Chapter 55
“…Rudio?”
The only light in the silent basement came from the few soldiers’ torches, their flames flickering red across the damp walls.
Beyond the wavering candlelight stood a jester, bowing with graceful poise toward him. Gregoryus spoke in a trembling voice.
“Heh. For the great Gregoryus to remember a mere handyman even after decades—it’s quite an honor.”
At that, the jester, Rattenfänger, straightened up with a faint smile.
It had been so long since they last met. Time had wrapped its fingers around him, leaving him far more withered than Gregoryus had imagined.
The sharp eyes he once had were now dull and cloudy.
His body—once sturdy and compact enough to earn him the nickname Little Giant of the North—had become little more than a frail skeleton.
The jester’s eyes, hidden beneath the brim of his hat, darkened briefly with pity as he looked upon the now feeble old man.
“Sir Gregoryus. Do you know this man?”
Beneath the statue of the goddess—
perhaps this was why he had seemed so uneasy ever since they descended the hidden staircase.
Whatever had once passed between them, Gregoryus was now staring at Rattenfänger with eyes full of tangled emotions. Even Eric couldn’t help but sense the tension.
“These… things down here… was it really you who did this?”
Gregoryus gestured toward the piles of bones scattered about, his voice heavy with disbelief.
“…Well.”
Rattenfänger gave no clear answer. His expression twisted—part sorrow, part disappointment—while Gregoryus’s gaze silently begged him to deny it.
Decades had passed since that day, yet the old man still couldn’t bring himself to abandon his faith in him. The jester turned away, his face tightening in irritation.
If he looked into those eyes any longer, all the resolve he’d built over the years might crumble to dust.
“Your Eminence! Get back!”
Whoosh!
A moment later—
a female knight broke free from the <Charm> faster than he expected and swung her sword. The jester leapt nimbly backward, narrowly avoiding the strike.
“Well now, it seems our audience is impatient. I suppose we must begin sooner than planned.”
Perching atop a mountain of rat corpses, he drew an old flute from his coat and lifted it to his lips.
The reunion with the man who had once been his idol had lasted long enough.
He had remained in this buried temple under the dunes for years—alone—waiting for this very day,
to greet him once more, and sever the final bond that tied them.
Fweee—!
Skreee!
Squeak! Squeak!
Rumble!
As the mournful note filled the air, swarms of rats erupted again from the darkness.
“Damn it, rats again?! No matter how many we kill, they just keep coming!”
“How many were hiding down here?”
“Everyone, battle form—huh?”
Just as the weary soldiers raised their weapons again, the charging rats suddenly veered away—
scattering toward the heaps of bones.
Scritch scritch—
“What the hell are they doing?”
“Stay sharp! Don’t lower your guard!”
The rats crawled beneath the tattered clothes of the skeletons strewn about.
Creak—clatter—
“The corpses… they’re moving!”
“Ne–necromancy?!”
Skeletons began to rise, bones grinding, as every soldier watching broke into a cold sweat.
“We can discuss details later.”
The jester’s voice echoed behind the ring of skeletons surrounding the soldiers.
“For now, please—enjoy the performance we’ve so carefully prepared.”
Clatter—clack—
Click!
With that, the skeletal army lurched forward, attacking.
Clang—crash!
“Guh! How can something made of bones hit so hard?!”
“Don’t fight them head-on! Use your shields and deflect!”
The flickering torchlight painted the basement blood-red. The soldiers were struggling against the skeletons moving in time with the eerie flute.
‘So he’s controlling corpses through the rats… I knew that. But even bare bones? He must’ve stuffed the skeletons’ clothes full of rats in advance.’
Eric, standing guard in front of Gregoryus, tilted his head, frowning. Even in the game, Rattenfänger had never used this attack pattern.
<Mouse (Colony)>
Level: 35
Strength [60]
Agility [45]
Endurance [30]
Mana [55]
Trait: —
“Don’t aim for the bones! Aim for the clothes!”
