SML Ch 76

Chapter 76

“Those with quick legs—draw its eyes from the front! The rest, take the crossbows and aim for the joints on its forelegs! And listen well—never go near its hind hooves!”

Even in unforeseen disaster, the wisest course is to begin with conventional response. The knight escorts, long-versed in monster combat, rushed to the front to bait attention, while the village youths steadied their crossbows on the skeletal horse’s knees.

The true weak point of a Dullahan lies inside the severed neck—its embedded magical core. So long as the horse rampaged freely, one could never reach it. But if toppled, a skilled warrior might climb, shatter the core, and thus end the beast instantly.

That was the plan. Execution, however, proved far from simple.

“Damn it all! Just bones, and yet gods-cursed impossible to break!”

The bones of this horse, woven and hardened with sorcery, were stronger than iron. Though Reynald and the young men struck truer than not, the massive horse staggered at most; never did it sink to its knees.

And at the front? The knights, shielding others, too found their task worsening—because new foes had joined the fray.

“What—?! Even skeletal wolves now?!”

From the shattered hill of bones rose not the horse alone. Packs of skeletal wolves clattered forth. Smaller than the horse, no less vicious, they lunged for flesh. Their hunger could not be ignored.

“Hold the line! If they get behind us we’re finished!”

Now the knights must hold back not only the horse, but wolves that cunningly nipped at their flanks. Reynald’s gut told him—the longer they delayed, the worse the odds. Already wolves, next—who knew what greater horrors the grave might belch up?

They could not simply wait on Prince Serna’s mirror. It had to end quickly.

So Reynald turned to the clockwork doll, demanding:

“Even for just a moment—can you bind that horse’s four legs to the earth?”

[O]

“And after that—do you still have strength enough left for one more act, held in reserve?”

[O]

“If we bring it down, can we escape this place alive?”

[O]

Good enough. Reynald had far more he wished to ask—how much the doll had foreseen, whether this moment was design or coincidence. But this was no hour for riddles.

So he asked only once more, the question most burning.

“This battle—is it tied to our being selected?”

[…O?]

The doll hesitated. Its gesture was sluggish, half-circle more than circle, eyes clouded and confused. Yes…with an asterisk. Almost an “accidental yes.”

Or was it—the doll glaring at him alone, as though to say ‘Because of you’?

Then it thrust stubby arms toward the colossal horse. Reynald sighed, lowering his crossbow. Volant nearly dropped his own in shock.

“My lord? What are you—”

“From this moment—the wolves are yours to handle! That giant—I’ll take it myself!”

So shouted Reynald as he sprinted forward.

“My lord—it’s too dangerous—!” Volant cried hoarse behind him.

But Reynald had long lived by one iron creed: dangerous or not, there are duties only he can bear. Always had it been so with monsters, and so it was now.

“Sir Reynald!”

“Prince Serna—do not loose the mirror until I give signal! If must you use it, think of the others’ lives first—forget me!”

With that, he closed the gap.

The horse battered the ground, hooves trampling wide arcs—but just then the doll’s spring whirred, audibly turning. The monstrosity faltered, legs forced still, as though invisible chains held it to earth.

A single heartbeat.

Enough. Reynald leapt, hands scrambling onto its foreleg, hauling himself upward with no pause.

[……!]

The doll’s grasp did not hold long. The creature bellowed in silent fury and twisted savagely. A foreleg tore free of the earth with a crack. Reynald clung on desperately, jerked like a rag.

“Gh…!”

Yet still he climbed. Shaken, battered, he clawed upward. He had done such things in countless hunts before. The patchwork of monster bones gave larger purchase than steel; fingerholds everywhere.

But then—the darker peril struck.

That foul black smoke.

Until now, it had only roiled and wavered like menace incarnate. Now, it shaped itself into spears, and thrust them at Reynald.

He jerked, pure instinct pulling him aside—and felt strands of his hair fall away, sliced clean.

No time to turn, no time to think—he must weave between each strike by reflex or perish.

Faster. Higher. End it now!

So he pressed, speed above safety. If he faltered, he would die. Better risk sudden death forward than sure death caught.

All the while, below, hooves slammed and wolves clattered. He could hear it—but could not look back.

He drove upward—knees, chest, until at last he clambered to the horse’s collarbone, chest beneath the neck.

There—only to find a deadlier truth.

[…You are a curious human indeed.]

He had reached the severed neck, searching for the core within—when a shrill whine burst in his mind. His vision whirled, balance lost.

[…Always so near death, yet never aware. Did your survival instinct fail you?]

The horse was speaking. Speaking—though no throat it had. The voice was distant, echoing, somewhere within his skull.

“Wh-what…?”

[…You fled to far lands, only to find your tomb here. And you—of so little strength left—what meaning has it, to be ‘chosen’?]

Chosen. Selection. The term again. Reynald grit through fog, sick and wavering. He tried to spit words back—but his throat clenched. He could barely hold his wits.

That dazed sliding fog…he knew it well. A psychic assault. This was the taste of the mind itself under attack.

But how?

Then he recalled what he had forgotten, so obsessed with its massive shape:

The horse seeks always, above all else, a rider.

Not any rider, but a knight of note—renowned, but broken—soaked in despair, ready to sever his own head.

That was its nature.

But Reynald? He had none of that. He was never despairing. Exhaustion, yes, but never surrender. Never had he wished death. Only to live—to live quiet and in peace, even after setting down command. He wanted nothing but life.

So he thought he was safe.

But—

[…Blood washes from flesh, but the scars upon the spirit do not fade. You have reached the limit already. Nothing is left that you might still do in the realm of life.]

“……”

[…Therefore, sever your neck. Mount me. You—are worthy.]

In an instant, all strength bled from his limbs. His body sagged sodden.

And then came betrayal: his right arm moving on its own, hand dragging the sword from his belt.