Falsely Accused, I Started Plundering Monster Traits

"My lord, we can’t stay here!"

A sword crashed against a shield before the older knight at the center could answer.

The knight behind the shield knocked the corpse’s blade aside and hacked into its neck, only for the edge to catch halfway through the bone.

With another rotter already closing in, he drove the rim of his shield against the back of the sword and forced it through.

The head dropped.

"We’ve lost the church," he said, backing into formation as he brought his sword back up. "We’ve passed that same tower twice. None of these streets make sense anymore."

"More on the east side!"

Shapes were gathering in the fog again.

The older knight looked past the rotters gathering in the fog and swept his gaze around the intersection. Iron-gray hair showed beneath his raised visor, framing a square, weathered face hardened by age rather than softened by it. A silver cross marked the center of his breastplate.

Little of the city was still recognizable. In its place stood enormous structures unlike anything he had ever seen, rising above the surrounding rooftops, their outer walls unnaturally smooth and lined with vast panes of clear glass.

Across the intersection, part of a familiar stone building seemed to disappear into one of them, as though the two structures had been forced into the same space.

They had been wandering through this twisted city for too long. By now, there was no denying it—they were lost.

At first, he had taken all of this for some vast illusion. The farther they went, the less that explanation made sense.

Damn those lunatics...

The Black Dragon’s followers had tried more than once to stop the Saintess from reaching her destination. It was hard not to wonder if this was somehow their doing as well.

But could they really do something like this?

Another shape emerged from the fog.

The thought broke off.

Staying in the street would only draw more rotters, but no one knew what waited inside those impossible buildings either.

He wasn’t going to gamble with the Saintess’s life.

"My lord," another knight called, his voice rough with exhaustion. "We need to move."

The four knights kept close around the Saintess, leaving her almost completely hidden behind shields and armored bodies. Her dark traveling cloak remained remarkably clean compared with the men protecting her, whose armor was scored with scratches and fresh dents.

Their breathing had grown heavy beneath their helmets. None of them had fallen yet, but fatigue was beginning to steal a little speed from every step, every block, every swing.

The rotters gave them no time to recover.

One rotter emerged from the fog in the remains of plate armor, carrying a sword loosely in one hand.

A knight stepped forward to meet it.

The corpse suddenly rushed him.

Clang!

Its sword slammed into the knight’s shield.

Before he could counter, the rotter stepped in and thrust for his chest. The point struck his breastplate, failed to penetrate, and scraped across the steel.

The knight knocked the sword aside and cut through its neck.

The body had barely hit the ground when something much larger emerged from the fog behind it.

The new figure was tall and covered from head to toe in plate armor. Its visor was shut, and it held a long pollaxe in both hands.

One of the knights moved to intercept.

The pollaxe swept toward him.

He dodged aside instead of trying to block it. The blade clipped the edge of his shield and struck the stones, throwing up a shower of sparks.

The rotter turned with the swing and brought the weapon around again, forcing the knight back.

When it attacked a second time, another knight rushed in from the side and slammed his shoulder into the armored corpse.

The first knight immediately joined him.

Together, they knocked the rotter off balance and sent it crashing onto its back.

It immediately tried to rise.

One knight threw his weight across its weapon arm while the other climbed over its chest, caught the visor, and wrenched it open. The corpse thrashed beneath them until the second man drove his sword point-first into the exposed face.

The sword punched through its face.

The corpse stopped struggling.

"Three more!"

The knight pinning the corpse down looked up. Three more armored rotters were coming through the fog.

He couldn’t hesitate any longer.

The older knight swept the intersection once, picked the street with the fewest dead, and pointed with his sword.

"That way. Move."

The two knights on the ground got back to their feet while the others tightened around the Saintess. The older knight moved to the front, watching the three armored corpses close the distance.

"My lord."

The Saintess was looking past him, toward the far end of the street. Pale hair framed a young, delicate face, but her expression held none of that youth. Her eyes were cold and unreadable.

"Someone’s there."

The older knight followed her gaze. Beyond the three armored rotters, two figures were beginning to take shape in the fog.

Their clothing was unlike anything he recognized. One of them had a long, dark object hanging across his chest, its purpose impossible to guess.

Those damned heretics...

What were they trying now?

He pushed the thought aside and raised his sword.

"You two, stay with the Saintess. The rest, with me."

Two knights moved up beside him while the others closed around the girl.

They were about to meet the three armored rotters when the Saintess spoke again.

"Look."

Farther down the street, one of the rotters approaching through the fog had changed direction.

It was moving toward the two strangers.

A second followed soon after, while the dead nearer the intersection continued toward the knights as before.

The older knight watched for a moment, then turned his attention back to the three armored figures already closing on them.

Behind him, the Saintess was still staring into the fog, without blinking.

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