Chapter 363: Proper Form

Wights.Where darkness went, these foul creatures walked before it, carrying the blighted torches which smothered kingdoms and armies whole. 

Although they still possessed flesh and bones, they were but caricatures of who they were once, raised through necromancy to see out the wicked thoughts which had failed to fade along with the beating of their hearts. 

Possessing a fragment of their soul, they were the natural leaders of the undead. 

Intelligent, merciless and cruel, they boasted whatever strengths they had in life, now bolstered by the dark magic which had called them from the grave. 

Given the bloodstained scarf, the leather armour blackened by sheer virtue of his foul odour and the spear both barbed and glaived in his hand, there was little doubt as to where this wight’s talents lay.

All I cared about was the cow. 

“Excuse me?” I said, appalled that it could have a title reserved exclusively for chihuahuas. “What did you call this cow?”

The wight imitated a proud smile.

Shifting the pale, ghostly hair from his flaming eyes, he nodded towards the farm animal with the same joy as farmers overlooking hoodlums harvesting wheat. 

“Daisy the Bloodletter,” he said, cheerfully unapologetic over his murder attempt. “Quite the sight, eh? Very fetching pattern, nice and distinct. Also notice the ears–calm as a grave. Not mine, of course. But usually. It means the flies haven’t gotten to her yet. This cow is the very picture of health.”

The cow nibbled on a tuft of grass.  

The grass stained in blood.

“Very well,” I said, only shocked that it hadn’t begun spawning infernal imps yet. “And just what manner of demonic monster is this, then?”

“It’s a cow.”

“Yes, and that’s bad enough. But what even more frightful entity lurks beneath the skin?”

“Nothing. Daisy is an ordinary cow. Specifically a Lowlands Tress. They’re a popular breed amongst dairy farmers owing to their high milk yields.”

“I see. I shall never remember that. And so why is this supposedly ordinary cow now surrounded by bloodied grass which you will shortly need to scrub?”

“To help acclimatise her to her role, of course.”

“Her role? What role? You just said this is a dairy cow. They do not need blood.”

“Most don’t, no. But Daisy is unique. She’s also my bloodhound.”

“... Excuse me?”

The wight did its best to stand up straight. 

It failed as its rotten muscles laboured and bones creaked, the limits of necromancy as clear as the sunlight repulsed by his pale skin barely clinging to flesh. 

Even so, the look of contentment still remained. 

“I am Alfred Dronn, famed huntsman of the woods. But as good as my nose is, my bloodhounds are always better. That’s Daisy right here.”

The cow lightly swished its tail. 

I could only nod in agreement … all the while raising a hand to my lips.

“Ohhohohohohohoho!!” 

Suddenly, all my bewilderment lessened as mirth took its place.

I was utterly relieved. Here I thought I’d be required to do battle against a cow. Instead, it was clear that the wight before me had been raised by the wrong necromancer. Especially as he had the nerve to look mildly aggrieved.

“Miss, I know it’s not my place to tell others how to act, but this really isn’t the proper response.”

I relaxed my shoulders and offered an appreciative smile. 

“Ohoho … is that so? And yet it’s very much my place to do just that. So allow me to be brief–it isn’t a bloodhound you need, it’s a complaint form.”

“... A what now?”

“I see the flames in your eye sockets are simply there to hide the lack of thought behind it. I advise you to seek formal compensation against whichever failed apprentice raised you from the grave. Clearly, they forgot to include your faculties if you believe a cow can serve as a bloodhound. What will it do? Shake its bell at me?” 

The wight wrinkled his nose.

“That bell is the call of doom. Once Daisy has tasted her first kill, the sound of that bell will invite terror like echoing footsteps in the dark.”

“It’s a cow.” 

“Yes, a cow formed of 1200 pounds of barely contained bloodlust.” The wight gestured at the grazing farm animal, having obviously had this conversation before. “Do you think cows are merely pets to be admired? No, they are vicious. Are you aware of how many people die to cows each year? It is countless, for they leave neither prisoners nor distinguishable remains. If a cow charges you, then you won’t even have time to issue a last wish. This is a being of destruction.”

The being of destruction flared its nostrils. 

It turned away from a smattering of blood, choosing to nibble on a dandelion instead.

“Ohohohohoo!!” I placed both hands against my tummy as something began to hurt. “Indeed, 1200 pounds of medium-rare steak au poivre! Why, I can already see the dangers of the marbled fat rushing towards me! I’ll be comatosed for days!” 

The wight narrowed his eyes. 

“If you must know, I did attempt to find an actual bloodhound. Sadly, the sheepdogs owned by farmers are already trained. So I took a cow. Which is fine. Daisy is hardly an unworthy substitute.”

“... Ohohhohohohoho!!”

“Miss, this is not a laughing matter.”

“Ohoho … ahem, very wrong. This is the most amusing thing I’ve ever heard from a random assailant in my path. I must say, this makes for a wondrous change of pace. Perhaps I’ll even remember you as a blotch in the back of my mind. I offer my gratitude. I thought the mundane traps around me meant this was fated to be a dull experience, but you’ve actually improved it. Just.”

