It was late at night.
Rumbling... boom!
The rain had stopped, but there was more thunder.
Vikir lifted his head and looked up at the giant rock formation rising before him.
Composed of quartz and sandstone, the massive cliff stood alone as a soaring peak in contrast to the flat terrain around it.
Many caves have been carved into the steep cliffs, and their pupils stare blankly into the darkness, like the eyes of a blind Guani.
Occasionally, in the darkness of a cave, quartz or amethyst gemstones would glint in the reflection of a lightning bolt, and the cliffs would seem to stand guard in every direction, like a thousand-eyed watchman.
Vikir gritted his teeth.
From Baskerville Street to the watery depths of Balak.
Vikir's body had been trained to the limit by now, and every twitching muscle in his body was taut.
Vikir began to climb the steep cliff barehanded.
The muscles in his back and arms pulled and released, pulled and released, pulled and released....
Vikir scrambled up the rock wall, one foot at a time.
…Walgrok!
Sometimes the stalactites he was holding on to would snap, or the stone beak he was stepping on would snap off the wall.
Without a single scream, Vikir calmly braced herself with the strength of his other arm or foot, making room for a quick grab or step.
When he felt he had nothing to grab or step on, he drew his magic sword, Beelzebub, and slammed it into the wall, climbing upward.
Thanks to Mushu Hushu's abilities, no sound was made during the entire process.
...I wonder how long he climbed like that.
When I thought I was halfway up the cliff, I saw a cave.
It was narrow enough for one person to fit in, but it was quite winding inside, so it felt cozy.
It looked like a place to take a break from the climb if anyone happened to come across it.
But Vikir did not enter the cave.
"...A trap."
This is where the Madame's nest is located.
I didn't think there would be a comfortable place beneath the worst of monsters.
There was a slight chance that this was a natural trap to test the will of the challenger.
A weaker man, exhausted from the journey up here, would have been easily tempted, but the seasoned Vikir still had some stamina left.
Vikir didn't rush into the cave, but kept a close eye on it.
...or otherwise.
A corpse, a skeleton, rolled around in the cave.
Had there been a warrior who had come this far before?
It seemed that he had entered this cave, never made it out, and died, leaving only his remains behind.
Vikir glanced up without entering the cave.
Now he understood why there were so many skeletons in the cave.
Sticky...
In time, a thin liquid began to trickle down the cliff.
It was a mixture of fluids and excrement that Madame often threw out, and it was usually hard or thick, but when it rained, it thickened and loosened.
The mucus that has accumulated in the stomach is loosened by the rain.
They flowed down, covering the whole area, threatening to block the entrance to the cave.
From the outside, it looked like whipped cream dripping down a giant cake, but the disgust and stench was indescribable.
"... If we walked into that cave, we'd be in trouble."
Fortunately, Vikir hadn't gone into the cave, nor had he fallen asleep in it, so he quickly kicked open the entrance and moved to the side.
Luckily, there was a stone beak jutting out like a roof right next to him, and he ducked under it to avoid a shower of slime.
The slime, a mixture of the Madame's bodily fluids and feces, causes skin to swell and bump upon contact.
Vikir's skin was imbued with the protection of the Styx River, so he should be able to withstand it, but even so, he didn't want to come in contact with that slime.
…Gulp!
Soon, the slime had completely covered the mouth of the cliffside cave, and it flowed down the gentle slope of the cavern, filling it with a murky, foul odor.
Dahlgrak.
The skeleton lying within touched the slime and began to float.
The warrior, who must have come to see the Madame long ago, had probably fallen asleep in the cave when he entered for a short rest and drowned, never to return.
It wasn't the only cave that held a skeleton.
Temptations to rest were everywhere, and it took superhuman endurance to climb the grueling and difficult outcroppings to avoid them.
Nails peel, fingerprints fade.
Every time Vikir felt the urge to take a break, even for a moment, he gritted his teeth harder.
As the hound of the Baskervilles, evil was all that remained of his time in the Age of Destruction.
Vikir climbed the cliffs, dodging dripping slime along the way, and passed dozens more caves containing skeletons.
