Chapter 119
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 119
Chapter Title: 12th Floor - Lv. 1350 Demi-Lich Sharkma (2)
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Sharkma felt intrigue before any sense of alarm. That was typical of mages who had clung to life so long they'd chosen undeath instead.
Legends of Exiles had piled up over the ages, and Sharkma had collected most of them.
And he had harbored some expectations.
The Exiles in those legends were unstoppable warriors who wielded unimaginable power.
Of course, legends being what they were, exaggeration had to be factored in.
Even if only half the tales rang true, they were still legendary heroes.
Sharkma liked that idea.
In an era where firearms were commonplace and gunpowder ruled the battlefield, true heroes were in short supply.
Maybe it was just the ravings of a senile lich who could no longer laugh without clacking his teeth together.
He understood the reality, of course. No matter how great a mage, there was no way to triumph alone against an army.
The same went for warriors or spirit callers.
Progress had reduced even the mightiest heroes to mere individuals.
These days, perhaps only a dragon could stand alone against a fleet.
Sharkma himself could handle a few warships, but a full-scale war? He had few options there.
Against such massive forces, he preferred to stay out of the fray.
It wasn't worth the hassle for the payoff.
Once war truly erupted, though, he could roam freely.
His research into Exiles had begun as a way to counter that inconvenience.
Sharkma was an old soul from an age when a single hero could turn the tide of battle—and he had been one of them.
He'd never quite lived up to heroic deeds, but the expectations had thrilled him all the same.
Vast power equated to authority; no nation dared cross him lightly.
Even now, if he wanted something gone, it would be—but he avoided the mess.
A prideful old mage like him craved even greater strength.
Exiles, wielding power that defied natural law, made perfect subjects. The lack of progress in his studies was the real issue.
This Exile party before him now possessed the power to quench that thirst.
Their tactics were exquisitely refined, for one thing.
Reechi shuddered at the thought that this was the first real fight he'd had in decades.
Decades? No—centuries.
Back in the day, he'd barely deign to glance at foes who scurried about with their primitive guns.
No one boasted the honed physique or solid magical might to back it up.
Exiles were a cut above, at least; they knew how to handle their own bodies.
But none were as polished as this party.
First, Reechi probed the techniques they'd mastered. His centuries-accumulated mana made him less a mere mage and more a fusion reactor.
He could afford a standoff if he wanted, pouring his vast reserves into pure defense.
From his perspective, anyway.
To them, it was a desperate struggle.
Their coordination was flawless.
The three closing in could even pierce his mana barriers with ease. Had he still lived, he might have dropped dead the moment they appeared.
But as long as he guarded his heart—the LFV—he was immortal.
Regeneration fueled by mana? With his reserves, it was just another word for undeath.
So Reechi observed their movements at his leisure.
The periodic holy lightning bolts stung a bit, but even that thrill felt fresh.
He'd never seen an Exile carting around relics of that caliber.
Artifacts from a bygone era, beyond even modern tech's reach.
He coveted them fiercely.
I gave up on offense.
The vampire martial artist's firepower was undeniably devastating.
But Reechi's mana reserves rivaled a dragon's by nature.
A lich was an undead crafted solely for capacity.
The forbidden art of ancient mages seeking to escape mortality's limits.
Its skeletal form was incidental; at its core, it was a mana-based lifeform.
You might think magic would work best, then—but pure physical attacks were its real weakness.
Mana overflowed, condensed into a humanoid skeleton.
Any attack I unleashed weakened just from clashing with that sheer volume.
The density gap was too vast for impact.
In game terms, the lich had absurd magic resistance.
Meanwhile, the Girl's and Proboy's strikes effectively shredded the barriers and pierced inside.
But against a named lich, nothing short of hitting the LFV mattered.
Severed or shattered bones realigned in seconds. The skeleton was merely an anchor fixing the lich's soul to reality—not its essence.
So I focused on defense instead.
Sharkma constantly performed hand seals and somatics for his spells.
A voiceless lich's chants were magic in themselves, leaving little room for more.
Thus, gestures. Hands twisting into shapes, now even feet joining in.
Soon, his ribs twitched with magical intent too.
I threw everything into blocking it.
Cut it off before those motions manifested as spells.
The Girl and Proboy couldn't match my precision but nicked a few casts here and there.
Yet Reechi still pulled off skills amid the chaos.
The Girl's sword nearly grazed the LFV once.
A shield flashed into existence.
That wasn't a spell.
No precursors, no rules—just a raw [Skill].
And no mage NPC acquired skills like that naturally. His occasional [Dash] was the same.
Research results, no doubt. I'd never seen Sharkma this refined.
The product of utter neglect?
With the kingdom's interference minimized on this hellishly tough server, NPCs had run wild unchecked.
Veteran Exiles usually manipulated them with intent, creating patterns.
A historically abandoned Sharkma like this was rare.
