Dungeon Reconstruction (1)
Type: Mana Breathing Method
Grade: B-Grade
Features: Treats the entire body like a mana hole.
Restrictions: Must not have learned any other mana breathing method before.
The diary of the slave gladiator Morgan is written here. It's neatly organized with his insights from achieving 12 consecutive wins in the Colosseum. He met his end in the thirteenth battle.
Unfortunately, Calix couldn't learn it.
He had already trained in the mana breathing method passed down through generations of the Szczecin family.
Even if he could only remember traces of it now, without recalling the full training method.
Come to think of it, I need to start practicing a mana breathing method soon if I'm going to reach Class 4... but I can't just ask Russell outright. What should I do?
Just then, Krout approached and reported.
"The sorting is complete."
"Good. Hold on a moment."
Calix set aside his thoughts on mana breathing methods for now and headed to where the artifacts had been neatly organized.
He pulled out his notebook and sorted the spoils according to his companions' abilities and tendencies.
"Now, I'll distribute the spoils to match your traits as best as possible. Even if someone else's looks better, don't be jealous. What you're getting is the artifact that suits you best."
"Ah..."
The knights nodded in understanding, but the mercenaries looked utterly baffled.
No matter how much they'd contributed to clearing the dungeon, there was no obligation—or need—to give them anything beyond their contracted pay.
As they exchanged glances, wary of each other, Trias stepped forward.
"Young master, we..."
But he couldn't finish.
Calix had raised a hand to stop him.
"You did read the contract, right? The commission doesn't end until we return safely to the city."
"That's true, but..."
"What do you think was the reason I bothered shooting that crossbow bolt at the core?"
"...?"
Trias blinked in confusion for a moment before his eyes widened.
"Gasp—dungeon reconstruction!"
Calix nodded.
"Exactly. By now, the labyrinth's structure is probably a total mess. Plus, the main forces of two out of the three major factions had cozied up inside the dungeon together."
"No way...!"
"That 'no way' is spot on. Most of them have probably turned into undead by now."
"Do you know how many people followed us into this dungeon?"
"Who knows... do I need to?"
Trias shivered at the utterly cold tone in Calix's voice.
"Th-they're humans too, with beating hearts and red blood flowing through their veins."
"How laughable. A mercenary who kills for a few coins spouting such sentimental nonsense."
"..."
"At least I gave a fair death to those aiming for my life. Shouldn't you be grateful for that, Captain of the Red Wolf Mercenary Corps?"
Trias's eyes nearly bulged out of his head.
The moment his hand touched his sword hilt—
Clang!
Krout and the four escort knights surrounded the mercenaries, swords drawn.
A tense standoff.
Trias ignored the blade at his throat.
He stared straight at Calix and demanded,
"How did you know?"
It was natural he wouldn't understand.
Calix had only needed to look.
Name: Trias
Age: 38
Status: Commoner
Affiliation: Red Wolf Mercenary Corps
Position: Captain
Tendency: Cautious Principled Individual
Condition: Normal
Combat Power:Class 5 (Lv.51 / Lv.72)
Reputation: ★★☆☆☆☆☆
Reputation Score: 62
Administration: F | Finance: F | Military: B | Diplomacy: E | Development: E
No point wasting time explaining something Trias wouldn't believe anyway.
"I'll generously overlook you hiding your identity to take the commission. But the job isn't done yet. In fact, the dangerous part is just beginning. I'd appreciate your full focus."
"...Understood."
Trias gritted his teeth.
But now wasn't the time or place to press further.
Reluctantly, he sheathed his sword, and his men followed suit.
"Everyone, listen up!"
"Yes, Captain!"
"Equip the artifacts the young master distributed and master them as fast as you can. The more familiar you get, the less blood your comrades will spill."
"Yes!"
After issuing the order, Trias glanced at Calix. He was sitting in a corner of the reward room, reading a book they'd found there.
Dungeon reconstruction.
In his life-threatening situation, it was undoubtedly the best choice for breaking through with minimal losses.
But massacring hundreds without batting an eye? Trias couldn't easily accept it.
Nobles are all the same...!
Then Calix tossed the book he'd been reading right at him.
"What's this?"
"Can't you tell? It's a mana breathing method."
Trias's pupils shook violently.
"Why give this to me...?"
"Have you ever learned a mana breathing method?"
"...No."
"Then learn it. It's pretty damn good."
"That's not what I'm asking—why me?!"
"Trias, like I said, the commission isn't over. Boost your power however you can. If you want, make it your mercenary corps' signature method."
One could reach Class 4 just by swinging a sword consistently without any breathing method, building mana throughout the body.
But no further.
To hit Class 5, you needed to infuse mana into weapons—and that required a mana breathing method.
That was why most mercenaries stalled at Class 4.
Plus, in the knightly kingdom of Lock, mana breathing methods were the key to rising in status.
They were strictly controlled, with prices beyond imagination.
Something a mere mercenary couldn't even dream of.
That was a mana breathing method.
Trias couldn't fathom why Calix tossed such a treasure at him so casually.
"Why... why?!"
"You think my actions are unpredictable? Simple. I'm just doing my best to survive."
"We're not in immediate danger right now, are we?"