Checking the enemy’s status, Eric shouted urgently. The system identified the attackers not as skeletons, but as Mouse (Colony)—meaning the bones were mere shells.
They weren’t fighting undead at all—they were fighting the rats themselves.
Many of the soldiers were already starting to realize it.
“These aren’t moving bones—it’s those rats inside!”
Eric yelled the answer as he barely parried a blurred shape rushing toward him.
Slash—!
“Ghh!”
The jarring vibration shot up his sword and into his palms.
Before him, a skeleton had driven its fist deep into the moldy wall, its empty sockets staring him down.
‘What kind of insane strength is this?!’
Eric grit his teeth, glancing at his bloodied palms.
“Lord Eric! Are you all right?”
“…Lady Lillian, prepare the spell. Don’t worry about power—make it wide!”
Even though he’d deflected the hit, the impact alone was staggering. He steadied his breathing, focusing on defense.
‘Impressive. Most people would panic seeing corpses suddenly rise, even after realizing what’s inside.’
The jester, watching from afar with his flute lowered, couldn’t help but murmur in admiration as the soldiers began regaining their composure and cutting down skeletons one by one.
‘Weak mana, nothing special in skill… yet that boy—Eric, was it?’
Even in the chaos of the bone-rattling melee, Eric stood out—slim, composed, protecting Gregoryus.
‘Ah… the young hero the Church has been praising recently.’
Then the jester remembered the reports his rats had brought back from the fortress.
Whoosh—!
“Well, well. How rude of the audience to climb up onto the stage.”
The jester tilted his head as a sword sliced past his cheek, grazing his hat’s brim.
“Your seat is over there, my lady. Perhaps you’d like to return to it?”
Blood trickled down his face as he turned toward the female knight—Leona.
“…Who are you, really?”
Under the torn brim, illuminated by torchlight, his face looked far too young—barely twenty.
Leona’s voice faltered in confusion.
“My identity…?”
Squeak! Squeak squeak!
Before he could answer, frightened rats scattered from the battlefield into the darkness.
Rumble!
“Yes! It’s working!”
“Everyone, strike the clothes! Especially the legs!”
The soldiers, grouping together, began cutting through the cloth, sending bones collapsing to the floor.
“Don’t fight one-on-one! Gang up on them!”
“Help the knight! Bring down that plague bastard!”
Watching the bones crumble as the rats fell out, the jester clicked his tongue in irritation.
“My, my. The curtain just rose, and already they’re disrupting the act.”
Whoosh—!
He leapt backward to dodge Leona’s blade, landing lightly as he raised the flute once more.
Fweeeee—!
Squeak?
Squeak squeak!
This time the sound wasn’t melodic—it was sharp, shrill, and grating.
Skreeee—
BOOM!
Splatter!
“Ugh! What the—did that rat just explode?!”
“Hey—your face!”
All around, the rats began swelling and bursting, splattering blood and gore over the soldiers.
Moments later, angry red blisters began appearing where the blood had touched skin.
“My… my face? Why—ugh, uurrghhh!”
Soldiers screamed, vomiting violently.
“Plague! It’s the plague!”
“How?! They were fine just moments ago—”
As blood began to mix with their vomit, panic spread.
“Well, a bit early, but it can’t be helped. Seems our audience is eager for the next act.”
“Ugh—! Ngh! Hrrrk—!”
“Hey! Stay with me! We’ll get the priest—urk!”
Even those rushing to help soon doubled over, retching blood.
“What’s happening—ugh!”
“Uweeghk!”
“Ghah—khh!”
As one after another fell to the infection, the rats’ eyes gleamed crimson once again in the dark.
“Now then… shall we move on to Act Two?”
The jester’s lips curled into a delighted grin as the soldiers writhed in agony.
“…Rudio.”
From afar, Gregoryus watched him with eyes darkened by despair.
