Chapter 102
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 102
Chapter Title: 10th Floor - Lv. 1050 Ancient Heroes (2)
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The two spiritist fairies, clearly on the brink of death, were forcing their eyes open even in that state to catch a glimpse of Sylphid.
Even though their consciousness had faded, it seemed their eyes had opened automatically due to the summoning of the Spirit King.
Despite straining desperately to keep their eyes open properly, they were on the verge of blacking out from sheer exhaustion—an utterly ridiculous sight—so I tossed them potions first.
It would be a problem if everyone suffocated, so I formed an air dome all the way to where the surrounding fairies were positioned.
I couldn't dissipate the heat, but as Cryogen shook out her hand, the temperature quickly returned to normal.
I didn't sweat, but plenty of fairies were drenched.
Everyone's complexions visibly eased.
Whether they were [Hero Units] or not, most lacked environmental immunity skills.
They had to rely on stamina to endure it, but there was no way fairies had better stamina than Greenskins.
It wasn't sustainable long-term, but since it resolved in time, there was no issue.
The high-pressure air bullet that Sylphid had first unleashed was no longer something that could be called air.
Compression generates far more heat than one might imagine.
The ultra-high-pressure air sphere conjured by the Wind Spirit King produced a temperature incomparable to the one from the underground ruin's magic circle going berserk.
Even ordinary atmosphere, if heated excessively, surpasses the gaseous state.
A blindingly radiant sphere, shining like the sun.
It was plasma.
The amusing part was that it ceased to be wind at all.
It had to be fired quickly before it slipped the Spirit King's control.
Greenskin warriors supporting the retreat charged in.
A few shamans tried to interfere with the Spirit King's manifestation.
Naturally, it didn't work.
Spirits are the elements themselves. Their bodies can't be hijacked by others.
Instead, interference began targeting me anew—a ploy to wrest control of the Spirit King away.
That wouldn't happen either. The shamans weren't expecting it to succeed.
It was a desperate last stand, attempted solely in the hope of delaying my attack even slightly.
At this point, I even started feeling like the villain.
Of course, nothing of the sort existed. In the Labyrinth, few concepts were as hollow as "evil." Everyone simply moved for their own survival and gain.
The Greenskin warriors fought for their personal honor, and for their juniors and comrades.
The warriors struck by the initial plasma blast had all evaporated. But there were plenty of Greenskins.
In a sealed underground space, air itself was a resource. Commanding wind spirits turned it into ammunition.
Even excluding those blown away in a single hit, numerous warriors moved to block from the flanks.
Half held their ground, while the other half bolted for the entrance.
The God of War had calculated precisely.
Even with Sylphid's appearance due to the air shortage, it couldn't sweep them away like before.
No Spirit King could manufacture nonexistent elements.
Spirit Kings were part of nature, not its creator.
As the God of War anticipated, more than half the forces would survive and escape outside.
And there was likely a massive army stationed out there.
Greenskins didn't scheme any more elaborately than that. They were the sort to call even a retreat a "rear assault."
But if the God of War had miscalculated anything, it was that few Exiles were as obsessed with efficiency as I was.
The two shamans didn't witness the end of the great warrior Arak.
Even for shamans as skilled as they were, the vacuum state wasn't a comfortable environment.
With the atmosphere gone, heat conduction had ceased, but now they couldn't breathe.
No magic could create something from nothing. If it could, they'd call it a god, not a mage.
The God of War had bestowed wide-area divine power.
The bodies of the Greenskins executing their rear assault in the underground maze grew even sturdier, their stamina enhanced.
Their bodies now demanded less oxygen.
Unable to speak, they gestured while running. They could have used magic to communicate, but the situation didn't allow for it.
The junior wore a heartbroken expression.
The senior Great Shaman shook his head. Grimacing, he vigorously moved his thick green fingers.
A rough gesture, as if saying, Don't think this is over. After this, are you even an orc?
The junior straightened his expression. This time, it wasn't rigid military discipline.
But when terrifying mana began emanating from behind them soon after, both their faces filled with a sense of crisis.
The senior whirled around and deployed a barrier. The junior halted mid-stride.
The senior shook his head. His thumb pointed backward.
The junior drooped his head.
The senior satisfactorily reinforced the barrier.
But soon, someone stood beside him. Mana flowed, erecting a wall.
The senior, about to berate his disobedient junior, froze.
A ho-ho white-haired elder—rare for an orc—extended his staff forward.
He tapped the senior's shoulder.
"Don't act old. Youngster."
The Great Shaman flinched at the brief flow of mana constructed to convey that single phrase. It was on another level entirely.
This was a hero from a thousand years ago.
The incoming superheated air slammed into the mana barrier.
The shaman hero blocked the strike with ease.
The barrier shook as a whole, but there was no greater damage than stone dust pattering down from the ceiling.
"The fairies must save their king. They won't collapse this maze. Get out quick."
The senior bowed his head slightly and ran. As Great Shaman of the Emperor's Guard, he rarely bowed to others.
But it was different if it was a shaman whose name he recognized.
Shamans received at least basic history education.
That one was...
The one guy I hoped wouldn't wake up had awakened.
Kalgrim, the all-time greatest shaman perpetually listed in this underground maze.
A great shaman whom even our old man could treat like a child.
Right now, with the fairy king couple's time still frozen solid, there was no way to counter him.
Contracting the Spirit King had been a stroke of genius.
Kalgrim would be wary of the Spirit King radiating such an intense presence, leaving me free to execute my original plan.
