"You there! That's a fine clean spine you've got! Never been on a battlefield, newbie!?"
A few days later.
Noon.
Lich stood in the wasteland wearing nothing but pants and a helmet.
It was fine since he was just bones, but if he had flesh it would've looked way too pervy.
"What's with that hip bone! No chips, no dullness! Not enough combat experience, huh! Or were you too embarrassed to show your hips in public, hiding them under a skirt or something!? Huh!?"
All around were many skeletons.
He had joined their ranks, but as a newcomer he was being hazed.
For the record, this was the first time he'd ever walked around showing his hip bones.
Before, he'd had skin and such.
"Listen up! Joining my squad is the end of your luck! From the moment I spawned I've stood on the battlefield, I am the Skeleton Drill Sergeant! You may have been recommended here by Death General Alice-sama, one of the Six Demon Generals who rules us Undead, but on the battlefield that kind of backing means nothing! Here only strength matters! Got it!?"
"Drill Sergeant, look forward."
"What about forward!?"
"Someone's coming... from the human side."
At his pointing finger—
From the human side, a lone figure stepped forward.
The blowing sand hid her, but—
When the dust cleared, the skeletons all dropped their jaws so far their joints nearly unhinged.
"Geh!? The Saintess!"
It was the Saintess.
A woman with purple hair, wearing a pale violet robe.
On her arms, holy gauntlets of sacred metal.
On her feet, holy boots of sanctified leather lined with holy steel.
Clad head to toe in consecrated gear, she was—
an apostle sent by the god worshiped by humankind, and a member of the Hero's Party.
Her specialty was healing.
Her greater specialty was martial arts.
Her top specialty was—Undead purification.
A Saintess who healed herself while punching Undead with holy fists.
Her name—
"Ro, ro, ro..."
"Rosalie!"
"Yes, that!"
"Awaawawawa... what do we do..."
The Skeleton Drill Sergeant, who'd been so full of dignity, now rattled his jaw and shook his knees.
His legs knocked together like a timid child.
Each Hero's Party member had a "Slayer" nickname.
The Saintess was truly the "Undead Slayer."
The worst possible matchup.
For reference, the Hero was the "Dragon Slayer," the Warrior was the "Giant Slayer," and the Necromancer, being a big eater, was jokingly called the "Supply Slayer."
"Drill Sergeant, listen to me carefully."
"What is it, newbie? We're not bad skeletons, you know?"
"There is a counter to the Saintess's purification. If you know it, even Undead can fight her."
"What!?"
"Listen closely now, and remember this. Then, Undead won't vanish the instant she touches them."
"Alright! Everyone, before the Saintess gets close, listen to the newbie and memorize this! We'll avenge the ones who went poof!"
Skeletons acted like they lived on the vibes of the moment.
They had no brains, so it couldn't be helped.
He gave the obedient skeletons his secret plan.
And then—
* * *
'The enemy looks like just Undead. I can handle it alone.'
Because the Hero said that, Saintess Rosalie now stood alone on the battlefield.
Indeed, the Demonkin front line was made entirely of skeletons and ghosts as far as she could see. Even Rosalie herself thought this would be easy.
It might get tiring—
But with a body blessed by the gods, she had near limitless stamina.
Beating tens of thousands, even hundreds of thousands of Undead would only leave her a little out of breath.
"...Strange. Even this close, no screams?"
Rosalie tilted her head.
By now the Undead should've seen her, yet there were no screams.
Her absurd effectiveness against Undead was famous.
Usually, when they saw her, they panicked, fled, and the line collapsed.
But today's Undead didn't run.
"Good Undead."
It was honest praise.
Rosalie loved punching, so for her, "good Undead" meant ones that didn't run.
Targets that ran around weren't any fun.
Smiling, Rosalie walked slowly on purpose to intimidate—
and the skeleton squad stood blocking her path.
The first victims.
She knocked her gauntleted fists together before her chest.
Clang! The metallic crash echoed across the windy plain.
"Saintess Rosalie! For our comrades' sake!"
The skeletons cried out as they rushed.
