Chapter 12
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 12
Chapter Title: Floor 2 - Lv.70 Solar Griffin (1)
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The Girl's level had risen the highest after she took down all five on her own.
She whispered to me again.
"What should we pick this time?"
"How many stacks of [Swiftness] do you have?"
"Three."
"Then go for a strength branch this time."
"Don't assassins just pump agility?"
"You planning to sneak around in the shadows stabbing backs all day?"
"Uh...... No."
Ambush bonuses scale off agility, but raw physical damage follows strength.
That's why every class invests at least some points in strength to shore up their health pool.
Of course, the Girl's confusion stemmed from a slightly different angle.
"Think about it. No witnesses left behind? That's an assassination."
"Got it! So even in a straight-up fight, you're a powerhouse assassin!"
They call it a power assassin.
It's something midway between an assassin who balances strength and agility roughly fifty-fifty and a warrior, with no official in-game name.
Because it sucks.
Not a proper class, so no name for it either.
If you're leveraging ambush judgments, weapons are daggers anyway.
The longer the weapon's reach, the weaker the ambush bonus.
Part of the game's concept that assassins stick to daggers—but obviously, short reach is a massive disadvantage head-on.
So power assassins usually end up with middling, garbage-tier performance.
"But you handle spears and polearms just fine even with daggers."
"That's true."
"Skill turns 'middling' into mastery of both worlds."
"I see! Right!"
Parrying long weapons with a dagger, then slipping into blind spots for ambush procs in the blink of an eye?
That's what makes a power assassin broken.
Even accounting for that, it only works because this girl's base stats surpass human limits.
In this case, it was the optimal pick.
The Girl nodded in understanding, closing her eyes.
She still seemed awkward summoning her mind map.
"Whoa, an active skill popped up."
Lucky her.
Early on, you usually just stack passives nonstop; second actives are rare.
"What is it?"
"[Heavy Strike]."
She was seriously lucky.
I got a chance to demo what that active skill did right away.
The orcs really hadn't ventured deep into the ruins, it seemed.
Neglected for ages with no maintenance, the place was crumbling in spots, choked with awkward passages.
Even outright collapsed like right now.
"Looks like we just gotta clear those rocks."
"They look insanely heavy."
Roguelikes love dumping unreasonable bullshit on you, but it's still a game.
This was already framed as a random encounter scenario we'd triggered.
Dead ends always have solutions.
Strictly speaking, that's why it was more roguelite than roguelike.
"The boulder bottom-right. Angle it forty-five degrees upward. Here, take this. Use [Heavy Strike]."
"An orc's iron club."
The Girl approached without much suspicion.
She'd adapted fast from the start, but actually experiencing the Labyrinth's weirdness seemed to erode her doubts further.
Too trusting of anything and everything could be trouble; might need to rein that in.
A thunderous boom—closer to an explosion—shattered the blocked wall.
The Girl leaped back lightly, dodging the tumbling rocks.
[Heavy Strike] doubles the physical power of your next melee attack post-activation.
Simple and brutal. Simple is best; if you could pick one early-game active, this tops the list.
[Dash] for pure mobility paired with [Heavy Strike].
Perfect extreme-early-game combo.
Coming from a girl who's basically a human weapon already? Rock-solid.
As she fiddled with her hand in awe, a breeze stirred.
Air from a long-sealed space rushed out. Starkly different from outside.
The Hunter grimaced.
"Ominous smell."
"This is the real entrance."
In game terms, ruins were mini-dungeons.
Tiny otherworlds nested in the massive dungeon called the Labyrinth.
Our feet were on its front doorstep now.
Game-wise, entering a new zone; implemented via air shift.
"I'll take point."
"Physically, shouldn't I go first?"
"If you're confident spotting every trap and trick."
"Uh...... I'll cover the rear."
Thus, the middle-aged American ended up in the weird spot of being guarded front and back.
His expression soured a bit.
I scanned the walls as we advanced.
