Ark Undead

The undead carrying firewood stopped and turned to look at the girl who was tugging at his clothes.

He clearly recognized the little girl; she was the child he had casually rescued last time.

"The immortal asked in a muffled voice."

"Do you need help?"

Melantha looked at the undead and shook her head. She just wanted to greet this armored monster, since they hadn't exchanged more than a few words last time.

"I just wanted to thank you again," Melantha said sincerely.

"Ah."

The Undead hummed in agreement, then stared at Melantha. After a moment of thought, he spoke again.

"Really, there are no difficulties?"

"?" What Melansha didn't know was that the pocket money she had given the Undead last time had allowed them to buy a week's worth of good timber in the Upper City.

In the gradually hardening mind of the undead, Melantha had transformed from a girl into money.

And lots and lots of good timber.

If Melantha encounters any difficulties, the Undead will be happy to help.

As long as she's willing to give money.

Melantha couldn't understand why someone who hadn't died would keep insisting on having difficulties.

Why would you want to help me?

"Because of money."

The immortal spoke honestly.

Melanie's cat ears drooped, making her look somewhat listless. She was a little disappointed; she had thought this gentleman was the kind of person who would be helpful, but it turned out he was after money.

But she saw the undead's armor covered in scratches and its tattered black robes.

The robe that was torn when I rescued her last time hadn't been replaced; a piece of the fabric was still hanging in mid-air, along with dust and burn marks.

The people living in the Lower City, though still Victorian residents, had largely abandoned some of the elegance and manners of Victorians in their struggle for survival. But they had no choice; they had to do it all to survive.

Melantha didn't know what kind of life the poor in the lower city lived, but she occasionally heard about it.

The black bread was full of crumbs, and even the corn chowder was as thin as water.

I suppose Mr. Immortal must also be struggling to survive, right?

In the girl's eyes, the undead's body hidden under the armor had transformed into a middle-aged man in the lower city of Victoria, who earned his living by helping others maintain order or occasionally getting into fights.

The cat's ears perked up.

Melantha felt sorry for the undead.

"While I'm very grateful... I'm very grateful for your offer to help me, but..."

Melantha was powerless; she couldn't give money to the undead for nothing. Unpaid labor was the most likely way to fuel greed. Although she didn't believe the undead would be that kind of person, she still adhered to this principle.

At the same time, she did not believe that the undead would accept such a reward that seemed like charity.

"Ah."

The immortal nodded; he understood. The girl didn't need help.

So he turned and left.

He was in a hurry; if he got back too late, the campfire would go out.

Their second encounter ended uneventfully.

Melantha was attacked some time after she started learning fencing.

During that attack, Melanie witnessed her father being slashed on the arm by the thugs.

The girl who picked up the dueling rapier, wanting to use the knowledge she had learned to protect her family, had the rapier knocked away by a simple swing.

It was later discovered that this was a clumsy attack on the Melantha family, intended to injure the parents, who ran the perfume business, so they couldn't attend an important meeting.

But if it weren't for the hired guards who blocked the subsequent attack for Melantha, she might have had an extra scar on her face.

It was then that Melantha realized that the dueling she had learned was essentially for performance, and the teachers her parents had chosen had not taught her any real fighting skills. Even though it did improve her physical health, her ability to fight back would still be limited should she be attacked again.

So, when Melantha encountered the armored monster carrying timber on his back, preparing to return from the upper city to the lower city, for the third time on the street, she chased after him again and grabbed the undead's tattered black robe.

The immortal turned around and looked at the little girl tugging at his clothes. He asked.

"difficulty?"

Concise and concise.

Melantha was also quite determined. Of all the people she knew, the most powerful one was the armored monster in front of her who always wore armor and never revealed his true form.

The girl asked.

"Sir...can you teach me how to fight?"

"?" The Undead were clearly puzzled by this question.

The girl quickly added another sentence.

"I'll pay! Five gold coins, based on the price of one lesson per week!"

Five gold coins!

The undead's pupils, hidden behind his armor, contracted slightly.

The bundle of timber behind him contained only two gold coins, enough to keep him burning for several days!

“Just one guidance session a week!” Melanie said eagerly. “I want to have the ability to protect myself and my family!”

The undead's sluggish gaze suddenly sharpened as he scrutinized Melantha. The girl's eyes were filled with determination, and what sustained that determination was her resolve to stand on her own.

"it is good."

The immortal nodded in agreement.

For five gold coins.

So every weekend, Melantha would find some excuse to run away and come to the Undead's house to practice her swordsmanship.

Melantha wasn't strong enough, so instead of killing anyone, she was taught how to use a katana.

Melantha was still learning fencing, and she practiced the thrusting motion almost every day. So, based on Melantha's weapon preferences, the Undead ordered a straight sword for her.

Of course, it was the young heiress's money.

From initially struggling to even lift the straight sword, to now being able to practice combat with it, Melantha's success is inseparable from her own hard work.

The swordsmanship that the Undead taught Melantha originated from an Eastern school of swordsmanship that he remembered. Although his memories were fragmented, his body still remembered them.

The girl practices sword-swinging every day. Even at home, she never misses her daily hundred sword-swings.

This is both a workout for her body and an exercise to enable her to deliver faster and more powerful strikes.

"Swing the knife, one hundred times. Don't forget."

So after today's sparring session ended, Melantha stood behind the Undead and began today's slashing practice.

With each swing, Melanie tried her best to steady her already aching arms, keeping her back straight and her purple cat ears held upright.

This was the girl's requirement for herself: she had to reach the number set by the teacher.

More is always better!

The blade sliced ​​through the air, making a whooshing sound as it cut through the air.

When the girl had swung her sword for the last ten swings, distinct footsteps sounded outside the door.

dong dong dong.

Then came the rhythmic knocking on the door.

4. Hannah of the Glasgow Gang

The knocking was crisp and clear, with short intervals between each knock, suggesting that the person was decisive and efficient.

"Ninety-six! Ninety-seven! Ninety-eight! Ninety-nine! One hundred!"

Melantha took a deep breath, swung her sword one last time, and the blade came to a steady stop in mid-air.

Even though her arm was aching terribly, Melantha steadied her breathing and sheathed her straight sword.

"You, take a rest."

After Melantha had swung her sword a hundred times, the Undead told her to rest for a while, while he himself stood up from the campfire, dragging his heavy armor, and went to open the door.

Squeak.

The wooden door was pulled open by the undead, and sunlight from outside shone through the narrow crack, illuminating the floor and casting the shadow of a slightly tall woman.

"Hey, Mr. Undead, good morning!"

The newcomer walked in very consciously, threw the wood he brought onto the pile of wood next to the campfire, and then squatted down by the campfire to warm himself.

Feeling the warmth from the fire, the big white cat unconsciously shook its fur, then plopped down on the floor and stretched.

"Hannah".

The Undead closed the door, returned to the fire, and sat down, pointing to the pile of firewood over there.

The big cat, called Hannah, reached out and randomly picked a piece of wood from the pile she had just thrown down, tossing it into the fire.

The wood quickly crackled and popped as it was burned by the flames, first the edges were charred black, and then it became the flames themselves.

"It's not quite proper to visit you so early, but I wanted to warm myself by the fire here."

Hannah's voice was crisp and had a boldness that was not common in Victoria.

He wore a dark green inner layer over a blue-black jacket, and tight leggings that hugged his meticulously toned thighs, with knee braces.

You can tell at a glance that he's a master of street brawls.

"Ah."

The Undead grunted in response, letting Hannah know he had heard, and then fell silent.