Nico woke with a groan, every ounce of energy drained from yesterday's fiasco. Of all the people in E-Rantel, the three troublemakers had targeted him—the one person determined to avoid entanglements in this world.
"I don't want anything like that happening again," Nico snapped, his voice cutting through the room. "I scolded you last night, and the moment I fell asleep, you three deliberately disobeyed me."
"This is reaching your mother," he added coldly.
"No! Please!" Bela dropped to her knees, genuine terror flashing across her face. "Mother will never let us out again!" Behind her, Cassandra and Daniela's faces paled dramatically.
"Good!" Nico declared, finally asserting his authority. "Last night's disobedience ends now." He'd coddled them too long. Time they recognized him as their Creator, not merely a friend.
Daniela stepped forward, her usually playful demeanor subdued. "Will you send us home?"
"I can't. We're registered here—your sudden disappearance would raise questions," Nico replied, softening slightly before hardening again. "But cross me once more, and I swear I will!"
Bela clutched his lab coat, her grip desperate. "Never again, Creator! We swear it!" Her voice trembled as she spoke for her sisters.
"See that you don't." Nico's form shimmered, lab coat dissolving into the sturdy leather of his adventurer disguise. "Now move. We have quests to complete."
The Adventurer's Guild buzzed with morning activity. Nico spotted Momonga immediately—conversing with other adventurers near the quest board. Perfect.
"Excuse me," Nico tapped a burly blonde man's shoulder. "Are you heading out on a quest?"
The man turned, his smile disarmingly genuine. "Yes, need something?"
'These people make killing difficult,' Nico thought, returning the smile with practiced charm. "Might we join you? My sisters and I—" he gestured to the three women who waved with calculated sweetness.
"Sorry, but with a group this large, the client couldn't possibly pay everyone," the man apologized.
Nico's eyes lit up with feigned eagerness. "Payment doesn't matter! We just started yesterday—barely survived our first quest." The lie flowed smoothly. "We'd value learning from experienced adventurers like yourselves."
The blonde scratched his head, exchanged words with his leader, then returned smiling. "They've agreed."
Nico shot a warning glare at the sisters. "Behave," he hissed, making each sister wince slightly. Then he deliberately collided with Momonga as they ascended to the second floor.
"Oh! You're from yesterday, aren't you?" Nico's performance was flawless—perfect confusion followed by recognition. "I must apologize for my sisters. Flirtatious, yes, but harmless." He directed a pointed stare at the women. "Right, girls?"
The sisters nodded with exaggerated meekness. Nico turned back, offering his hand with a practiced smile. "Nikolaus Dimitrescu. These are Bela, Cassandra, and Daniela."
"Momon," Momonga replied, clasping Nico's hand. "And Nabe." He indicated the severe-looking woman behind him.
"Already acquainted? Excellent!" The leader gestured toward a nearby table. "Let's make proper introductions."
"I lead the Swords of Darkness. Peter Mauk," the silver-plated adventurer began as tankards of ale arrived.
'A team name,' Nico mused. 'What would I call my little band of monsters?'
"Our ranger and eyes—Lukrut Volve." Peter nodded toward a lean man who immediately blew a kiss at Nabe.
Nabe's face contorted in disgust as she deliberately turned away. Nico suppressed a laugh. 'If he tries that with my "sisters," he'll lose more than his dignity.'
"Our healer and druid, Dyne Woodwonder." The burliest man at the table nodded respectfully.
Nico couldn't hide his surprise. "The biggest is your healer?"
Dyne's laugh rumbled like thunder. "Size isn't everything in magic, friend."
"And finally," Peter continued, "our brilliant magic caster, Ninya the Spell Caster."
The youngest member—boyish in appearance but unmistakably female to Nico's experienced eye—bowed slightly. "Just Ninya, please. The nickname is embarrassing."
"Embarrassing? It's a compliment!" Peter protested.
"Ninya is a talent holder," Lukrut interjected proudly.
Momon leaned forward with interest. "A talent holder?"
'Innate abilities unique to this world,' Nico recalled, memories of Yggdrasil flooding back. Before sacrificing his magic caster class for viral abilities, he'd been quite powerful.
"Magic Affinity," Peter explained. "Learns in four years what takes others eight."
"Impressive," Momon remarked genuinely.
