Chapter 110
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 110
Chapter Title: 12th Floor - Lv. 355 Straggler Clans (1)
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The future can change over the smallest things.
But if every tiny detail truly altered the future, the Labyrinth would just be a place that rolled along on pure dumb luck.
In this medieval fantasy world we call the "present," it's entirely up to the [Hero Units] to flip the "future" on its head.
[Hero Units] are the triggers. In truth, Exiles can't directly change history themselves.
The ones who directly reshape the history of a single Labyrinth server—a single continent—are the specially classified NPCs known as [Hero Units].
They can't pass through the stairs.
They can't travel with Exiles or head to kingdoms.
Instead, they have the authority to intervene in history.
Any rewriting of history to an Exile's taste happens entirely through these [Hero Units].
There are stories tied to fixed [Hero Units] like the [Betrayed Saintess].
And there are [Hero Units] that emerge purely from random chance.
Exiles' actions influence them directly or indirectly, and that's how history shifts.
Of course, that doesn't change the fact that it's still a luck-dependent shitshow at heart.
[Hero Unit] status is granted only to NPCs with a certain level of influence, no matter what.
To have that kind of sway, they have to be strong to begin with.
But sometimes, some no-name pushes their luck, grows like wildfire, and ends up becoming a [Hero Unit].
Cases like that are definitely outside the design parameters.
And the goddess had informed me.
According to the records she'd accessed on her followers, Barbaroi had become a [Hero Unit].
This was an incredibly rare occurrence. Barbaroi's personality made him the type to settle down somewhere. He wasn't an ambitious named NPC—just one of countless background named ones.
He was somewhat famous solely due to his fearsome personal combat prowess.
But then the Gobletaria Federation formed with him at its core, turning him into a [Hero Unit].
And he'd no doubt reshaped countless histories as a result.
Forcing a [Hero Unit] into existence artificially is incredibly difficult.
Once things start going right even once, it snowballs out of control.
The info my future self passed along was vague at best—just a rough outline of what kind of floors would appear.
The broad structure might be fixed, but everything else was variable.
Even that was more than enough, though.
From what I'd heard directly, the Alliance was already riddled with major internal fractures.
The God of Discipline wasn't exactly a merciful deity.
His discipline revolved around money.
The very incarnation of profit and the undead of greed.
For a throne like that to stir up divisions as needed was par for the course. What mattered was the profit of the faithful and the church—not the survival of any one nation.
Of course, the Alliance wasn't weak. It sponsored small surrounding nations and communities, binding them together under the Alliance banner.
The Federation did the same. It was something empires swollen with racial pride would never stoop to.
And those fringe nations often included some real cesspits.
Places outright run by criminal syndicates or ones that had started out that way were common.
Most were lawless zones beyond any central oversight.
Planets that were slums in their entirety, breeding grounds for massive crime.
But on the flip side, if you had the strength to protect yourself and a willingness to deal, you could get almost anything there.
First, though, you had to prove you were worth letting live.
Our party spilled out into a dingy, rundown alley like the space itself had spat us out.
The Girl scooped up the tottering little mage and the kid under her arms for a safe landing.
The dark back alley felt like the dead of night.
The gang members who'd been on the verge of a shootout stared wide-eyed at our sudden arrival.
And they all barked in unison.
"What the hell are you lot?!"
Suddenly, the two-gang turf war was turning into a three-way brawl.
I started by sending out my bats to gauge reactions.
The thugs surrounding us in formation yelled at the sight of the fluttering bats.
"Vampires!"
"Damn it all! Which clan?!"
The goddess had told me not everyone in the Federation worshipped the God of Chaos.
The Federation was a patchwork of nations from the start, so naturally, aside from the core goblins, vampires, and undead, others could be members too.
Goblins or vampires who didn't serve the goddess could still eke out a life on the Federation's fringes.
Criminals pop up everywhere, and those types drift from place to place.
And most vampires like that...
Would be the ones who'd driven out the Barbaroi Clan back in the day.
Clan master level? High chance the same guy was still kicking.
As tech advanced, vampires' footing crumbled. The supernatural powers that made them superhuman lost their edge bit by bit.
Powerless vampires got shoved to the periphery.
Now, every one of them was a straggler clan.
Maybe everyone except my own clan.
Whether they wanted it or not, time marches on.
The bats flew in and detonated.
Compared to the proper troops on the 11th floor, these guys were pathetically weak. The ones grimacing and aiming guns toppled over like dominoes.
The maknae, Hunter, and old man—who all knew their roles cold—strode forward without a care.
The maknae's shield was a dented mess, screaming that its durability was shot.
But those dents were scars from countless physical and magical blows.
Traces of battles so fierce they were rare even in places like this.
And the rifle.
Even if they couldn't ID it at a glance, flashing it this openly would catch eyes.
Then the orc with tree-trunk arms proudly showed off his razor-sharp axe blade.
And the grizzled middle-aged human casually shouldered an Alliance-standard plasma rifle like it was nothing.
Thugs live by posturing in any era. But show overwhelming power at first sight, and they fold.
The maknae scanned left and right, then approached one group.
Like it or not, the maknae's looks were brutal.
Perfect fit for a back alley.
As he closed in on one side, the other group took the hint and bolted.
They must've figured we were bad news not to tangle with.