...How much time had passed?
Vikir could see the top of the peak through the thick mist of water and inky clouds.
He had made it this far without falling off and dying, without being covered in slime, and he had accomplished his goal.
Every muscle and bone in his body screamed, but it was still a remarkable accomplishment.
Now, Vikir looked around the peak.
The black, mushy soil was covered with flimsy, sticky threads that whipped in the wind.
A foul odor emanated from the entire peak. A stench so foul that not even rain and storms could wash it away.
" ... It's as if a large amount of meat has been gathered together and is rotting."
Vikir took a step toward the center of the peak, and then.
Bam! Swoosh.
The ground at the top of the peak sank in, sucking Vikir's foot up to his shin.
It was like stepping on the surface of a swamp.
Upon closer inspection, the ground was covered in rotting flesh. That's why it felt so unpleasantly squishy and hot.
An unpleasant sensation wrapped around my entire leg.
If I hadn't wrapped my legs in leather, I would have been itching.
"If I stay still, I'll be up to my waist."
Vikir scrambled to his feet.
I didn't know the floor, so I had to choose only the hard footrests that protruded upward because of the floor that was slowly sinking.
Vikir quickly realized the identity of the flimsy footholds sticking out of the slime and rotting dirt.
They were bones.
A floor made of countless bones.
They tangled with sticky, congealed slime to form a massive mass.
The stench emanated from the less decayed chunks of meat that lay beneath them.
These carcasses, apparently leftovers from Madame's meals, are covered in slime, decaying and fermenting, emitting a foul poison, odor, and heat.
Vikir had to work hard to keep himself from drowning in this swamp of slime and rotting meat.
Then.
"...!"
Vikir stopped in his tracks for a moment.
An ominous aura emanated from the cave ahead.
But that wasn't what stopped Vikir in his tracks.
The skeletons. Bodies that hadn't yet decayed, scattered in various fragments.
Brown skin, silver hair, faces contorted in pain and fear.
They were clearly Balak's men and wolves.
Abui was a good hunter. Adul, the strong swimmer. Akelon, who was an expert at sewing. Asagl, who was a very fast runner. Asak, who laughed and cried a lot. Aguil, who was always arguing with Ahun when they first moved to the village. Agun, who was unusually gluttonous. Atlatl, who was really good at javelin....
The friends he'd lived with for the past two years, all of whom he recognized, of course.
" ...If you're going to throw up like this, you might as well eat it."
Vikir pressed his lips together and gathered the remains of his friends.
Then he observed a moment of silence.
A warrior's ritual before a final battle. It was a series of steps that transformed the emotions of the past two years into resolve.
"...."
And then Vikir's head snapped up, his eyes glowing red.
At the end of the long line of flesh and bones, a great darkness lurked.
A gaping hole in the center of the peak. An underground tunnel of bone and flesh.
It was obvious from its size and poisonousness that it was Madame's nest.
A poisonous exhalation, unmistakable as the Madame's vomit from the bottom of the deep chamber, billows out of the cavern.
Vikir listened to the breath and stench coming from under the ground.
"...."
No matter how many times he checked, the result was the same.
The grotesquely protruding belly fat, the sound of that chubby lump of flesh flinching was clear.
Madame has been in her tunnels for some time, breathing evenly, as if she has no intention of crawling out.
No wonder she'd raided a Balak village and eaten to her fill.
Karak-
Vikir silently picked up the bow on his back.
Then, carrying the Baskerville family's unique dark red aura, he fired an arrow.
declaration of war.
A red trail flew through the curtain of slime and rotten fibers.
It carried the challenger's intentions to the depths within.
And then.
... ... ... ... ....
The breath and venom that had been spewing from the burrow stopped.
Then.
[Zzzzzzzzzz!]
A fierce rage erupts.
Madame's malice spewed forth like an avalanche from an active volcano.
Soon, a sinister presence emerges from the rotting meat lair.
A haunting depht nightmare.
Horrors of unstoppable causality.
A resident of the dark side.
It was the moment when 'Madam Eight Legs' revealed its hideous appearance under the torrential rain and lightning.