Instinctual fear, a tide of ice, surged from the soles of her feet to the top of her head.
A fine, cold sweat beaded on Pandora’s palms. Her grip on the sword hilt tightened, her knuckles turning white.
But she didn't retreat.
She took a deep breath, forcing the fear down.
She walked to the massive, ancient bell in the center of the ptform. Its surface was covered in bluish-green copper rust, primitive and heavy.
She reached out and gripped the equally thick, hanging cpper.
“Hah…”
One more breath, and then—
DONG—!
The deep, heavy chime of the bell exploded over the silent vilge!
The sound rolled like thunder, spreading in all directions!
In an instant, the entire vilge of Calfskin seemed to have been switched “on.”
All the zombies that had been wandering aimlessly, whether they were gnawing on rotten flesh or trapped in a house, scratching futilely… all stopped. At the exact same moment.
Then,
they turned their heads in unison, their empty eye sockets “gazing” toward the clock tower.
“Hhhh—!”
“Hhhh-hhhh—!”
“ROAR—!”
The intermittent, scalp-tingling roars converged into a massive wave of sound, sweeping toward the clock tower!
The “river” of rotting flesh and blood began to move, to converge!
All the zombies, like puppets on invisible strings, began to surge toward the clock tower, the single source of the noise!
Looking down at the dense, bck mass of bodies drawing closer, Pandora felt her own heartbeat was about to resonate with the bell.
But her gaze was exceptionally calm.
She released the cpper and walked quickly to the staircase. This was the only path. A narrow bottleneck, only wide enough for one person at a time.
She held the greatsword, in Elsa’s form, steadily before her with both hands.
And then, she waited.
Soon, the first zombie appeared at the top of the stairs. It roared, stumbling and swaying as it climbed up.
Pandora’s eyes narrowed.
Without the slightest hesitation, she drew her sword and stepped forward!
Shunk!
The bde fshed. A head flew into the air, tumbling down and smashing into the zombies below, causing a brief commotion.
The moment the body fell, Pandora recited in her mind:
“Extract!”
【Confirming… Extracting Alchemical Elements… Extraction successful!】
With a fsh of white light, the headless corpse vanished into thin air, turning into intangible resources that flowed into her Alchemical Element Pool.
The path was instantly clear again.
This was her pn!
Use the bell to lure the horde, use the narrow staircase to create a one-on-one situation, and use the System’s 【Extract】 function to clear the bodies instantly, preventing a bottleneck!
She would turn a thrilling siege against a zombie horde into a simple, boring, repetitive… sughter assembly line!
“Hhhh—!”
The second zombie followed, climbing up.
Pandora’s expression was calm. The sword in her hands swung again.
Shunk!
Decapitation.
“Extract!”
Fsh of white light.
“Hhhh—!”
The third one.
Shunk!
“Extract!”
“Hhhh—!”
Shunk!
“Extract!”
……
Time trickled by, lost in the repetitive cycle of killing and extracting.
Pandora’s movements, from deliberately calcuted at the start, gradually became fluid, natural, even taking on a strange, rhythmic quality.
She was like the most precise of machines, every action calcuted with maximum precision, without the slightest wasted effort.
The bde fshed, white light blinked.
Zombies, lured by the bell and the noise Pandora made, continued to climb up, only to be sin and absorbed by the Alchemy System. The terrifying zombie horde, before this efficient “assembly line,” was like livestock being led to the sughter, completely without threat.
【Current Alchemical Element Pool totals:】
【Flesh: 190 units】
【Flora: 39 units】
【Salt-Gold: 193 units】
【Ether: 44 units】
【Soul: 0 units】
【Known Alchemical Temptes: 0】
The numbers in her mind rose steadily, having long since passed a hundred without her even noticing.
And Pandora’s body was also undergoing visible changes.
Her sword swings became faster, more powerful. Each kill was easier, more effortless. Excluding the “stat boost” from the greatsword, her own “base power” was also increasing at a shocking, steady rate. The power from the Corpse-Red Mist was constantly solidifying her foundation.
Her sughter efficiency didn't decrease due to physical exhaustion. On the contrary, because of the increase in her “base power,” it was… slowly, but steadily, improving.
………………
Meanwhile, deep underground, not far from the clock tower, in the basement of a massive workshop.
The light was dim, the air a mix of the sour stench of animal hides, the sharp smell of crude potions, and an even purer smell of mold born from despair.
This was the heart of the tannery for which Calfskin Vilge was famous. Now, it was a shelter for a third of the vilge's survivors.
Patrick leaned against a damp stone pilr.
The burning hunger in his stomach was like a mouse gnawing at his insides. He was weak all over; even lifting a finger felt like a chore.
He looked around.
In the faint daylight filtering through the narrow vents high on the walls, he could see the pale, terrified faces of children huddled in hay piles and corners.
Over fifty children. Nearly a third of the vilge’s popution.
Their survival was a pure fluke.
The lifeblood of Calfskin Vilge was its expensive, complexly processed calfskin vellum. On the night of the full moon, a new batch of parchment had entered the most critical drying stage. This stage required someone to watch it all night, adjusting the tension of the skins stretched on wooden frames according to changes in humidity, to prevent them from tearing.
It was a task that consumed mental energy, but not physical strength.
And so, the task of watching was given to the half-grown children of the vilge.
That day, the adults, exhausted from a full day's work, had long since fallen fast asleep. The children were in the underground workshop, gathered around the massive wooden frames, watching the midnight which seemed no different from any other.
When the bell chimed, when the first piercing scream tore through the night sky, perhaps some of them still thought it was some sideshow for the festival.
Until a child, covered in blood and terror, stumbled in, giving a garbled, incoherent account of the hellish scene that had unfolded in the vilge…
Panic, like a pgue, spread through the celr.
But Patrick, the usual “king of the kids”—the toughest of the bunch, the one who’d dare climb any tree to snatch a bird's nest—after his initial shock, forcefully suppressed the commotion.
He bolted the celr door and led a few of the braver kids, using tools and stones to seal it completely.
They listened to the heart-rending screams and sounds of chewing coming from outside the door, listening as the sounds drew near, and then slowly faded away…
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