Rain hammered down beneath an ink-black sky.
As if the weather had skipped drizzle entirely and gone straight to a deluge, the water stretched into silvery cords, slamming through the shattered windows into the art room and quickly pooling across the floor.
The puddles were a dark, reddish color—orc blood mixed into them… Even if they were bloodthirsty monsters, these orcs still carried bright red blood in their veins, just like humans.
"This is what happens when you refuse to go inside and waste time outside," Scáthach said flatly. "Someone nearly died because of it."
"But we made it in time…" Esil mumbled.
She kept her head down, shrinking under the scolding—guilty, and more than a little intimidated.
By now, the art room was a total wreck. Spilled paint. Smashed plaster casts. Ruined tools scattered everywhere. And the green-skinned orcs that had burst out of the Gate—now all of them were nothing but cold corpses.
Esil hadn't even lifted a hand. She simply couldn't keep up with Scáthach's movements. These orcs had all been killed in the blink of an eye.
The three male students had already fled. Scáthach had sent them to warn the teachers and students that a Gate had appeared and to evacuate immediately. Of course, before entering the school, Scáthach had already informed the Hunters Association that a Gate had opened here.
Scáthach didn't need Association support, and she certainly didn't care for it. But with this many people in the building, she wasn't naïve enough to think three students could get everyone out safely. If the school was going to be evacuated properly, the Hunters Association would have to help.
"These are orcs." Esil had lived in the Demon Castle for a long time, but she could still recognize the monsters on the ground at a glance. "They're hunters by nature. Not very smart, not very strong—but their sense of smell is terrifyingly sharp. They get worked up by the scent of blood, and they're excellent trackers… If you hadn't found this Gate—who knows how long it's been here—then even having half the students survive would've been pure luck."
As she spoke, Esil let out a quiet sigh.
"Lord Jinwoo is so powerful, and yet most people on Earth are so fragile. Even a few orc vanguards could butcher their way through a crowd…"
Looking at the corpses, Esil couldn't help comparing them to the giant orcs under Sung Jinwoo's command. The giant orcs were taller and, on average, far stronger. It would take roughly three to five of these orcs to kill a single giant orc. Even their appearances differed—these ones had green skin, while the giant orcs' skin was red.
Sung Jinwoo's trusted subordinate, "Tusk," had once been the Great Shaman of the giant orc tribe before Sung Jinwoo killed him. He could use thirteen types of magic, and Sung Jinwoo had even given him an orb that doubled magic damage. If you judged purely by destructive power, then among Sung Jinwoo's shadow soldiers, Tusk was the strongest of them all now.
And aside from commanders who'd been granted names—like Igris, Tusk, and Tank—those giant orcs were also Sung Jinwoo's elite troops. So Esil's impression of Tusk and the giant orcs ran deep.
"Jinwoo's an exception," Scáthach said, staring at the Gate without turning around. "Don't use him as your yardstick. I love brave warriors, but humanity doesn't advance on warriors alone. Farmers who plow the fields, teachers who educate, drivers who hold the reins, cooks who feed others, scholars who look up at the stars, doctors who save lives… Each of them pushes civilization forward in their own way. So even if someone can't become a warrior, they can still create value elsewhere—and become strong."
Hearing that, Esil's brows knit, her expression troubled.
"What? Is it hard to understand?" Scáthach's voice softened. "That's fine. Live a little longer. See a little more. You'll understand on your own. You've got time—no need to force it."
It was normal that Esil didn't understand. In the Demon Castle—in demon thinking—weakness was a sin. Only the strong earned respect.
Demons, orcs, white ghosts, and other monsters… to the Monarchs, their underlings served one purpose: grind down the enemy in war and kill as many as possible. That meant they were either fighting wars or preparing for wars. The weak couldn't even survive.
The farmers, teachers, and cooks Scáthach spoke of weren't needed in a war that dragged on without end. They were excess.
One after another, the orcs that emerged from the Gate were cut down by Scáthach. Then the Gate fell quiet for the moment, and no more orcs came rushing out.
Scáthach moved closer and studied the green-skinned corpses and the Gate itself.
"Ugly faces, fanged mouths, green skin… and they're even called 'orcs.'" As she spoke, her expression grew stranger and stranger. "Don't tell me the other side of this Gate is the Warhammer World."
"The Warhammer World?" Esil tilted her head, curious. "What kind of world is that? I've heard of plenty of worlds besides Earth, but I don't think I've ever heard of that one…"
"Not worth talking about." Scáthach's mouth twisted. "It's a terrible place. A cesspit."
Wasn't the Black Bullet World she'd just been through also a cesspit…? As for which one was worse, she didn't know. She didn't understand the Warhammer World well enough to compare.
"Come on. We're going in."
"Huh?" Seeing Scáthach lift her foot toward the Gate, Esil blurted, "Don't we need to guard this side?"
"There's nothing to guard." Scáthach flicked the blood off her long spear, lashes lowering. "If they want to invade Earth and go after students, they can only come through this Gate. Outside or inside, it's the same."
She paused, eyes cold.
"They've been quiet too long. That means they're waiting at the entrance for us. We shouldn't keep them waiting. Let's send them to join the friends we've already killed."
If the other side truly was the Warhammer world, Scáthach wouldn't be this casual about stepping through. She would reconsider.
But she was certain it wasn't. Warhammer orcs were living bioweapons that reproduced through spores—when their hair and flakes of skin fell into the ground, given the right environment, those scraps would sprout mushroom-like growths. Eggs would form beneath, and inside those eggs would be new orcs.
The orcs Scáthach had killed clearly didn't have anything that absurd.
