SML Ch 75

Chapter 75

“Huh? Is it going to rain?”

The moment Reynald heard one of the villagers mutter that, a chill of unease stirred in him. He lifted his gaze.

Indeed—the sky was entirely swallowed by black clouds, heavy and swollen, about to release their downpour. Both men and Swinefolk scrambled to their feet and hastily gathered their belongings.

Though startled, few looked truly worried. Some of the youths even snickered, taking it as a lighthearted mishap on their “graveyard picnic.”

But Reynald did not mistake it. Something was wrong. The clouds hung only above their heads, while the skies beyond the cemetery lay unnaturally clear.

He had seen this before. At the lake, the Orthros Serpent had conjured storm clouds from a cloudless sky and unleashed torrential rain. This—this too was the telltale sign of sorcery-born rain.

And so, instinct struck him like lightning.

“…We must escape this place at once.”

“Right, before we get soaked!”

“…That’s not what I mean.”

“Eh?”

While Volant blinked in confusion, Reynald gestured toward the clockwork doll perched atop Arun’s head, staring skyward. For the first time that day, it turned its gaze to him.

“You. Only two questions: First, can we flee in time?”

“My lord? What do you mea—”

[X]

The doll formed a large X with its arms. Volant inhaled sharply, realization dawning. Reynald grimaced hard. So—the doll had known of peril from the beginning, and hid it.

This unruly servant could have warned them, spared the villagers—but unless asked in precise fashion, it remained silent.

Too late to argue. More urgent was the second question.

“With those pitiful arms of yours you can at least point a direction. Where’s the source?”

[…….]

The doll crossed its arms downward, a strange motion, sulky eyes flashing.

“…Below?” Reynald guessed, and cold ran down his spine.

[O]

“Below?” Arun frowned. “Sir Reynald, what do you mean, something beneath—”

The words hadn’t left his lips before the ground itself gave a booming scream.

Mountains of bone collapsed in avalanches, scattering white fragments like hail—until something vast pushed upward through the ruin.

“Wh-what?!”

“Squeeek! Kkreeek!”

Even the Swines squealed in horror with the humans’ cries. Reynald narrowed his eyes through churning dust, waiting until the shape cleared.

It could not be a gravekeeper. Gravekeepers did not burrow, nor were they this large. This was something born from bones themselves. A skeletal beast…

Please—let it be no worse than a giant wolf.

But when Reynald saw the truth, his jaw fell slack.

“…Impossible. Why here, of all places?!”

The creature did indeed stand on four legs. But the bones composing it had melded not into the shape of a wolf—but of a horse.

An immense horse, pieced from countless skeletons of monsters, its limbs and torso a grotesque amalgam.

But its head—its head was gone. From the stump of its neck floated only a sickly green glyph, a glowing magic circle twisting in the air.

“Sir Reynald—isn’t that…a Dullahan?”

Serna’s voice trembled pale.

Strictly speaking—no. A Dullahan was the union of two: the headless horse, and the headless rider compelled to mount it. True completion required both.

But the lore was clear: the true body of a Dullahan was always the horse. Sorcerers wove spells upon graveyards of bones to create the horse, then let it bewitch a knight into severing his own head—and the Dullahan was born. Even killing the rider changed little, for the horse only found another.

Which meant—something had gone very wrong here.

“Dullahan, Serna? What lunatic mage would construct a ten-meter-high skeleton horse?”

Arun was right—the thing towered monstrously. Normally, the steed could not grow past a natural horse’s size. Otherwise, it could not carry a human knight. This thing would demand a rider beyond human—some monstrous partner.

And Dullahans never birthed themselves. Some magician had wrought this, here of all places—an old monster-bone heap visited by peasants and vermin scavengers! What mad inefficiency was this?

“Whatever it is, that’s not the point!” Alex shouted, panic bringing sense. “We must flee this graveyard, now!”

Already the Swines fled, squealing with their sacks. The villagers followed in blind terror.

But where would they flee?

They ran straight into black walls.

A pitch-dark curtain stretched around the cemetery’s boundary, born of the cloud-roof above.

“Kreeeek!”

“Wh-what is this! My lord—some kind of wall’s sprung up!”

Lyndon slammed his fists against it; the barrier neither cracked nor stirred. A sealing magic—trapping all within.

So Alex stared, face white, at the decapitated horse.

“My lord…you’ve fought much…and yet you’ve never seen its like?”

“Never!” Reynald barked. “Had we known of such a beast, you think we’d have waltzed in unguarded?”

A fair point. Even the Swines, who had lingered to feast, had shown no suspicion, let alone defense. Clearly none here had foreseen this.

What is this cursed land? Even natives know not the horrors sleeping underfoot…! Reynald ground his teeth as the massive headless horse gave itself a shake.

[…Oooohhh…. Oooohhh…]

It should have had no throat, no voice, yet from the raw stump rose a hollow moan—a dirge, low and dreadful. Clouds swirled and released a rain upon them.

Not storms, but drizzle. Yet each drop reeked of death, grave-stink thick enough that one might believe oneself already buried.

Rain touched the skeleton’s frame. Steam hissed up, and with it, oily black vapor, shivering sharp as blades. Mist, yet it gleamed like forged lances, ready to pierce.

…Damn it.

Pure hostility radiated. Its intent was only slaughter. There was no question—they had to fight.

Reynald drew steel, breathing steady.

“Prince Serna. The Golden Mirror—ready it.”

“Yes! But not so quick…with the sky smothered like this, it takes longer to harness sunlight! Remember the moss-maze—!”

True: behind the clouds the sun still burned, and the mirror might call its rays. But gathering light through storm-thick gloom would take precious time.

“In that case, we shall buy it.”

Those words burned iron into them. Reynald glanced round—and all nodded.

Gigantic, unnatural though it was, a skeletal horse was still a known breed of foe. If they worked together, if the Golden Mirror awoke in time, they might endure.

Still—

Is this…one of the “incidents” the doll foretold?

Perched atop Volant’s head, the clockwork doll folded its tiny arms in prayer. Silent. Still.

Of all things in that cursed graveyard, that quiet puppet seemed the most ominous of all.

Footnote

1. Dullahan (듀라한) – A deathly figure of folklore, here reimagined as a magical construct: the horse is core, which enthralls riders into decapitation to complete itself. 
2. Skeleton Horse – Generally small, artificial by magic. A ten-meter engine breaks rules; implies tampering by a powerful, aberrant sorcerer. 
3. Golden Mirror (황금 거울) – Relic carried by Prince Serna; channels sunlight into destructive holy rays, but requires direct solar contact—slowed by storm cover.