Rosalie smirked and—
"Fine. —Divine Judgment time, ora!"
She lunged, fists swinging.
She didn't lift her feet high, gliding close.
From a high stance, her fist shot out in perfect form, glowing with holy light, and smashed into Undead, blasting them away.
Sharp. Heavy.
Her arms moved, bones scattered.
Her legs moved, bones flew.
Her quick jabs were blunt weapons, her lightning kicks were like blades.
She punched, kicked, blew away every Undead she saw—
And suddenly, she felt it.
They weren't decreasing.
Her fists were God's strikes—purifying walking corpses that defied death.
Her legs were Judgment's strikes—severing the regrets of fools who clung past death.
Undead should vanish with a touch.
Yet the ones she smashed and kicked rose again and returned to battle.
"...Well, I do enjoy punching, so it's fine."
"Musclehead."
One skeleton muttered so.
He was different.
First, his bones were pristine—pure white, shining.
Also, his spine was long.
Meaning a long torso and short legs.
"Your common sense should tell you something's off, yet you don't care why? No research spirit!?"
"That annoying way of talking... feels familiar somehow..."
"If you won't care about theory, then a skeleton will explain it!"
"No thanks."
"Listen. I want to explain."
"...Fine, do as you like."
Rosalie lowered her guard for now.
The Lich, disguised as a skeleton, nodded in satisfaction.
"So, why do Undead vanish from just one holy punch?"
"Ah, no no no! Stop! That opening line already screams 'long lecture!' I know it! Somewhere, I've heard someone start like that, then rant forever!"
"..."
"Keep it short and simple. Or else—I'll punch you."
"Seems we can't coexist."
Here lay the rift between science type and sports type.
Deep. Long. Eternal.
"...Fine. I'll keep it short."
"You don't need to say 'I'll keep it short!' Just give the conclusion! Quickly!"
"...Undead vanish from holy punches because of 'mere belief.'"
"...No way. Isn't it divine blessing? God's grace making them realize they're blasphemous beings clinging to life even in death, so they're ashamed and their souls return?"
"That's wrong. Skeletons are born as skeletons. Ghosts as ghosts. Zombies as zombies."
"..."
"They weren't humans before. So 'still after death' is wrong. This is normal. They were bones from the start."
"So they were really vanishing from just belief...? Wow, that's dumb."
"Yes."
Undead were dumb.
That was an unshakable truth.
Skeletons were empty-headed.
Ghosts were see-through-headed.
Zombies' heads rotted.
Therefore—dumb.
"The first Undead came as kin of the God of Night. The God of Day made 'humans,' so the God of Night made zombies in imitation. But zombies had no will, so as a 'failure' he next made skeletons in the shape of the body, and ghosts in the shape of the soul. Humans bore the pain of 'aging, wounds, sickness,' so Undead were designed free of such pain—hence they're called 'Un-dead.' But—"
"Aaaaaaaaaaah! Too long! If they won't vanish, then I'll just punch and punch until they're powder, right!?"
"...Yes, that's the only way to 'kill' Undead. But even that won't work."
"Why not!?"
"—Because I'm here."
Though thin clouds had let sunlight reach the ground, suddenly the light dimmed.
Darkness began to cover the land.
Was it thicker clouds?
Or had night fallen during the fight?
Neither.
It was the overflowing power of darkness.
From his feet oozed a black viscous mist, wrapping the shattered bones around them.
Spines, hips, arms, thighs, necks—all regenerated.
"...No way. Undead Heal!? How could a skeleton know such sorcery..."
"No guesses?"
"...None, but..."
"I see. Then let's defeat this musclehead Saintess with defective memory!"
"Eh!? Wait—we know each other!? Do we know each other!?"
Skeletons rushed Rosalie.
She countered with fists and kicks, but shattered bones were restored by Undead Heal [T/N: necromantic healing], and attacked again and again.
Soon, more units arrived from behind—
The human army advanced too, and the front lines clashed.
That day, humanity remembered.
The trouble of Undead.
And—the overwhelming power of necromancy, established long ago yet left barely studied until now.