The old mage, obsessed with self-study and training, had grown far too strong.
Moving his ribs via somatics was a recent experiment, partially substituting for external magic circles.
Tossing it out as bait to test their response brought immense satisfaction.
Of the three pressing close, the vampire martial artist maximized his magical traits with ruthless efficiency.
His base mage specs were incomparable.
Yet activation speed—interference and reaction to mana—was equal, despite the fundamentals gap.
His range was pinpoint narrow, though. So I tested shaking him off.
Short-range teleport, or paired with a skill.
Physical distance? His teammates were too good, the other two physical attackers clinging like glue.
The Girl's speed and precision rivaled the vampire sword master's—impressive for a pure human.
Magical distance? He denied even that briefest blink.
A literal flicker of magic.
Precursors and execution so instantaneous the term felt inadequate.
Yet the vampire martial artist reacted, severing it midway. Not fully blocking, but enough.
Space-time spells turned fatal with the slightest error.
He knew that, interfering just enough to make it lethal.
Sharkma finally admitted he couldn't unleash major spells.
Instead, he'd build from small ones, through will alone.
Thoughts moved at lightspeed. Impossible to match.
Predict instead. Even then, you might not pinpoint it—so smother broadly.
Magic combat was a battle of mental acuity and wits. The old mage's somatics hung empty for a split second.
Not literally, but sensorily.
An attempt to shift mana, but a feint. No spell at the gesture's end.
His direction and motion screamed it.
A minor spell, then. Thought-manifested.
I'd anticipated this moment from the start.
Interfere with surrounding mana all at once.
Before the lich's tsunami-like mana could overrun it.
Limits remained, of course. His flood soon drowned it, tainting everything his color.
But before it fully erupted into blasts, lightning, fire, or frost—
I hijacked it into an explosion first.
And the martial artist's blasts could be directed.
For a split second, Sharkma couldn't grasp what had hit him.
The gap was wide.
Dozens of regenerating mana barriers vanished in a blink—via his own mana.
A magical counterpunch.
Few mages revealed their casts so openly.
Encryption mattered in magic fights: hiding intent until manifestation.
Unrelated to mana capacity, output, or control precision.
Why elite combat mages were rare.
He hadn't expected them to catch even this.
So yes, he'd let his guard down.
But in the flurry of punches and parries, pure magical skill had faltered for an instant.
The vampire had seized his dispersed mana midair, blended with ambient mana, in that one vulnerable moment.
A mere instant. Sharkma could do it too.
But here, now? No guarantees.
Reeling from his own mana counterpunch, Sharkma was defenseless.
In that brief window, his skeletal body fragmented and crumbled.
The two swordsmen knew their roles.
Thrusts lanced toward the Life Force Vessel from both sides.
Mjolnir's lightning hurtled in once more, crackling.
This was no laughing matter.
The gravest annihilation threat of his existence.
Sharkma triggered a [Skill].
At the last second, the ancient relic's bolt grazed the LFV.
The lich vanished amid excruciating agony.
"Damn it, [Blink Dagger]?"
[Blink Dagger] was a skill many Exiles picked up. Tricky in combat, but peerless for escape.
When the hell did he unleash it? Never saw it coming. And he didn't seem the type to prep a rat hole.
This named boss had clearly evolved beyond what I knew.
The Girl and Proboy slumped down.
Proboy's vampire fatigue was mental; the Girl's was pure stamina drain.
Living human limits.
"Whoa, seriously. Thought we were goners. Just like when we first met you, old timer."
"What the hell was that? A monster like that on this planet? We were too busy watching the fairy mafia."
The old man approached sheepishly—the most comfortable position holder, by far.
"Mjolnir's lightning capacity looks half-spent."
"If he recovers and we chase, it'll be rough. Let's do our best for now. Hopefully the Hunter finds those stairs."
The Girl steadied her excitement- and fatigue-trembling hands as she spoke.
"He looked in real pain at the end. Shouldn't we pursue?"
"Probably blinked to a fully safe spot. Mages that level? Once out of sight, no catching them. Anti-magic gear would've helped."
Vampires didn't tire physically. Unlike the Girl, whose mental strain piled onto bodily exhaustion.
Proboy and I decided to move first.
"You conserve stamina."
"Ah, I'm fine."
"Saying that while wobbling? Hop on."
The Girl clambered aboard without protest.
A stamina freak who could [Dash] through the skies was nearly tapped out from that one clash.
Stat advantages meant quick recovery, but the sheer expenditure was monstrous.
"Whew, this won't cut it. More dangerous than my future self warned. From the next floor, we'll just keep summoning the federation fleet via the goddess. Especially floor 15."
"Sounds solid."
The old man agreed.
And I pondered one more variable. With Sharkma around, someone might show via the Temple of Time.
No one but the kid had tapped out yet.
So who?
Someone who could smash that monster...
And the reason they weren't here now...