he could, perhaps in the hope that his desperation could dispel the evil that approached him. But try as he might, even as the blade of the axe cut through his flesh from behind in his panic, the zombies loomed ever closer. They opened their mouths wide, almost tearing the skin on their cheeks. Each step they took came with it a wet, bone-breaking sound. He felt his aspirations slip through his fingers. Though they looked miserable and weak, he could do nothing but watch.

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His anguished screams echoed inside the confined space. His body was torn apart, piece by loving piece. When their teeth broke, they used their nails. Once those snapped, they used the remaining skin on their fingers. Even their exposed bones could be used to rip into his skin. The first bite was to his crotch. Purposefully. Then, they tore into his limbs. His thick armor couldn't stop their frenzied advance. If they failed somewhere, they would try again in another. They moved with gleeful disregard, and worked their way up his extremities slowly.

The audience to that spectacle, near the mouth of the chamber, was a specter-like being. Visible though it was, It had no outline. It was simply there, floating, existing. And though it had no mouth, it could make a sound.

It laughed, full of evil mirth. Perhaps, if it had feet, it would have also been dancing.

“Satisfied?”

A voice. It came from the darkness behind it. The specter stopped its jovial laughter. Because it had no face, there was no way to determine where it was looking. But the gesture was there.

“Not yet,” it said. “But it’s a start.”

There was no answer. Whomever it was, bore no intent on interrupting the imminent massacre. There was nothing within that question at all. It seemed like it just wanted to make itself known. There was no difference between that and asking how the weather was. If it didn't, even the specter wouldn’t have noticed its presence. It was so faint, like a murderous mouse waiting to ambush an elephant.

After a while, the voice finally replied.

"Oh," it said. And it fell into silence again.

Hearing that, the specter’s form grew darker. Despite lacking a body, it visibly shuddered–not out of fear of the presence behind it. It shook in joy. The happiness it felt was leagues more satisfying than anything else it had experienced when it was alive. It held up a severed head. The features were all too familiar to it. After all, it had once been its own. Unfortunately, only by experiencing the worst death could it experience true fulfillment.

It turned its attention back to the man who had caused it so much pain. Though he had violated its body, shamed it in public, and caused it to meet an early, gruesome end, it felt thankful to him.

Fortunately, he was still alive. Even though most of his body had been reduced to mincemeat, the four undead purposely avoided his vitals. As long as he could still breathe and had a heartbeat, he would live. Body augmentation was such a great thing.

It still had the opportunity to voice its gratitude.

“Thanks for waiting.”

The specter smiled. Its twisted mouth, black and fathomless, was even darker than its ghostly body. It was the last thing the leader of the bandits, the man who terrorized the east, saw with his eyes.

And then, even those were eaten.