Building a Harem in a Noble House

Chapter 113: Wendigo Mother

Meredith’s boots echoed softly against the uneven stone floor of the cavernous dungeon as she pressed forward, her claymore drawn and ready at her side. The air was thick with the metallic tang of blood and the lingering rot that seemed to seep from every crack in the walls. Lloyd had been taken, snatched away by that monstrous shadow in the birthing chamber, and the thought fueled her steps, turning worry into a sharp focus. She trusted the environment here, the subtle signs that Lloyd had taught her to read: the scuff marks on the ground from hasty retreats, the faint drips of goblin blood leading deeper into the tunnels.

The goblins scattered before her like vermin fleeing a flame. She made short work of them, her movements precise and calculated. One lunged from a side passage, its jagged knife glinting in the torchlight lighting them. Meredith sidestepped with the grace of someone who had faced far worse, her free hand glowing faintly as she invoked a quick Sacred Flame. The divine fire licked at the creature’s face, eliciting a shrill scream before her claymore descended in a clean arc, severing its head from its shoulders. Another pair skittered out from behind a stalagmite, clubs raised high. She channeled her War Domain’s fury, her blade humming with radiant energy as she swung low, catching the first in the legs and toppling it. The second met her pommel to the jaw, stunning it long enough for a follow-up thrust through the chest.

Deeper she went, the tunnel narrowing into a labyrinth of twists and turns. The environment whispered its secrets: clusters of fungi trampled underfoot, indicating recent passage; the acrid scent of sweat hanging in the air. She dispatched three more goblins in quick succession. One impaled on her point after a clumsy charge, another blasted back by a Guiding Bolt that left it smoldering against the ceiling. The third tried to flee, but she was faster, her boot pinning its ragged cloak as her sword ended its pathetic squeals.

The cavern opened slightly, revealing a wider chamber where the walls glistened with moisture. Here, a group of fleeing goblins halted abruptly, turning to face her with wide, pleading eyes. There were five of them, huddled together, their scrawny forms trembling.

"Please, mighty warrior!" one squeaked in broken speech, its voice high and whiny. "Lead us to safety! The Mother... she comes! Protect us!"

Meredith lowered her claymore slightly, assessing them. They looked harmless enough–ragged clothes, no visible weapons–but something felt off. She trusted the environment, and it told her to be wary: the way their hands twitched behind their backs, the subtle shifts in their stances as if waiting for her to turn.

"Safety?" she replied, her tone measured and authoritative. "From what peril do you flee, creatures of the dark? Speak true, and perhaps mercy shall find you."

The lead goblin bobbed its head eagerly. "From the Wendigo Mother! She devours all! You strong. Go first, show path! We follow!"

It was a trap, she realized, plain as day. As she feigned agreement and stepped forward, they revealed their intent: knives and clubs yanked from hiding, a coordinated lunge to surround her. Meredith was ready. Her claymore swept in a wide arc, catching two mid-stride and sending them crumpling in sprays of blood. The third slashed at her leg, but her greaves turned the blade, and she countered with a radiant-infused pommel strike that caved in its skull. The fourth tried to circle behind; she pivoted, her free hand unleashing Thunderous Rebuke, the sonic wave slamming it against the wall with a crack of bone.

Only one remained, cowering against the stone, its weapon dropped in terror. Meredith advanced, the tip of her sword hovering at its throat.

"You will lead me to this ’Wendigo Mother’" she commanded, her voice steady and unyielding. "Betray me again, and no plea shall spare you from my wrath."

The goblin whimpered, nodding frantically. "Y-yes! I show! No trick! Promise"’

She bound its hands with a strip of cloth torn from a fallen comrade’s rags, keeping it close as it scurried ahead. The tunnel sloped downward, the air growing colder and heavier, laced with an unnatural chill that raised the hairs on her neck. Meredith’s senses remained sharp, trusting the environment’s cues: the increasing number of discarded weapons, the faint chants echoing from afar. The goblin led her to a narrow ledge overlooking a chasm, where the floor suddenly gave way beneath a pressure plate, spikes jutting from the walls in a deadly embrace.

But she had seen the uneven stone, the telltale dust pattern. With a swift motion, she yanked the goblin back by its bindings, leaping aside as the trap sprung harmlessly into empty air. Stones tumbled into the depths below, and the goblin squealed in panic. Meredith hauled it up, her grip ironclad.

"A poor choice," she said coolly.

"N-no!" the goblin protested. "Not trick! Password! Have to activate. Tunnel only open when activated!"

Indeed, it veered into a side passage which hadn’t been there mere moments ago. The path widened gradually, the walls smoothing as if carved by intent rather than nature. Meredith followed, summoning a weak flame that cast long shadows that danced like specters. The goblin’s pace quickened, muttering prayers to who she could only assume was this ’Wendigo Mother’, but she kept it leashed, her resolve unshakeable.

At last, they emerged into a creepy-looking, almost ritualistic open area. It was a vast chamber with jagged pillars forming a crude circle, the floor etched with glowing runes that pulsed like veins. Torches flickered in iron sconces, illuminating altars strewn with bones and trinkets. At the center stood the Wendigo Mother, a figure both alluring and terrifying. She was dressed like a cult leader: flowing robes of deep crimson, adorned with antlered headdresses and symbols of eyes that matched those branded on the goblins. Her hair cascaded wildly, her eyes gleamed with manic fervor, and she gestured with elongated nails, speaking in a voice that echoed with insane conviction.

It was Lyra! Lloyd’s partner,but transformed, playing the part so convincingly that Meredith’s hand tightened on her hilt.