Dungeon Reconfiguration (3)

A battle between a Class 6 and a Class 5 was often decided in mere minutes.

Even with the playing field leveled by the slow magic, if the opponent had been in perfect condition, Krout wouldn't have lasted long.

The Sword of Light's cutting power eliminated the option of blocking with a weapon.

Whoosh!

The Sword of Light tore through the air, tracing a razor-sharp arc. Krout didn't even consider clashing weapons—he twisted his body away in a desperate dodge.

Slash! Clang!

Krout barely escaped the attack's range, but the side of his armor split open with a rip. Fortunately, only a few chain links gave way.

But he had no time to wipe the sweat dripping from his brow. A little deeper, and it wouldn't have been the chains—it would've cleaved him in two.

Such hair-raising moments had unfolded dozens of times already, but his fellow knights and mercenaries had pulled him through each crisis.

After a few more exchanges, Krout tilted his head in confusion.

'Gaps are starting to appear. Is this a sign of stamina depletion, or some ploy to break the deadlock?'

Unlike his overwhelming momentum at the start, Corbus now showed clear signs of fatigue.

His attack frequency had dropped sharply, and the Sword of Light only manifested when absolutely necessary.

The moment Krout's thoughts grew complicated, Corbus swung at a mercenary who'd been harassing him from the flank.

It was a familiar pattern by now. Krout thrust his sword toward Corbus.

Aiming straight for the enemy's heart.

A probing strike designed to force the opponent to recall his blade from its ally.

This back-and-forth had continued unbroken until now.

When Corbus swung at Krout, the mercenaries swarmed from all sides.

When he targeted one mercenary, Krout countered with a lethal blow.

This delicate balance had held—until this moment.

'What?'

Krout's heart sank.

By now, Corbus should have abandoned the attack and pulled back his sword. Krout had already eased the tension in his arm by half, bracing for the counter.

But Corbus kept thrusting at the mercenary—like a man who'd forsaken his own life.

Krout wasn't the only one stunned.

The targeted mercenary froze in terror as the Sword of Light closed in on him.

In that instant of panic, he hurled himself sideways.

And that's when Krout saw it: a gaping vulnerability between Corbus and Calix.

"No!"

Krout, who'd hesitated for a split second, lunged forward with all his might.

'Block it, please! Just block it!'

Unfortunately, his desperate wish went unheeded.

Corbus extended his left hand backward, deflecting the strike.

Schluck!

With a sickening tear of flesh, Krout's forearm floated into the air.

"Arrrgh! Young master!"

Corbus was the one who'd lost his arm, but the scream tore from Krout's throat.

His lord and Corbus were now close enough to hear each other's breaths. Tears welled up from the agony of failing to protect his liege once more.

Humans often made unpredictable choices, clouded by intellect, experience, personality, or emotions.

Corbus was irritated at Calix for cornering him like this, dulling his judgment.

He prioritized killing Calix—the tactical linchpin—over smashing the slow artifact.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

It simply felt more satisfying.

Meanwhile, as the Sword of Light hurtled toward him at blinding speed, Calix realized his prediction had been wrong.

He'd assumed Corbus's target in this standoff would be the mercenary with the slow artifact.

Rationally, Calix was right.

But he'd mistakenly thought everyone would judge as he did.

Facing death, one artifact flashed in Calix's mind.

'Alcham Bracelet!'

Corbus had already lost his left arm. A half-hearted wound might let Calix chug a potion and survive—unacceptable.

He'd choose a sure kill.

'The surest ways to kill a man: sever the neck or pierce the heart. The former bypasses even the Alcham Bracelet! I need to make him go for the heart!'

Calix gritted his teeth and calmly fired the crossbow he'd been aiming.

Twang!

The steel bolt, fired at point-blank range, targeted Corbus's heart.

"Whelp."

Corbus twisted his body slightly aside.

The bolt's trajectory bent toward the target-locked heart. But simple guidance magic had limits.

It needed a near-right-angle turn to hit—impossible. It grazed closer for a tantalizing moment before veering harmlessly wide.

Corbus dismissed it as futile flailing.

Even Calix's comrades thought so.

But dodging the incoming bolt forced Corbus to turn sideways.

In that stance, he couldn't swing with full power.

Moreover, Calix was backpedaling, creating distance.

Behind him loomed a massive knight charging with eyes ablaze.

No time to reset his footing for a proper swing.

Instinctively, he chose the fastest, surest method.

Gripping the hilt two-handed and extending his arm fully.

Squelch.

The blade pierced Calix's heart.

"Young master? Arrrghhh!"

Krout clutched his head and roared in anguish.

Amid the flood of messages, Calix focused on one spot: the glowing target magic on the enemy's heart.

In that instant, a gray aura coalesced on the dagger in Calix's right hand. Pena Telum, the skill gained with the fragment of divine authority.

