What is the difference between the animated corpses of fantasy and the zombies of panic horror?
It lies in the principle by which they move.
“Gyaaaaaaaaa!?”
I let out an embarrassingly pitiful scream and kicked away the head that was biting at my boot with all my might. The head flew off with a refreshingly powerful momentum, disappearing into the forest.
In panic horror, zombies usually move due to viruses, parasites, or brain mutations, and generally, blowing their heads off will stop them. Some can even be killed by destroying the heart, depending on the case.
With the exception of a few instances where they can’t be killed no matter what, there is typically a reliable and reassuring weakness in that a critical hit to the head will end them.
The reason why crushing the head stops them is because the central control lies there, issuing all commands. Parasites nesting in the nervous system, a mutated brainstem and cerebellum caused by a virus, and a brain that has gone mad and lost all reason. In any case, such a mechanism resides within the skull, manipulating the bodies of the corpses or maddened humans.
Conversely, if the central command isn’t there, then even if the head is severed or shredded by a slug, it’s only like losing the main camera—or the main weapon—and the body can continue to function as if it were nothing.
Just like now.
With clumsy movements, the body that had risen only using one arm came lunging at me. Without wasting any time fumbling with my longsword, the “Sending Wolf,” I reversed my grip, and with my left hand protected by a gauntlet, firmly grasped the sword’s tip. I dodged by weaving under the hand, and with all my strength, hammered the pommel into the torso, which was left unguarded.
I could feel the bones grinding and the flesh being crushed through the sensation in my hand, yet the corpse only wobbled, failing to fall. If this were an ordinary human, they’d most likely collapse, writhing in pain from difficulty breathing and vomiting after such a strike to the abdomen, but it showed no signs of faltering.
That’s right. Given that it was moving even without its head, it’s clear that it no longer requires breathing or a heartbeat. Without a functional center to perceive discomfort, it doesn’t matter if its lungs collapse or its diaphragm is forced upwards.
I grabbed a nearby rock with what passed for a “hand” and delivered another crushing blow as a follow-up. The most primitive of melee weapons, a club, was sufficient to send the swaying corpse flying.
This underscored the terror of the dead in this world. The animated corpses here, powered by magical or spiritual elements, lacked both a central point that would stop them if destroyed and any semblance of physiological response. Though there’s no risk of infection through bites or scratches that could “spread,” they possess an alarming strength capable of tearing a human limb from limb with a single grab. Whether that’s comforting or not is infinitely debatable.
Humans recoil in pain when cut, they’re incapacitated by the flash and thunder of magic, bending over from the physiological agony of a punch to the stomach. Sometimes, they might underestimate me due to my small stature as a child, or even lower their swords thinking I’m not an enemy. Results may vary depending on the skill level, but humans are still, relatively speaking, manageable opponents for me.
But the dead have no such weaknesses. They sense enemies through an insensate perception, unaffected by magics aimed at obstructing the five senses. They can move forward without flinching from pain. They are my arch-nemesis, able to achieve high results and unleash critical hits, dealing damage.
No, this was more like a challenge presented to me for the future.
“What now, I wonder?”
I looked down at the writhing corpse, trying temporarily to pin it down with my “hands,” but I couldn’t fully control the enhanced strength that animated it. Even with my back pressing down and my hands fending it off, I couldn’t prevent it from trying to rise. The low output that couldn’t be concealed, despite output-enhancing add-ons, was troubling.
This was a problem that manifested in my growth and inability to fully kill opponents of extreme toughness, or even non-human sizes.
I think my swordsmanship has become quite vicious through its original purity and combos. But unfortunately, a sword is simply a sword; it excels at cutting objects with its cutting edge, but it cannot pierce the heavens or cleave the seas with its range or hitbox power.
This is true even in a world with magic. Unfortunately, this world also boasts many strong beings beyond humans, and encounters with those who deviate greatly from the logic of human tactics, like undead, aren’t uncommon.
Thus, there will come a time when relying solely on techniques meant purely for cutting down humans is insufficient for the battlefield.
It would be nice if I had skills like projecting blade strikes or making my sword unnaturally elongate, but unfortunately, the logic of this world is more grounded like a monthly youth magazine, not an adventurous weekly shonen manga, so it’s not so straightforward.
Still, it isn’t that my sword offers no solutions. It cuts cleanly and slices through armor or scales. With critical hits on weak points, giant-killing is quite possible.