They act tough with no escape, but actually living that way gets you killed quick.
Surprisingly, gang grunts are cowards at heart.
But raise your hands and surrender fully, and you won't survive dives like this either.
"Goddamn it! Take 'em out!"
The punks pulled their weapons. Guns too. Nothing impressive.
The Girl charged.
A gust of wind kicked up.
Three minutes of spectating later, the thoroughly beaten thugs knelt in a row before me.
Meek as lambs. Like elementary kids called out by the teacher.
"Where's this?"
"Ruble Planet, sir."
"And where's that?"
The burly, bearded rep hesitated a moment.
"Alliance outskirts, B-2764 designated artificial planet."
Artificial planet?
I glanced around. Yeah, it did feel a bit off.
Mashed-up asteroids via magic, probably.
Back in the day, it'd be like land reclamation on steroids.
The Alliance really was top dog in tech.
"Good. Any decent places to crash?"
The beard's face fell.
* * *
The key intel my future self had given on the 12th floor boiled down to three things.
We were heading to a vampire-run planet.
A fringe slum world.
And there were dwarves.
The beard nursed his grudge but didn't pull anything shady.
There was a dingy tavern doubling as an inn.
He guided us, then scurried off like his tail was on fire.
Chatting with the barkeep and patrons confirmed it: this was one of the vampire-held spots with zero ties to Chaos worship.
Share a drink while hiding that you're a vampire, and tongues loosen easy.
Booze hounds can't keep a secret.
The owner didn't bat an eye at whatever I was up to or the orc in our crew.
Lawless zone taverns gonna tavern.
This planet was that kind of place.
Not just vampires; Alliance turf on paper, but a hands-off free-for-all.
A melting pot of riffraff from every nation.
The end of the line for folks stirring trouble everywhere else.
The goddess mused wistfully.
「I always think it, but this place is so much like the divine thrones. The Exiles' endgame, I mean.」
"The thrones have gotta be way better, right? Don't breathe a word about me being here to the Federation, yeah?"
「Got it. If word gets out there's a great warrior here, they'll warp in another grand fleet.」
This was Alliance territory for now. Couldn't kick off a war with them on top of everything.
The God of Discipline was iffy, but better than the nakedly hostile God of War. Common enemies first. No splitting forces.
I let the crew crash at the rundown inn while I waited quietly.
The kid fiddled with spells alone, amusing herself.
The old man, brimming with energy, sharpened his axe blade and polished Mjolnir before launching into a lecture on shamanic views of mana usage for the kid.
She made no secret of hating it but pretended to listen for now.
Oblivious, the old man ranted passionately about shamanism.
The others sprawled out for a quick nap. The Girl claimed she didn't need it and seemed fine, but rest anyway.
Mental fatigue's a beast of its own.
She's handling a ton in the party now. Key fighters' condition is non-negotiable.
No need to wait for night.
This artificial planet was perpetual night.
Because it didn't orbit a star—it was fixed in place by magic.
Artificial planets were byproducts of common artificial sun experiments.
A chunk of land too light to ignite as a star, pinned motionless by spells.
A presence stirred outside. Not gut instinct—magic.
A martial mage's mix of fighter and caster meant killer close-range detection.
I stepped out first. A guy wrapped head to toe in a hooded cloak stood there, asking the barkeep where we were staying.
"That's me you're looking for."
The barkeep, who'd played dumb, went right back to work like nothing happened once I showed.
Minding your own business is key.
Even if some bigshot vampire shows up asking.
The vampire eyed me, then spoke arrogantly.
"Heard a new vampire face showed up. And an anvil plus a Healing Spring popped on-planet."
Population density ain't high in medieval fantasy days.
By the future, Exiles weren't mysterious anymore.
Well, mysterious, sure—but just unsolved puzzles.
Exiles showing up spawns stairs and Healing Springs? Common knowledge by now.
"Wanna avoid getting nabbed and experimented on? Work for us awhile. Help with our jobs, and we'll get you to the stairs."
He said it all casual, zero doubt I'd refuse.
Probably a solid-sized clan.
So naturally...
"Sure, appreciate it. What's the gig? If it's human experiments or potion mule duty, we'll resist hard."
He nodded like it was obvious.
"Plenty want that—fairy mafia types. We're downright gentle by comparison."
Talk wrapped quick. Told him the crew weren't vamps and needed rest time; he bought it easy.
Rendezvous in six hours.
He ordered a drink all natural-like and sipped away.
Standing guard in case other punks sniffed around.
Reinforcements trickled in too.
Sudden vampire swarm cleared the patrons out quick and quiet.
Barkeep didn't flinch at them but sighed at the empties.
I chuckled and flicked a gold coin his way—first in ages.
"Hm?"
Question flickered on his stone face.
"Treat the vampire sirs to fresh blood shots. On me."
He checked the coin. Real deal. Pure medieval gold.
As he scowled and counted change, I waved it off.
"Tip."
He nodded once, then hustled tables for orders.
I ordered too.
"Fairy blood, RH- ES type for me."
The first guy who'd propositioned me smirked.
"Not a human vamp, huh? Fairy blood? Pervert."
"Got that sharp zing."
"I'd take mint choco over that."
Huh. Mint chocolate was still a hot debate this era too.