"Heh, that depends on your perspective. Think of it as a bribe if you like. With your competitors wiped out, you're now the head of Poznyu's strongest faction."
"I could just take it and pretend I don't know anything."
"That's why I prepared a second gift."
By now, everyone in the reward room had perked up their ears, hanging on Calix and Trias's conversation.
"Trias, the second gift connects you and Madam Hari."
Trias choked on his own saliva.
"Cough! Hack—hack—hack!"
The others struggled to stifle their laughter, swords trembling.
"Ahem!"
"Khmm!"
Face flushed red, Trias bellowed,
"What nonsense is this?!"
"You like her, don't you?"
"!!"
"Come on, the way you grilled me about how I knew the salon? And ever since this expedition started, you couldn't take your eyes off her. That wasn't a one- or two-day crush vibe. Right?"
"H-how... n-no! Argh!"
Clang! Scraaape!
His reflexive swing was blocked by Krout's sword.
Sparks flew, the grinding metal grating on their ears.
"Whoa, whoa, calm down. I'm just trying to help. Look at my face—born for romance, aren't I?"
"Grr!"
Surprisingly, Calix's words carried massive persuasive power.
His body was frail and underrated, but his looks were heavenly.
Calix narrowed his eyes slyly.
"Don't you want to win her heart?"
"Gasp!"
It wasn't just the torchlight making his face glow red.
Calix stepped right up to Trias without hesitation.
And whispered,
"I've got a good method. Wanna hear it?"
"...Fine, I'll hear what bullshit you're spouting."
There was a reason Calix brought up the crush out of nowhere.
He'd remembered it from Trias's status window.
Trias.
Captain of the Red Wolf Mercenary Corps, destined to rule Poznyu in the future.
Famous as a devoted family man, even becoming Celestina Yurin’s godfather.
That let Calix vaguely infer Trias ended up with Madam Hari.
Of course, this incident had twisted the future massively.
Those who chased Calix into the dungeon were mostly dead, catapulting the Red Wolf Mercenary Corps—one of Poznyu's three major powers—straight to the top.
Meaning Captain Trias's value had skyrocketed.
For Calix, who would need Poznyu's power in the future, maintaining a cordial tie with Trias was essential.
"Let's settle things here first, then talk seriously."
"Why stop now?"
"Don't rush. That's why women don't like you."
"What?! Do you know how many women adore me?"
"Besides the bar wenches pouring drinks and selling their bodies, who?"
"..."
Trias shut his mouth, hit right in the gut.
In truth, serious women rarely fell for mercenaries who could die any day.
This was the Eren Continent—without a man to protect you and your kids, survival itself was threatened.
Calix patted Trias's slumped shoulder.
"Don't fret too much. Train hard with that mana breathing method, hit Class 5, rise in status. Then Madam Hari might see you in a new light. Think about it: a noble with guaranteed lineage and tax rights versus a mercenary who might die fighting monsters any day?"
"W-well, yeah."
"So... shouldn't you play nice with me?"
"Ahem! Understood, Young Master Calix... sir."
A few hours earlier, the moment Calix's crossbow bolt struck the dungeon core.
Chaos erupted outside the lair.
Kiiiing—
A brain-rattling shockwave slammed into the two mercenary corps chasing Calix.
"Gahk!"
"Ngh!"
Before the mercenaries could recover, the ground began to quake.
Rumble rumble ruuuumble.
"Wh-what the...!"
Even Omar of the Iron Shield Mercenary Corps and Walter of the Black Wing Mercenary Corps hadn't realized this was dungeon reconstruction triggered by tampering with the core.
Messing with a dungeon core alters the labyrinth's layout and seals the exits.
They knew that common knowledge.
But it required slaying the ultra-powerful monster called the dungeon guardian.
A feat demanding a party of Class 7+ elites risking their lives.
For continent-top-100 powerhouses like them, forming a party just to hunt a monster was unthinkable.
They only seriously delved ruins after the great war.
So the odds of core destruction weren't zero—but damn close.
No one worried about it.
They dismissed it as impossible, so even as it happened before their eyes, they couldn't comprehend.
As they stood dumbfounded, the dungeon passages writhed like serpents.
"Watch out!"
"Th-the cave is moving!"
"Aaaagh!"
CRASH!
One side of the dungeon collapsed with a roar.
Several mercenaries vanished under the landslide.
It was no different from a massive earthquake.
No matter their prowess, they were powerless against a subterranean disaster.
Darkness surged as torches snuffed out, amplifying human terror.
Finally, a few panicked mercenaries swung wildly and bolted.
"Get out of the way! Move!"
"Argh!"
He mercilessly slashed comrades to charge ahead—then spotted a gleam in the pitch black.
Splat!
His head exploded into shards.
Walter shook blood and brains off his flail and bellowed,
"Calm down and cast light spells first!"
Pop!
Pop pop!
Light orbs floated up here and there.
Walter squinted against the sudden glare and surveyed slowly.
It was a mess.
Many dead or injured, terrain reshaped, plenty missing.
His hundred-plus subordinates had dwindled to fewer than twenty at his side.
Not all dead, but splintered into groups of ten or twenty? Survival odds plummeted.
"Fuck!"
Walter spat a weary curse.