But cutting through thick limbs, massive necks, towering physiques—those are impossible for a swordsman who relies on arc-sword techniques. That’s the limit. You can win, sure, but grand displays like cutting tails off to protect your comrades won’t happen when fighting such opponents.
Against an opponent without any physical weak point, that weakness becomes painfully clear. Wrestling with what seemed to be an insurmountable issue, an ominous presence of a magical incantation stirred behind me.
At the same time, a gray lump of mud flew through the air. That lump, seemingly thrown at the writhing corpse, quickly thickened and began to solidify.
“Are you all right!?”
It was a friend. The concoction was concrete magic created by a construction mage. Altered by magic to change its composition, the kneaded concrete dried and hardened faster than a desert sponge. No matter how powerful, the corpse couldn’t break the concrete’s rigidity and its protruding limbs futilely writhed.
“Mika… thank you. I was fighting a losing battle.”
I grabbed the shoulder of my concerned friend to express my gratitude, and as if realizing anew that I was safe, his stiff expression softened. It appears he had rushed to help upon hearing my earlier pitiful scream.
“To think even you have an enemy you can’t handle. It’s surprising. I thought when you wielded your sword, you looked as if there’s nothing in the world you fear.”
Being overpraised after emitting such an undignified scream felt worse, almost making me wish for death, friend. Besides, I also have things I fear, and in solo combat, I still face many foes I can’t defeat. To say nothing of being sent after Lady Agrippina—attacking her in her sleep, my limit might be just grabbing her breasts—and obviously, I’d be killed immediately afterward—there’s no understanding how Lords like Raizenitz perish.
Ugh… everyone around me is a monster…?
But, if you think about it, the fact that they prevent my impulsive Tengu ascension resulting in death is a blessing. Indeed, modesty can be quite difficult.
“With a single sword, there are far fewer things that can be done, which you, a mage, should be well aware of. What can be done with this? Essentially, killing people is all it’s good for.”
That’s why, it took me longer to kill something that wasn’t human. Truly, anything that dies with just a severed head is straightforward and most appreciated.
“I see. Then, all the more reason I was here for a purpose.”
My friend proudly puffed out his chest. The concrete had fully dried by now, perfectly smooth—probably a professional reflex—with no cracks or air bubbles.
…Ah, so he was one solution to the undead, was he?
Physical undead possess a toughness and regenerative ability worthy of their “undead” title. Even with mere animated corpses like this traveler, they require being hacked into dozens of pieces to stop them—if you just stab them, they will continue to advance even if they end up looking like a hedgehog from arrows and spears. They make ideal frontline tanks.
However, the moment they’re afflicted with an incapacitating debuff like this, the undead become powerless. It’s the same principle as tossing a vampire into a sarcophagus and imprisoning it with holy water.
So, if we can’t kill them, we avoid them.
Mika, who could do something like this, would surely be considered a nemesis of the undead. Whether it’s pouring concrete, dropping them into deep holes, or flooding them in wet cement for the “sealing” effect, Mika’s abilities fall into the category of quite ruthless techniques when it comes to “killing” them through performance.
“But… how did an animated corpse like this end up here? They rarely appear.”
Just as I was reaffirming how excellent my friend was as a debuffer, he began to examine the protruding limbs of the animated corpse more closely.
“Pigskin boots, and the clothing looks like flax, doesn’t it? And this on the boot…”
“It’s the mark of a spur. Probably snagged on a tree root or something.”
The spur is a metal device attached to the heel of riding boots, used to encourage a horse to start moving. When we make a horse gallop, we press its sides, but this is the mechanism that tells the horse, “Move forward,” by pricking its belly.
Most spurs are designed to be detachable so that they can be secured with a belt and removed when not needed. It goes without saying that it’s impractical for stealth missions, so I always remove mine, but this animated corpse must have wandered through the forest without removing it and ended up breaking it.
So this person was clearly affluent enough to travel by horse. How they ended up an animated corpse deep in this forest remains a mystery.
I had kicked off the head earlier, but I’ll have to find it later to give them a proper eulogy.
Still… how exactly does one mourn this fundamentally?
Undead, especially those infused with magical elements or possessed by ghosts, defy natural principles. Since they retain physical form, they have resistance to the world’s resilience. Hence, unlike magical mutations or abnormalities, they won’t stop unless their magic runs out if left untouched.