“Then you failed to appreciate art. My traps are not mundane. They are spectacular.” 

I stopped laughing at once.

“Excuse me? These are your traps? Not the bandits?” 

“Of course they’re my traps. Lawless brigands have neither discipline nor patience. They can’t do anything as sophisticated as what I’ve made.”

“Sophisticated? … It’s the same trap over and over again, just with slightly bigger rocks each time!”

“Exactly.” The wight attempted to snap a finger. He failed. “Consistency girl. That’s the trick. Do you know what separates me from other huntsmen? The reason why I was selected to be brought back?”

“Presumably, it’s because of a stark lack of choice.”

“No. It’s because I’m the best. I’m patient. You might laugh, but so have many others. And now their corpses don’t even remain to be raised. The 5th Law of Huntsmanship is clear, after all. If you drop enough rocks, someone will eventually be hit with a rock.” 

I threw up my arms in outrage.

“That isn’t a law! It’s littering!”

“If that’s littering, then so is throwing a spear or shooting an arrow. Just because the projectile is a rock doesn’t make it any more or less legitimate.”

“You’re not throwing these rocks! You’re dumping them like pianos in Ouzelia … except they at least have form! Are your poorly made traps meant to distract from the fact you chose a cow as a pet or simply because you lack the dexterity to do better as a zombie?!” 

A gasp met my words.

“... I’m a wight,” he said, sounding genuinely hurt. “Not a zombie.”

I rolled my eyes.

“If that’s true, then you need to fix your posture. It’s worse than the most shambling of undead. Just because your skin looks terrible doesn’t mean your back has to be as well.”

“My back is due to the way I was buried. My coffin had terrible ergonomics. Even so, it doesn’t prevent me from performing my given tasks. My aim is still true.”

“Yes, so long as a cow is there to help you. A shame that its contribution will go to waste. I’ve no idea how long you were lying in wait, but I’m afraid everybody only gets one assassination chance against me. That keeps it fair.”

The wight raised a … well, he didn’t have a brow. But I could see the ridge bone moving.

“I wasn’t trying to assassinate you.”

“No? What were you doing, then? Greeting me with a spear?”

“Well, I was trying to impale you. But not necessarily assassinate. Besides, I only did it because I mistook you for someone else.”

“... Hm? What was that?”

“I was trying to assassinate someone. Just not you. With that said, you’ve my apologies. I’m tracking another girl. Don’t suppose you’ve seen one around?”

I gasped in horror.

“H-How dare you! … There is nobody worthy of being assassinated while I’m here!”

“I’m sure that’s the case. But I only agreed to be raised on the condition I’d be released after thoroughly murdering my prey. I can see based on your liveliness that prey isn’t you.”

“That is irrelevant! Why, I’m so beautiful that every envious noblewoman in the kingdom has a price on my head! … Why wouldn’t you assassinate me?”

The wight shrugged.

“Maybe in the past, I would’ve,” he admitted. “But I care less about earning new crowns now than settling past debts. Grudges only deepen in the grave, after all. Me and Daisy have a very long list of people, their dependents and their every tangible relation to go through. That’s why I’m asking if you’ve seen any other young ladies sharing your build in these woods. I’ve some loose trinkets I can barter for information.”

I almost fainted.

First attempting to murder me. Then apologising badly. Then attempting to bribe me with whatever bits of grave fungus were in his pockets. Even from an undead commoner, this was a new low.

“... Why, I have never been so insulted! I’m worth far more than any random maiden skipping in the woods! It’s beyond disgraceful that you’d ask for my own assistance in how to ignore me!”

“Well, if you insist on joining my list, I’m happy to oblige. But your name would still be at the bottom. If you’d like to help me make a start, I’m open to a fair exchange.”

“I am not! I have nothing to offer, least of all to a wight who wishes to seek vengeance with a cow!”

“Like I said, Daisy is my bloodhound.”

I leaned forwards, jabbing my finger towards the least of his crimes. But one he still needed to repair.

“No, Daisy is a productive member of society. Something you are not. And if farmers see their animals slacking, then so will they. So I will offer you a choice. Return this cow to whichever farm you stole it from and then return yourself to the grave.” 

The wight waited.

“... Yes? And what is the other choice?”

“There is no other choice.”

A moment of silence passed as the wight considered my generous offer. His thumb clicked as it gripped around his spear, the flames in his hollow eyes dipping towards the sword by my side.

“Hm … it’s good to know my instincts are still alive,” he mused. “It was worth trying to kill you, even if I already suspected you weren’t who I was looking for.”

“That’s the most polite thing you’ve said. You should have stuck with that. Given that I’m so virtuous that angels recoil, it’s only natural you’d feel the urge to murder me.”

“Well, it’s not like I need to. I suppose I could just capture you instead. Given your complexion, I do believe there’s someone who’d mightily enjoy what you’ve to offer.”