Ninya blushed. "The talent merely opened the door. Hard work did the rest." Her humility was refreshing in a world of braggarts.
"Still, you're famous in E-Rantel for it," Peter added.
"Less famous than Master Balear," Ninya deflected skillfully.
"Ah, Nphirea Balear," Dyne nodded knowingly.
Both Nico and Momon straightened almost imperceptibly. "Balear?" Momon inquired.
Peter studied them. "New to E-Rantel, aren't you?"
"Arrived yesterday," Momon confirmed.
'Too similar to my own cover story,' Nico noted. 'Either he's spying on me, or someone's controlling both our narratives.'
"Nphirea Balear is our local pharmacist's grandson," Peter explained. "His talent? Using any magic item regardless of restrictions."
'Fascinating, but hardly threatening,' Nico thought. 'The Virus renders most magic ineffective anyway.'
"Sounds dangerous," Nabe murmured just loud enough for Nico to catch.
"Indeed," Momon whispered back.
Nico feigned concern immediately. "Dangerous? Should we be worried?"
Peter laughed heartily. "Powerful, yes. Dangerous? No. He's a good kid."
Before the conversation could continue, a blowfly landed on the table between them. Peter's hand came down swiftly—but the insect remained unharmed.
'THE UROBOROS WORKED?!' Nico's eyes widened in genuine shock as Cassandra smoothly covered the moment, pretending to crush the fly before walking to the window. Instead of disposing of it, she secretly released it to join the swarm outside.
Peter laughed awkwardly at his failed attempt. "About our job—we're clearing monsters around E-Rantel."
"A hunting expedition?" Momon asked.
"Not officially requested," Peter admitted, "just clearing the southern forest."
Bored with the conversation, Nico discreetly took one of Bela's blowflies. He morphed his finger into a sharp blade beneath the table and attempted to slice the fly—not even a scratch. Next, he transformed the digit into a tiny hammer and crushed down—the insect simply buzzed in annoyance.
"Perfection," Nico whispered, returning the unharmed fly to Bela. "The true Uroboros."
"Will you join us?" Peter was asking Momon.
"We'd be honored," Momon replied with a slight bow. "Since we'll be working together..." To Nico's shock, Momon reached for his helmet clasp. "Perhaps I should show my face."
The helmet came off, revealing the default male character model from Yggdrasil. Nico nearly choked on his drink.
'Is he insane? Anyone from Yggdrasil would recognize that generic face!'
"You must be from the south," Peter remarked thoughtfully. "That facial structure is common there."
"Older than I expected," Lukrut whispered to Ninya, who elbowed him sharply.
"Being foreigners invites scrutiny," Momon explained, replacing his helmet. "Hence the disguise."
A familiar voice pierced Nico's thoughts: "Creator. Thirty-plus refugees outside village walls. Slane Theocracy attack survivors."
"Excuse me," Nico stood abruptly. "Nature calls. My sisters will brief me on the details." He departed swiftly, ducking into a shadowed alley once outside.
"Restrain them all," he commanded through the mental link. "Commoners can't resist our mutations. Begin immediate infection—we need workers."
Deborah moved with ruthless efficiency. Gates opened, J'avos swarmed out, and the Baker family assisted in subduing the terrified refugees. The C-Virus injections took mere minutes—half a jar converting thirty-eight new subjects.
"Workforce expanded to eighty-one," Deborah reported with satisfaction. The newly infected were already being directed to the vast fields surrounding the village, their humanity fading as the virus rewrote their existence.
She turned to return when the unmistakable rhythm of marching feet reached her enhanced senses. In the distance: a hundred Slane Theocracy soldiers approaching in formation, weapons gleaming.
"Creator, Slane Theocracy forces approaching—likely to finish what they started with the villages."
Nico's response was immediate: "Contact Simmons. Engage and neutralize. Kill as needed—they'll serve better as our troops."
Power surged through Deborah's body. Chitinous spider limbs erupted from her back in a spray of fluid. Her muscles coiled with inhuman strength as she launched herself toward the advancing column.
"UMBRELLA CORPORATION CLAIMS THIS TERRITORY!" her voice thundered as she crashed into their midst like a meteor. The impact sent armored bodies flying in all directions, the shockwave flattening the grass in a perfect circle.
Deborah moved like liquid death—a blade-limb skewering three soldiers at once, her human arms snapping necks with casual ease. Blood painted the morning air as she tore through their ranks. Twenty fell in seconds, but fatigue began creeping in.