If there were a magical mechanism driving it, it would be better. You could just leave it until the stored magic runs out, like with other magical mutations or abnormalities. However, because it might be possessed by a ghost or infused with magical energy, it could keep moving endlessly, making it a particularly nasty case.
Unfortunately, as two amateurs, we can’t determine “why this corpse is moving,” and there’s nothing we can do about it.
We have the knowledge, but like knowing vaguely that edible and poisonous mushrooms exist, it doesn’t help unless we can accurately distinguish between them. Turning our insufficient knowledge over in our minds leads only to confusion: “It could be either…”
The unclean and law-defying undead can be purified by the miracles of a god. Alternatively, the broken rules might be corrected with the help of beings like fairies or spirits that are closer to concepts.
But, unfortunately, neither of us is capable of such feats. Indeed, it seems that having a cleric in the party really is wise advice.
Previously, during a campaign constrained by location issues where human gods were unavailable, we played without a cleric. That campaign was pure hell. With minor injuries refusing to heal, we had to rely on the ranger’s poultices and hope for recovery during our journey. It had the grim realism of early modern warfare.
Now, finding ourselves lamenting the inconvenience of a cleric-free party along another vector, we looked at each other and nodded.
Okay, let’s go back. This is clearly beyond our capabilities.
We’d gladly charge into uncharted dungeons, saying “Alright, unexplored dungeon, let’s go!” if we were fully prepped adventurers, but unfortunately, we’re just two apprentices and students. It’s obvious that we lack both strength and preparation.
Whatever kind of hell lies beyond this point, the very occurrence of animated corpses suggests something far from “normal,” and it’s certainly not a place suited for casual adventuring. The wisest course of action is to return with the report of the animated corpse and leave the matter to the experts. Rushing in out of bravado is all well and good, but without even a single coin to our name, this situation far exceeds our capabilities. Lord Faige, though considered obstinate by those who don’t understand his hobbies, isn’t an unreasonable person and will likely assign us a different task in this situation.
It’s absolutely not permitted to strain ourselves. We cannot afford new character sheets.
Let alone the “third choice” I’d rather avoid entirely, I don’t want to recklessly take risks in the hopes of an unguaranteed “third option.”
I thought of some evidence… The protruding undead hand caught my eye. If I returned with an undead limb, experts might deduce something from the traces it carries. Although I don’t know how long it will keep moving, it should suffice to signal the abnormality of the corpse to someone who knows what they’re looking at.
This way, at least we won’t be dismissed as childish mischief…
“…Hey, Erich, did you feel something moving just now?”
Just as I was planning our next moves, Mika said something unsettling. I’d been so focused on my thoughts that my hearing had dulled, but even after concentrating again, I heard nothing.
“It’s probably nothing.”
Before I could fully finish my sentence, a rustling sound came from the south, the same direction we’d come from.
I froze, then slowly turned my head. Another sound. No, two… and then three…
“Uh… uh, friend, this is…”
“Mika, check your shoelaces,” I said, then did the same for myself. I carefully returned the Sending Wolf to its sheath. Probably because it would get in the way when running.
“Huh? Oh…”
While my friend obediently tied them without a doubt or question, I drew my fairy dagger. This also felt slightly faded in color compared to normal. I formed an invisible hand to use it as a sub-weapon and began levitating nearby stones and sticks.
Ah, you understand now, don’t you? One of those creatures isn’t scary at all.
So…
“Hiiiiiii!?”
The underbrush swayed, the trees shook, and under the dim light filtered by the branches, corpses began to crawl out. Two, three, four. Each one’s shape was different, but not a single one looked normal.
But they were united in one thing.
The essential “hunger” that drives the undead, forcing them to target us.
“Run!”
Of course, it’s always the same. They come in groups. That hasn’t changed since the black and white movies from fifty years ago.
I grabbed my friend’s hand and bolted to escape the zombies rushing toward us…
【TIP】Even among those blessed with divine miracles, there are things they can do and things they cannot. Warriors of battle and martial gods won’t grant healing miracles, production gods won’t show martial might, and gods of tranquility eschew bloodshed and destruction.
But all gods, as overseers of the world, equally bestow the miracle of correcting distorted laws. To anyone who requires it, at whatever intensity it might be.
