Otaku Translation: Lone Adventure V4C11

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“…He always sought to unearth secrets buried deep beneath the earth, but some secrets are better left undisturbed…” These were the words spoken by Lord Menewal upon hearing of “The Quencher” Robert Wilanster’s death. At the time, his tone carried a weight I failed to grasp. Now, I understand all too well what he meant by those "secrets best left buried."

With his identity revealed, everything clicked into place as if clouds had parted or pond scum been swept aside. It was no coincidence that Menewal had sponsored Robert Wilanster. He must have known about the soul lich Mekenscar’s sealed prison long before funding the dwarven metallurgist's mining operations. Knowing Wilanster’s insatiable curiosity, Menewal could predict with certainty that the dwarf would stumble upon the ancient seal sooner or later. And if Wilanster hadn’t found it on his own? Well, Menewal surely had ways of ensuring he did.

Thus, without anyone suspecting a thing, Menewal orchestrated the release of the great lich from its eternal imprisonment. Had it not been for Wilanster’s enchanted pendant—a safeguard for his soul—this treachery might have gone entirely unnoticed. Even after suspicions arose, Menewal remained safely ensconced in his manor, plotting his grand scheme to welcome the Apocalypse King, "The Heartcrusher" Darrendel.

"Watch out! That old fox is coming straight for us!" Long Triangle’s shout snapped me back to reality. With practiced ease, he ducked into the shadows and vanished in an instant.

Before we could react, Clado pounded four totem poles into the ground at each corner of our formation. Gripping his massive axe, he stood resolutely in the center, exuding an air of invincibility—as if daring any foe to challenge him.

But his preparations proved useless against the vampire lord. As soon as Menewal stepped out of the hidden chamber, he completed an incantation and gestured forward. Two towering skeletal warriors, each twice the height of a man, rose from the ground. Their bones were thick and sturdy, far superior to ordinary skeletons. Wielding enormous cleavers, they advanced toward us, their skeletal jaws clicking ominously—"clack, clack"—as they pushed through Clado’s ring of totems.

Seeing the pristine quality of their ivory-like bones, Longbow Sunshot’s eyes gleamed with greedy fascination. While fending off one of the hulking skeletons, he called out urgently to Long Triangle’s invisible form: "Fat thief, quick! Check their pockets—see what they’ve got!"

A muffled grunt came from the void, followed by Long Triangle’s eager approach. Moments later, we heard a startled yelp—it was impossible to tell whether he sounded excited or frustrated.

"What did you find?" Longbow pressed.

"A medical pamphlet…" Long Triangle replied, half-amused, half-exasperated. “…It’s titled How to Differentiate Arterial Blood from Venous Blood. Funny enough, the subtitle reads A Vampire’s Cookbook."

"Check the other one," Longbow urged, clearly losing hope.

Soon, Long Triangle reported back: "This one’s even better. Another medical manual—this time on wound care—but its title is How Vampires Preserve Their Food."

Our dwarven priest let out a roar of indignation, overcome by the cruel mockery. Shifting from defensive posturing to full-on aggression, he swung his bone nunchaku with ferocious intensity. Each strike produced a xylophonic symphony of clattering bones, sharp and melodic.

Realizing theft attempts were futile, Long Triangle joined the fray. Sneaking behind one of the skeletal guards, he plunged his dagger into its neck—

To everyone’s surprise, there was no gush of blood. The weapon inflicted minimal damage, far less than expected. Suddenly recalling something Nocturne in B-flat Minor, the gnome bard, had told me during our time in the underground mines, I shouted, "These are skeleton monsters! Backstabbing doesn’t work well against them. Use your hammer to smash them!"

Much like the vampires we’d faced before—such as Count Barkshire—these skeletal warriors, though formidable in strength and defense, lacked creative tactics. Under the combined efforts of Long Triangle, Clado, and Longbow, the battle quickly devolved into a predictable grind.

Since entering the woodland mausoleum, my luck had taken a nosedive—and tonight was no exception. For reasons unknown, Menewal seemed determined to make me his personal target, relentlessly pursuing me wherever I went.

Unlike the dim-witted skeletons, Menewal fought with cunning precision, employing techniques that kept me perpetually off-balance. His mastery of blood-based spells—“Blood Drain” and “Blood Spike”—was leagues beyond anything we’d encountered among lesser vampires. Without Black Aurora’s constant support, my reliance on Clado’s Life Totem, and occasional assists from Longbow and the others, I’d likely be dead already.

In addition to his vampiric magic, Menewal proved himself a master swordsman. In his hands, a slender rapier became a deadly instrument, each strike slicing through the air with lethal force. His movements were swift and fluid, more akin to a shadow than a nobleman with silver hair.

And speaking of appearances—his youthful transformation was unsettling. Gone were the wrinkles and signs of age; his skin was smooth and unblemished, save for his shock of white hair. Beneath the facade lay a pureblood vampire in his prime: crimson eyes, pallid complexion, razor-sharp fangs, and lithe physique.

I wore the very chainmail armor Menewal had gifted me when I reported Wilanster’s death. Known for its resilience against brute-force attacks, the armor had saved me countless times in the past. But against Menewal’s relentless thrusts, the interwoven metal rings offered pitiful protection. Every flash of his blade sent searing pain coursing through my body—not mere needle pricks, but agony far worse. My hatred for this conniving fiend grew with every strike. I couldn’t help but wonder: had he foreseen our confrontation and deliberately given me this decorative shield, knowing it would fail me now?

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