Back in my gaming days, hyper-detailed stuff wasn't systemized, so tons went unknown.
Now that it was real, tiny details yielded way more intel.
Stick around long enough, and you decode ancient scripts or ciphers from ruins.
"Weird."
"What is?"
"Fairy script."
"Fairy woods, makes sense."
Exactly the problem.
"Why are orcs digging this out? With all the meaning attached?"
Fairies and orcs have zero overlap.
Fairy ruins loot wouldn't mean more than trophy trash to orcs.
Normally.
"Too many weird things."
After ninety-seven years in exile, even "weird" felt alien now.
Goblins are fast. Well-trained ones, even more so.
The Great Shaman heard about the excavation site wiped out within an hour.
"Hmph, crafty bastards. Not fairies. Humans?"
Cowardly and scheming beyond any race.
Poisoning water sources? Classic them.
"All the savage goblins nearby vanished these past few days."
And the eastern wildfire.
"But if a human army moved, scouts wouldn't miss it."
Scouts know their place.
Screw up, you die.
"Your take?"
The Disciple Orc grumbled.
"Wildfire? Dry weather, happens. Goblin villages—barely better than beasts—vanishing? Not rare."
"And the poison?"
"Master has many enemies."
The Great Shaman chuckled.
"True enough. Old shaman like me? Poisonous as they come. So how'd our diggers all croak?"
"Fairy guerrillas. Even idiots eventually realize holing up in villages won't cut it."
The Great Shaman roared with laughter.
"Logical, but reeks of humans to me."
"Of course."
"I'll lead troops myself. Smells like rats slipped inside."
The Disciple Orc shook his head.
"What of the hero commemoration rite?"
"That old coot wakes intact—what do I gain?"
"Sigh, do as you please."
The disciple bowed politely.
Strange. Too strange. Really strange.
"Why the deathmask face?"
The Girl chirpily picked up an arrow from the trap I'd just disarmed.
Licking it lightly to check for poison.
"Feels like it's on the tip of my tongue, then gone."
"Blech, bitter. Poison. So what's the weird part?"
"Trap placement."
Direction's off.
Way too easy to disarm.
Didn't seem like they hid them from incoming intruders.
Out in the open.
"More like blocking outbound from inside."
"Caging the griffin?"
"How do you cage something that huge with this? Couldn't pass this passage anyway."
Ancient fairy script on the walls offered zilch.
Fairy metaphors routinely hide truths.
These convoluted patterns? Textbook case.
If hiding something, rewards inside scale up.
Usually.
"But Grove Fairies don't pull that. Leaf fairies do."
"Lots of fairy types?"
"Not that many. Anyway, weird. Super uneasy."
This ruin layout? Loot's the boss itself or what it guards.
But geared more against internals escaping outward than intruders in.
Plus Grove Fairy turf, yet other fairy sects sneak in to hide stuff?
Only thing that fits: a seal.
Something nasty inside.
Bad for fairies, good for greenskins.
Tough nut.
Too many possibilities.
Normally, factoring in just Floor 2 narrows probabilities.
But still weird.
Faction War themes spawn specific ruins—not many.
And those don't tie into stories this scale.
Labyrinth depths should intensify gradually.
Already pierced slim odds aplenty.
More here?
Too unnatural.
Something's causing it.
But no clue what. Not even a hunch.
This is too off.
Impossible.
After a century here, no grasp at all?
Suddenly, my right hand conjured a [Blink Dagger].
Easiest use: stash somewhere as escape tool.
Stick it someplace?
"Uncle."
The Girl called suddenly. Her usual bouncy tone subdued a notch.
"What."
"Isn't not knowing stuff kinda thrilling and exciting?"
She flashed a bright smile.
Tension drained; I wryly grinned.
"Yeah."
Just Floor 2, after all. Worst case, waste a few days.
Regrettable, sure......
But games aren't for chickenshits.
I wasn't that gamer.
I shoved the nagging unease aside with that thought.