Everything played out exactly as she'd expected. Those crafty orcs really were lying in wait. The moment Scáthach passed through the Gate's flowing blue light, a pack of axe-and-cleaver fighters roared and charged, swinging their weapons down at her.
Splrt!
Splrt!
Splrt!
Splrt!
The sound of muscle being severed. Of flesh being pierced clean through.
The twin spears, steeped in cursed power, drank deep of enemy blood. The vermilion on their shafts seemed to grow even more uncanny than before.
Every orc that leapt at her was cut down—split apart, erased, pierced, shattered—dying under Scáthach's twin spears in the blink of an eye. Severed limbs and scalding blood sprayed into the air.
Anyone who witnessed it would be trapped by a single impossible illusion—as though, in that instant, Scáthach had grown eight arms. Otherwise, there was no way to explain that godlike spearplay, perfected beyond reason.
An orc's head rolled to Scáthach's feet. She crushed it under her boot.
"Where are the warriors?" Scáthach called out, voice ringing. "Where are the brave fighters who can face me? Show me your courage. Show me your strength! As the Queen of the Land of Shadows, I will grant you a peaceful death."
The surviving orcs recoiled, terror plain on their faces.
One of them had just started backing away when a hand seized its head and slammed it hard into the wall.
"Don't retreat! Don't be afraid!" a harsh voice thundered. "With a display that pathetic, can you still call yourselves great orc warriors?!"
A clearly different orc stepped out from among them with heavy, deliberate footsteps.
Among orcs, tattoos were a symbol of honor—the more tattoos an orc bore, the higher its standing. And out of all the orcs present, the one before Scáthach was marked the most. It was obvious: this was their leader, the Boss of this Dungeon.
That leader's roar steadied the others. Little by little, they rallied.
"Good." Scáthach smiled faintly. "That's more like it. If you've lost even the courage to step forward, there's no point continuing. My spear will pierce every one of your hearts before the next second arrives."
"Don't look down on us!" the leader bellowed. "Human warrior! We are fearless orcs—warriors of the Red Blade tribe! We fear neither death nor battle! I am Grotar, chieftain of the Red Blade tribe! Human hero—speak your name, and fight me to the death!"
"Hm? Names before we fight?" Scáthach's tone held a strange amusement. "So you understand ceremony."
Then, something complicated flickered in her gaze, and she spoke more slowly.
"Warriors who challenge me usually know who I am. Monsters and fallen gods throw themselves at me out of fear. Everyone knows my name from the beginning—and they revere me because of it. So… trading names like this, before a fight… I haven't seen that in a very long time."
She raised her spear.
"In that case, I'll answer properly."
"I am Scáthach. Saying my True Name out loud is… a little embarrassing. I am the master of the Land of Shadows, ruler of an otherworldly demonic realm—"
Her voice sharpened, cutting the introduction short.
"Now come. Show me how badly you want victory. When despair breaks you, my spear will take your life—without hesitation."
This was a battle that belonged only to Scáthach and Grotar. No one else interfered.
While Scáthach fought Grotar, Esil killed all the remaining orcs by herself. By the time the last orc fell, Grotar had lost all will to fight. Scáthach finished him.
...
On the way out of the Dungeon, Esil couldn't hold it in any longer.
"You could've killed that orc instantly, couldn't you? Why did you hold back on purpose?"
"If it ends in an instant, his death feels… empty," Scáthach said quietly. "A fight where we exchange names—where there's ritual—doesn't come often. Of course I wanted to savor it a little."
"Against someone that weak, how could you even enjoy it…?"
"I agree." Scáthach's voice drifted, distant. "It's been far too long since I've had a battle that truly set my blood on fire… Do I really have to go find a hundred dragons and a thousand demon boars?"
"Please spare this world. If it ends, I won't have a TV to watch…"
They stepped through the Gate and returned to Earth. A man in a suit came into view at once, as though he'd been waiting for them.
"You're… Woo Jin-chul, Chief Inspector of the Hunters Association, right?"
"For you to remember the name of someone as insignificant as me, Miss Scáthach… I'm honored."
Woo Jin-chul—the Chief Inspector of the Hunters Association's Surveillance Team—was Chairman Go Gunhee's right-hand man. The last time Scáthach had arrived on Earth, the two of them had crossed paths.
Scáthach planted her hands on her hips, walked toward him, and said, "Aren't you usually busy? What are you doing here?"
"You're too kind—but it's a fair question." Woo Jin-chul's expression sobered. "A Gate going out of control is a top-priority crisis for every country on Earth. No matter how busy I am, I make time."
"And besides," he added, eyes steady, "there's a distinguished guest here today—someone who defeated a National Level Hunter."
"Hm. I see." Scáthach nodded, perfectly understanding. "So you're here for me."
"Because you're always here one moment and gone the next," Woo Jin-chul said wryly. "Getting a chance to meet you is even harder than getting a chance to meet Hunter Sung Jinwoo."
His gaze flicked past Scáthach, toward the Gate behind her, and curiosity slipped into his voice.
"This Dungeon…"
"All the orcs have been dealt with—by me and Esil," Scáthach said. "That Gate should close soon."
"I see…" Woo Jin-chul exhaled, the fear catching up to him only now. "Failing to detect the Gate in time was our negligence. Orcs are outstanding hunters with an extremely sensitive sense of smell. If you hadn't been here today, Miss Scáthach…" He swallowed. "I don't even want to imagine how many innocent people would have died."
Even picturing it made his spine go cold.
Woo Jin-chul stepped aside and lifted a hand in invitation.
"Our Chairman wishes to meet you. Would you be willing to give us that opportunity?"