"So these bizarre creatures... are these the Seaborn?" Jeanne asked, standing with her sword drawn on a barren, salt-crusted field.
Strewn across the dirt around her were heaps of grotesquely deformed corpses. Their forms were so unnatural and twisted that Jeanne briefly wondered if she had stumbled into some morbid exhibition of unnatural life.
"My dear... my dear lady, those are not Seaborn," a faint voice rasped from behind her.
An elderly judge who had lost his left arm leaned heavily against a stone pillar, watching in awe as Jeanne effortlessly cleaved through the monstrosities. He offered a soft correction: "Strictly speaking, these creatures are known as Seaborn Spawn—or coastal beasts. They are not yet worthy of the name Seaborn. They are merely fierce, heavily mutated beasts of the surf."
His voice was barely a whisper. Pain and catastrophic blood loss were rapidly draining the last remnants of his strength, and the deep, jagged lacerations across his chest looked utterly horrific.
"Just mutated beasts?" Jeanne murmured, swinging her blade to clear the black blood from the steel as she watched another wave of monstrosities scuttle toward them. "Then I finally understand why everyone fears this ocean so much."
"This is nothing yet," the old judge panted, forcing a ragged breath. "Be on your guard if you encounter ones shaped like floating eggs—they release a shockwave that inflicts severe, agonizing nerve damage. And... ah, forget it. Child, take this."
Reaching into his blood-soaked coat, the old man produced a worn notebook and handed it to Fafnir, who was standing vigil beside him.
"These are the notes on the coastal beasts I've compiled over the years. Take them along with my lantern, and leave this place at once!"
He had held this line solely to buy enough time for the nearby villagers to flee. Now that the civilians had escaped, he no longer had any reason to throw himself into the meat grinder.
Initially, he had felt it absurd that a small girl was assigned to guard him. But after watching Fafnir tear mutated beasts apart with her bare hands, he wisely kept his mouth shut.
"Sir, you..." Jeanne turned, eyeing the old man's dire wounds. Now that the villagers were safe, she intended to carry him to safety and seek medical aid.
In truth, a spark of anger burned in Jeanne's chest. When she first arrived, she had seen this old judge risking life and limb to cover the villagers' retreat. Yet those very villagers fled without a backward glance, completely abandoning the man who had spilled his blood to save them!
He was a warrior who had been ready to sacrifice his life for their survival. While Jeanne could logically understand why terrified civilians would run, her heart still found their heartless abandonment difficult to stomach.
"Save your energy... my body is beyond repair," the old judge sighed, unbuttoning his bloodied tunic.
Beneath the cloth lay a rugged, battle-scarred chest, but inside the deep, bleeding gashes, tiny, pale tendrils were visibly writhing beneath his flesh.
"This is the most terrifying aspect of these horrors," the old man said with a bitter laugh. "Even if a physician managed to patch me up, my end would be far worse than death. Let me fall here on my own terms."
He slowly closed his eyes. Jeanne stood frozen, unable to find a single word of comfort.
What could she possibly say? She could only blame herself for arriving a step too late. Had she gotten here just a little sooner, perhaps the outcome would have been different.
"You may possess powerful Arts, but I advise you to use them sparingly against these things," the old judge whispered, his breath growing shallow. "Though... if you could burn my body to ashes after I pass, I would be deeply grateful. Even in death, I refuse to let my flesh become fodder for those abominations! Never!"
With those final words, the old judge drew a small dagger and ended his own life.
Jeanne watched in solemn silence. There was nothing more she could do to save him; she could only honor his final wish.
Swinging her sword, a surge of brilliant flame consumed the old judge, reducing his body to fine, white ash within seconds. Picking up his brass lantern and the journal, Jeanne turned and walked away.
She had been traveling through Iberia for several days now, witnessing the full spectrum of human nature under the crushing weight of catastrophe.
Some clung desperately to their innate kindness despite the horror. Others let the darkness in their hearts consume them, abandoning all decency. Some even turned to forbidden cults, selling their souls to the Deep Sea Church in exchange for a false promise of survival.
As for the oceanic threat itself, it truly lived up to its terrifying reputation. Even the minor beasts—the ones locals claimed were relatively docile—proved to be formidable, relentless nightmares.
Jeanne also came to realize why Saint Carmen had warned her about the hostile tempers here. Among the judges and survivors, there were plenty who would draw their steel at the slightest misunderstanding. Fortunately, Jeanne was more than capable of holding her own; after offering a bit of physical persuasion, even the most aggressive stubborn fools quickly learned to cooperate.
Pausing for a moment, Jeanne looked down at the brass lantern and notes in her hands. This was the last service she could perform for the fallen judge: carry his belongings back and ensure a proper memorial was built in his honor.
"Excuse me! Have those monsters finally retreated?"
"Can we go back to our village now?"
"Where did that judge go? Did he run off again to..."
Jeanne had only walked a short distance when she spotted the fleeing villagers clustered together ahead. They hadn't retreated to a safe haven at all, but were idling in the ruins. Looking at them, even a person as patient as Jeanne felt a flicker of genuine irritation rise in her chest.
"You still want to go back?" Jeanne replied. "Your village is completely overrun by coastal beasts. The ground is covered in foul sludge. If you return now, you'll be nothing more than free meals for the swarm."
She wasn't entirely heartless—she understood their desperate attachment to their homeland. But their complete lack of gratitude and selfish behavior left a sour taste in her mouth.
"As for the judge who protected you?" Jeanne held up the brass lantern for everyone to see. "He is no longer among the living."
She hoped the sight would put an end to their foolish ideas.
Yet to her growing disgust, not a single villager showed even a flicker of sorrow over the death of the man who had given his life for them—a man whose name they hadn't even bothered to ask. Jeanne strongly suspected that if she weren't standing right here, these people would already be celebrating his demise.
He died for people like this... The thought alone made Jeanne's blood boil, making her want to hand out a few swift punches. Steeling her heart, she turned to walk away.
"Wait! Where do you think you're going?" a few villagers shouted, stepping forward to block her path in a panic.
Jeanne found the situation almost laughable. Where did these people get the nerve to stand in the way of someone who had just slaughtered a pack of monsters? Was it because she lacked an intimidating presence, or because her previous kindness made them think she was a pushover?
"I'm leaving. And I have no intention of escorting you back to your deaths," Jeanne said bluntly, her patience completely exhausted. She didn't even bother to look them in the eye.
"If you leave, what are we supposed to do?" one villager demanded, his tone rising with an audacious, demanding edge. "We want to go home..."
They dared to raise their voices for one simple reason: they believed the black-armored girl was a soft-hearted good person.
"What you do is none of my business!" Jeanne snapped, her voice dropping an octave as her hand rested on her hilt. "I saved you solely out of respect for that judge. If you think that gives you the right to demand anything from me, feel free to try your luck!"
Clang!
Her blade cleared the scabbard by an inch, radiating a sharp, suffocating pressure.
The villagers froze instantly, the words catching in their throats. They stared at the armed young woman in stunned, terrified silence.
Only now did it sink in: the girl standing before them was a warrior capable of cutting down ocean monstrosities like weeds. Pressing her had been a monumentally stupid mistake.
Yet no one moved to apologize, nor did anyone step aside. They simply stood there in uneasy silence, staring at Jeanne with eyes filled with fear and resentment.