Sylphid's maintenance time: roughly 10 seconds. About 5 seconds had passed so far. Half remained.
That was the time spent mapping the maze's structure by manipulating the wind.
I hadn't even begun attacking.
The wind was about to start blowing.
The underground ruin was a strictly sealed prison of sorts.
A location slightly offset from the snowy entrance.
A narrow entrance with a single, interminably long staircase.
Deep underground below lay warriors from tales not even passed down orally.
Even Greenskins had their sensitivities.
One ogre guarding near the entrance pondered what those sleeping heroes below might be like.
Of course, he even thought about clashing with them once.
His keen interest in the underground made him the first to detect the sudden ground tremors emanating from it.
The ogre shouted.
It was a battlefield under their god's watchful eye.
Nothing could be neglected.
The commander rushed out—the guard captain. The orc warrior's perpetual stoic, stern expression commanded enough dignity to make even ogres flinch.
Shamans gathered. They couldn't compare to the heroes underground, but they were among the strongest of the current generation.
The shamans' faces turned ashen upon hearing the earth's rumble.
Right on cue, the God of War bellowed.
「Stay away! Get as far from that staircase as possible!」
This was something even he, as a god, hadn't foreseen.
There was no intention of getting buried alive by collapsing the already weakened underground maze.
The air was scarce to begin with.
The activation time would be short.
It wasn't a pre-prepared, large-scale Spirit King summon.
So he'd assumed they could evacuate the rest of the forces and the [Hero Units] with just some sacrifices.
He hadn't imagined the target wasn't them from the start.
The staircase collapsed.
Or rather, it expanded.
A ferocious storm surged upward, hurling the staircase's stonework sky-high.
Nearby ogres—even trolls—experienced their bodies momentarily lifting off the ground.
And then, a silvery, radiant dragon appeared.
Its size was diminutive. At most, it could fit in a troll's palm.
All young animals retain their cuteness.
One troll, floating midair, blankly reached out toward the seemingly harmless little dragon.
Not to devour it—just genuinely to touch it.
A slight breeze, like a gentle gust, blew.
The troll cleaved in half.
The others all began to flee. Even the shamans abandoned resistance.
Their god was announcing exactly what it was.
A Great Spirit alone was a disaster. A Spirit King was a natural calamity.
A storm plunged from the skies. The shamans, straining to defend, sensed something amiss.
It was scorching hot.
The shamans, who had prepared only for physical defense, suffered intense thermal damage from the fire element.
A few had already been roasted to death. An ogre collapsed after inhaling wrongly.
Some trolls clutched their throats, lungs scorched, awaiting regeneration.
But that was merely the beginning.
Air from every direction began getting sucked toward the little dragon at the center.
The already superheated air compressed even further.
The dragon shaped them into beads one by one, spitting them out like bombs in all directions.
With the center turning into a vacuum, the influx of surrounding air whipped up a gale across the area.
The Greenskin army was utterly thrown into panic.
Fierce winds were manageable.
But those gathering air orbs looked far from ordinary.
Without a word from their god, they all simultaneously launched a rear assault.
Yet the orbs pursued relentlessly. No one could fault the warriors scattering every which way.
Failing to flee those blazing, terrifying spheres wasn't courage—it was foolhardiness.
The warriors' duty now was survival, not combat.
One must live to fight.
Exactly 5 more seconds passed, and all the spheres detonated simultaneously.
The last thing in my sight was a cluster of small mushroom clouds blooming uniformly.
With that, Sylphid returned to the spirit realm.
I vomited blood.
As a vampire, I didn't die, but I'd overexerted myself tremendously.
The [Blood Spring] had been depleted massively. Thank goodness for being an undying vampire.
The two fairies, now fully recovered thanks to the Healing Potions, perked up their ears in admiration.
"This isn't a mana operation issue."
"The very concept is just too out there?"
Both faced each other, eyes gleaming.
Then they whipped their heads around.
"How'd you do it? Teach me!"
"You said you'd introduce me to the Spirit King! Baby dragon form is adorable! Can I have it?"
Hmm, probably no time for that, but I'd bluff for now. I did plan a serious discussion on spirits next time we met. Learning truly knew no bounds.
"We won't have time until we clean up here and head up."
Cleanup was necessary. Because no one had anticipated I'd attack the surface.
The God of War had stationed heroes capable of handling a Spirit King underground.
The firepower meant for them had instead laid waste to the upper levels.
And right on cue, they arrived.
One ho-ho white-haired old orc shaman, looking even more ancient than our old man—like he could drop dead any second.
One black troll with an uncharacteristically solemn, serious expression. He suited the title of knight far better than warrior.
Finally, a bald ogre boasting sleek abs in place of the usual ogre gut.
From my gaming days, these were top-tier named Greenskins by threat level.
Now I could identify their names, combat styles, and skillsets just from their faces.
But I had no intention of facing them head-on.
Our old man groaned and toppled over.
At last, Fairy King Oberon and his wife Titania regained their vivid colors.
Petal fairies—an upper race with extreme specialization across all magic classes, considered on par with angels and demons—were cheat-tier.
And naturally, the fairy king couple were legendary named petal fairies in continental history.
Now they'd handle things. Time for us to move to the next floor.
I'd swept the surface precisely because I planned to dump this mess on them.
The Fairy King opened his eyes.
He sensed the other fairies watching him.
A smile bloomed on his handsome, manly face that surpassed any sculpture.
A sweet voice slipped out.
"Fairies..."
Suddenly, his gaze turned to me.
"No, we won."
[Nature's God affirms Oberon's words with satisfaction.]