29. The Price of Hospitality (6)

A crossbow. The medieval equivalent of a rifle. Having come face to face with it, Nyeander felt her pride-built invincibility shatter in the face of mortality.

Gren's mother was a woman you would not imagine to be reaching her early forties. Her friendly smile and hazelnut brown eyes made her appear as young as twenty. It was quite an obscure feature for someone who was just working on human remains like it was pig meat.

"Ah! The legendary Nyeander!" Gren rejoiced with a smile. "Hahah! How... How did you manage to get down here?"

Nyeander gulped. "I used my feet."

"I see, I see... Well, you might feel a bit disturbed by what you have seen down here, but I can reassure you, it's not what it looks like."

One of the men, whose belly gaped cut open, lunged forward, his chains rattling in restrain. He cried for help at the top of his lungs, though the noise he made was on par with a crazed beast’s squeal.

Nyeander was shaking from fear.

"To me, it looks like you hold these men hostage to feed on their meat."

Gren chuckled. Then laughed. Then laughed even louder. The basement echoed from her voice.

"Ahahaha! Haha! Oh, silly Nyeander! When you put it like that, it makes it sound like we are monsters."

Nyeander was in disbelief. So much so that anger overcame her.

She stomped forward. "So you are not denying it? You are a bunch of ravenous fiends who manipulate the needy into your trap! You are not just monsters, you are worse than that! The devil, you are the devil themself!"

Gren waited out Nyeander’s rage with a smile. Then, as soon as the catgirl was finished, she laughed. It bore not the usual innocence, however, but rage, brewing below the surface.

"I see, I see," Gren replied, "You walk into honest people's house, feed on the meat they produce so painstakingly, then pretend you are better than them?"

"Wait, what did you just say?" Nyeander eyes widened.

"Mother, kill her!"

Following her daughter's order, Gren's mother swiftly aimed and shot at Nyeander.

The distance between the bow and Nyeander's face was less than arm's length. It would have been impossible for her to dodge out of the way, even if she was fast enough to process what just happened.

And yet... she did it.

With uncanny speed, her body seemed to break the speed of light, leaving behind a deformed mirage of herself, as she ducked out of the way of the arrow.

As if teleporting, Nyeander appeared behind Gren's mother.

"[Uncanny Dodge]," Nyeander announced, "Once every twenty-four hours, this legendary ability allows me to dodge out of the way of any attack that would threaten my life!"

Before Gren's mother could have even processed what had happened, Nyeander took the scissors from her and stabbed them straight into her back.

Damage numbers flew through the air, followed by Gren's mother’s gasp.

[ -11 HP, Critical Strike! ]

[ Peasant (Lv. 1.) ]

[ -2/9 HP ]

The woman fell forward onto her knees, then onto her stomach. She wheezed for air, though that only furthered the scissor's blade into her lungs. She coughed, warm blood escaping her tender mouth.

Nyeander stared at the woman, panting heavily. For a moment she forgot about the other opponent in the room, then quickly stepped away as she realized her as the bigger threat.

Gren stared at her dying mother, lacking any emotion in her eyes. Then, as if her mother was a child whose injury was no more than a scratch, Gren put her hands together and pouted.

"Oh, Mother," she shook her head, "I think you hit yourself! In that case..."

She walked over to her mother and crouched down. Pulling the scissor out of her back, the mother grunted in pain. Then, putting one hand on the wound, Gren’s rusty cleaver began to shine with healing green light. In less than two seconds, her mother was healed.

"...I'll just help you get better."

Suddenly, Gren's mother burst forward and grabbed the crossbow. Quickly rolling to her side, she reloaded, aimed at Nyeander, then shot.

The Neko was caught off-guard and barely managed to jump out of the way. She landed next to the workbench, and quickly equipped one of its many steak knives as a weapon.

Gren shook her head. "Silly little cat! Don't you understand? You can stab my mother any way you want, but it’s useless! Stab her in the stomach, gouge out her eyes, and even slit her throat; in the end, I will heal her right back up, no matter the damage!"

Nyeander did not answer her, just loudly ground her teeth together. She tried to appear fierce and confident, but deep inside, she was scared.

This opponent was unlike any common bandit or monster she had faced before. Despite being no more than a talented healer, the power difference between them was immeasurable, and she knew that well.

Gren's mother threw away her crossbow and charged at Nyeander with the scissors bearing her blood. She tried to stab the Neko from above, but Nyeander parried her strike and made a quick slash at her thighs. Gren's mother growled, then opening the scissors, she struck forward at Nyeander's throat.

Grabbing a nearby stool, Nyeander slammed it against her skull, averting the mother's attack, then jumped after her and slit her throat.

The mother stumbled for a bit, then fell onto the workbench, breaking it into two. The ruckus caused a small cloud of dust. Gren coughed a little, then approached her crashed mother with a smile.

"See, Mother? They just do not learn. No matter what I tell them, they still try the same old tricks on us. They are idiots! And idiots don't deserve to live. Right, Mother?"

As she got down to heal her mother's wounds, the cloud began to settle, and Nyeander appeared with a knife behind Gren. Swiftly, she charged forward.

Gren chuckled, then with a small wave of her hand, the meat her mother was working on suddenly stretched out, and unified into one bloody arm, hitting Nyeander in the face. The Neko flew away from the attack, rolling through the ground, right to the feet of the stairs that lead to the kitchen.

Gren moved her hand gently, guiding the bloody, gummy meat through the air, resting it on the ground. "I did not think you would have me use my true technique," she chuckled, "Besides being a masterful healer, I possess the talent of bending meat like water. Though I cannot make it float, nor can I make it change form, I can shape it like marble and guide it like dough."

The way her smile remained so consistent was eerie. Not at all was it forced, or honest. How it managed to be so unnatural was a mystery by itself, even before questioning what emotion it was meant to convey.

Gren turned around to tend to her mother, but an unexpected sight greeted her. Her mother was no longer on the ground in front of her. Moreover, she was nowhere to be found.

That was when she caught the sound of chains rattling. When she turned back to Nyeander, she saw her mother with chains hanging from her neck in the form of a lasso, and Nyeander dragging her away, up the stairs.

“What, are you surprised?” Asked Nyeander with a gleeful smile, “What you thought was an attempt to stab you in the back was actually to catch your mother with my lasso!”

“How?! When did you bind those chains together like that?”

Nyeander winked. “Unlike you, fucktard, I don’t explain shit to my enemies!”

Gren's face turned red. Boiling with rage. She charged at Nyeander, but the catgirl was also quick on her feet and dashed up the stairs, dragging the bleeding mother along.

Even with the weight dragging her down, she was much faster. However, that did not guarantee her safety.

“After all,” she thought to herself, “The door to the kitchen is locked. My best bet is that I can manage to burst through. But... if I’m too weak... does that mean I’m trapped?”

She brushed off her worries with a headshake. Running with the crazed Gren on her tail, she could only hope for divine intervention.

– – –

Axel rubbed his eyes, then yawned. It was a huge one, sending his body into a stretch. When his muscles could not bend any further, he stopped, then relaxed. His arms fell back limp to his side, besides one, that went and diligently scratched his ass.

He looked up at the old clock, the cuckoo hanging in front of him. His eyes moved over to the strange, oily stain on its side. Gazing. Oil was not something to be expected in a medieval world, and the only other culprit he could think of was blood.

Still, he was too tired to care. After all, he came downstairs to complain about the noise.

Such a strange noise. Almost like pigs’ squealing. Strange, considering it seemed to come from the wall.

He looked up at the clock, wondering. Then, he scratched his ass. Again.