A deafening roar announced her reinforcement. Simmons' centaur form galloped over the ridge, his massive hooves crushing soldiers beneath them. His bladed tail whipped through the air, impaling five men simultaneously before slamming their bodies into their comrades like grotesque clubs.
The battle—if such one-sided slaughter deserved the name—ended in minutes. Deborah and Simmons stood amid a field of broken bodies, barely winded.
"Creator," Deborah reported through labored breaths, reverting to human form as Simmons did the same. "Threat eliminated. Awaiting instructions for the bodies."
"Moreau, Heisenberg, and Miranda are en route. Return to supervise the village. Well done, both of you."
As Simmons departed, Deborah paused. "Creator, why not deploy the J'avos?"
"Tactical error," Nico explained. "J'avos mutate injured body parts. Hard to harvest crops with blade-arms."
"Of course. Forgive my oversight," Deborah apologized.
"Nothing to forgive. You performed perfectly."
"Deborah Harper?" A smooth voice called from behind. She turned to see a strikingly handsome man approaching, flanked by two others.
"Karl Heisenberg," he introduced himself with a slight bow. "Creator sent us for cleanup." He gestured to his companions. "Mother Miranda and Salvatore Moreau."
"Magnificent work," Heisenberg added, his eyes lingering appreciatively on her. "Those soldiers didn't stand a chance."
Deborah felt unexpected heat rise to her cheeks. "F-Following orders," she stammered before hurrying back toward the village.
"She obviously prefers me," Moreau chuckled after she left.
"In your dreams," Heisenberg growled as Miranda's laughter echoed across the battlefield.
The hundred Slane Theocracy corpses yielded valuable raw material: thirty for Alcina's Moroaicǎ and Samcă creations, thirty-five converted into Moreau's Lycans and Vârcolac, and thirty-five transformed into Heisenberg's various Soldats.
Flames crackled as the adventurers settled around the campfire. Nphirea Balear had hired Momon for an escort mission, insisting on including Nico's group despite his protests that experience alone would suffice.
'Population is our limiting factor,' Nico pondered, watching the Dimitrescu sisters reluctantly eating stew—their punishment for attempting to snack on Lukrut when his back was turned. 'Momonga can simply summon troops. We must convert ours.'
"Why 'Swords of Darkness'?" Momon asked suddenly, breaking Nico's reverie.
"Well—" Lukrut began with a mischievous grin.
"Don't you dare!" Ninya cut him off, face flushing crimson. "A childhood fantasy, nothing more!"
"There's no shame in dreams!" Dyne insisted, his massive hand patting her shoulder.
Peter interceded smoothly. "The name comes from weapons wielded by one of the Thirteen Heroes—the legendary Black Knight's blades."
"The Thirteen Heroes?" Nabe inquired.
Lukrut seized his chance to impress her. "Warriors who saved the world four hundred years ago," he explained, leaning closer to her. "The Black Knight carried four legendary swords."
"Our goal is finding them," Peter added, producing a black dagger from his belt. "Until then, these serve as our symbol."
"Real or replica doesn't matter," Lukrut said, revealing his own dagger. "It represents our brotherhood."
"A surprisingly poetic sentiment from Lukrut," Dyne chuckled.
"Hey!" Lukrut protested amid general laughter. "Is that any way to treat your comrade?"
"We praise you when deserved," Peter teased, the warmth of their friendship palpable in the firelight.
Nico glanced at Momonga, recognizing the bittersweet nostalgia in his posture. Umbrella Corporation had never fostered such camaraderie. Members worked in isolation, interaction limited to mission briefings and occasional celebrations that felt more like corporate functions than friendship.
Within a week of completing their NPCs, members began disappearing one by one. No goodbyes, no explanations—just empty laboratories and abandoned projects.
"I need some air," Nico muttered, rising abruptly. The night air couldn't cool the bitter envy burning in his chest.
He'd created his guild hoping to find connections, people who shared his passion for Resident Evil and would become true friends. Instead, he'd built a sterile corporate hierarchy filled with colleagues who treated each other as resources rather than people.
Watching the Swords of Darkness laugh together by the fire, Nico confronted an uncomfortable truth: in becoming a virus, perhaps he'd lost something more precious than humanity—the capacity for genuine connection.