“Please. You need to grow scales and wings before you can consider–”

“[Paralysing Strike].”

Without waiting for me to voice my relief, the wight turned his spear and struck.

A horrifying spectacle.

To interrupt me was the height of uncouthness. But that wasn’t the reason I paled at the sight.

Instead … it was due to the way he lifted himself like a rabbit with a broken leg as he lunged. 

Shambling, tired, awkward. 

Like a servant having just climbed up my tower to bring up a single grape only to be told it was the wrong dimensions. As his barbed weapon thrust towards me, it was clear that all the effort had gone into dousing it with whatever noxious liquid was coating the tip.

Frankly, a murder attempt boasting such fatigued motion was unworthy of even my disdain. 

Were I equally as crass, I’d dismiss him with a simple poke of my sword, allowing the storied enchantments to lay all memories of this needless obstacle to rest.

… But I was Juliette Contzen, 3rd Princess to the Kingdom of Tirea!

I could hardly abide poor manners no matter who was serving or attacking me. And while it was too late to save his words, I could perhaps salvage his posture.

Thus, as the wight lunged with all the elegance of a dancer already tripping over his feet, I offered a professional nod instead as Starlight Grace left my side.

“Your form is dire, but it’s also nothing I haven’t fixed before … and so I’ll offer a kindness for you to take back to your grave.”

I sent my sword forwards.

And then … turning it just slightly, I used the flat of the blade to begin nudging his posture into place.

The wight’s flaming eyes widened at once. And for the briefest moment, a look of horror mixed with confusion flashed across his taut face. 

After all– 

He’d already realised what such a tiny change in his post-life could accomplish.

Ohohohohohohoho!

Here it was! My ultimate ability … again!

[Princess Posture]!

Trained by the unremitting standards of my tutors with an overly long ruler, I could spot and fix any error from my own staff … or indeed, those belonging to others as well!

Thus, I went to work, diligently repairing the wight’s form. 

Using my sword as an alignment ruler, I swiftly pushed back his forehead, batted his knees, nudged his elbows, tapped at his shoulders and then whacked his sternum to the sound of his back practically recoiling into place.

“Ohohohohohohohohoho!”

Indeed, I couldn’t cure him of his undeath … but I could make him remember a time that he wasn’t prey to whatever dark necromancy clutched onto him!

With careful, minute nudges of my sword, I worked on his form until he no longer lingered like a leaping ghoul. Instead, his motion became a perfect jump, his arms practically wings as he soared past me like a mockingbird first taking flight … 

And then he landed, eyes wide as his feet found the grass past me. But he neither stumbled nor fell.

Instead, he continued moving.

First as a walk, then as a run, his limbs driving him forwards as he burst into a sprint and then a hop. An air of freedom surrounded him as his spear was flung to the wayside, and all I saw of his previously slouching form were shoulders as primed as a receptionist’s behind a desk.

“Incredible …” came his voice, growing steadily distant as he ran into the treeline. “In … Incredible! Even my knees feel good … good … they feel good! This freedom! Oh, oh what free–”

Crunch.

A large rock dropped down, triggered by the snapping of a hemp rope.

My hands went to my mouth as a plume of unnatural dust rose where the wight had collapsed. 

Crushed beneath his own trap, his legs momentarily wriggled before they fell still. Flesh and skin soon began sizzling like a marriage application tossed into a fire. As the dark magic binding him stuttered and failed, only bones soon remained, half of it shattered beneath the truth of the wight’s claim. 

Nobody ever expected the 19th attempt.

“Ahahahahh … ahahahaha … ahahahahahahah~!”

I groaned at once.

Replacing the sight of poor posture was instead something worse.

A certain clockwork doll hanging onto a branch for dear life. She hugged it as she laughed into a sprig of leaves, the tickling against her face only causing her amusement to become steadily louder.

“C-Coppelia! This is not a time for laughter! I … I meant to do that!”

“Ahhahahahahahaha~”

I rolled my eyes and waited.

To my surprise, I didn’t need to wait long.

She suddenly stopped. 

Just as she threatened to slip off from the branch entirely, she instead hugged it tighter, narrowing her eyes as she looked past me. The act filled me with grief. And so I turned around to witness what had become of the suspicious cow.

To my horror, I saw that rather than morphing into a monster, it’d simply spawned one instead.

There, covered in mud beside the cow, was the figure of … something.

I didn’t know what it was. Only that it faintly resembled the shape of a girl. And that it was utterly covered in mud, save for a few fingertips which had instead wiped the mud onto the hilt of a strangely shiny sword she was carrying.

I was mortified.

“Hello,” came a girl’s voice, pausing before extending a palm towards me. One caked in so much sludge that a farmer sleeping in a field couldn’t accrue so much dirt. “Um, please don’t be scared. Or stab me. I’m–”

And so I did what any princess would do.

“–Hiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!”

I bravely went to join Coppelia up the tree.