With a fatal wound ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠pushing his max level to 62, any foe below that was guaranteed instant death in one strike.

Unblockable fixed damage ignoring defense—a terrifying effect befitting a divine skill.

Calix plunged into Corbus's guard, gray-glowing dagger in hand.

The sensation of the blade burrowing into his own body was utterly revolting.

His dagger seemed magnetized, inexorably drawn to the red mark.

Squelch!

"Guhk!"

Corbus slowly looked ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠down. The gray dagger was embedded precisely in the red mark signifying his heart.

He couldn't comprehend it.

No matter the range, a Class 4 piercing a Class 6's heart was near impossible.

"You know why 6.25 happened?"

"Wh-what bullshit is that?"

"Complacency."

Corbus had stabbed the heart first, assuming Calix was done.

But Calix moved on as if he had no heart at all.

The impossible scene froze Corbus's mind.

So he was late spotting the gray energy gathering on the dagger.

And slow to react even as it pierced his heart.

"I-I stabbed first, how...?"

"No need to worry about that in the afterlife."

Calix twisted the dagger viciously. Coughing, blood sprayed from under Corbus's helmet.

Crunch!

The blade scraping bone tickled his palm. Simultaneously, the light on the sword impaling him faded away.

Calix felt his fading consciousness sharpen slightly. He was still exhausted beyond reason, but closing his eyes now meant certain death.

He desperately clung to one thought.

'To heal in three days... break a dungeon with high-grade potions? Or find a spot with useful spirit herbs?'

But his legs buckled before he could think further. Realizing Calix was alive, Krout rushed over in a panic.

"My lord? A-are you alright?"

"Does this look alright to you?"

"H-how...?"

"Nngh, hurts like hell. Get this off me first."

Calix pointed to Corbus's hand, still gripping the sword's hilt rigidly even in death.

"Gently! Gently, I said!"

"Y-yes, sir!"

The other mercenaries approached, staring like they'd seen a ghost. Calix, impaled yet unscathed, seemed monstrous.

Then Trias muttered.

"Alive with a pierced heart... no way! Alcham Collection!"

That meant a 72-hour limit.

Urgency flashed across Trias's face.

"We—we have to hurry..."

Calix calmed the flustered Trias.

"Focus! Search that bastard's corpse first. Guys like him always hoard life-saving gear—might have a recall scroll."

"Understood."

Trias dashed over and rummaged through the body.

"I-it's here!"

"Good. Odds of survival just went up. And this thing's in the way—cut the sword off."

Krout, who'd been weeping silently, finally clenched his jaw and raised his blade.

A pale light gathered on his raised sword.

"Sword of Light!"

The onlookers gasped.

Deep in a trance, he lowered the blade with excruciating slowness. The sword piercing Calix's chest sheared off like butter.

It was a near-magical feat.

"Ngh, easier to move now... but with a sword shard literally buried in my chest, it's no picnic. Check my pack—there's a freeze spell called Chill Hand. Cast it on this fragment. That'll staunch the bleeding for now."

"My lord..."

He scolded Krout, whose eyes welled up again.

"Get it together. You're supposed to keep your lord from croaking. If I die, I'll haunt you as a ghost—be ready."

"Sniff! Yes, sir!"

"Now, drip mid-grade potion along the groove in the sword into the wound bit by bit. That should ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠keep you from dropping dead from shock."

"I'll drag the high priest by the collar if I have to—I'll save you!"

"Like there's a high priest on the front lines at Poznyu? What nonsense..."

Calix fell silent.

There was.

Someone equal to one.

He'd even met face-to-face recently.

The Hermit of Life.

Edirn Bertua.

That grumpy old coot.

Last time, he'd left empty-handed without a bargaining chip.

But now he had one.

'Perfect—this is a chance to get way stronger!'

Calix grabbed Krout's collar and issued firm orders.

"Don't panic. Do exactly as I say."

"Y-yes, my lord."

"The recall scroll takes us back to Poznyu. You know him, right? Edirn Bertua. Find him."

"Edirn Bertua..."

"Oh, right! If he demands payment for healing, say this."

"What do I say?"

"That you'll pay with your body."

"M-my... body?"

Krout's eyes shook violently.

"Don't get ideas. Just say it—he'll start treatment. Leave the rest to future me."

"Nngh, got it."

He looked like he had a lot to say. But the situation was dire, and the 72-hour clock was ticking.

"Leave it to me."

"Thanks. I'm beat—gonna sleep."

Calix's eyes drifted shut the moment he finished speaking.

Krout's heart plummeted. He pressed his ear to Calix's chest. Faint and slow, but the heart beat on. He exhaled deeply, then carefully lifted Calix.

"We're moving. Monster or man, anything blocking the path..."

A thick killing intent poured from the usually mild-mannered Krout.

"Gets cut down."