Chapter 143
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 143
Chapter Title: 14th Floor - Lv. 459 The Forgotten Ones (4)
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If something felt off, I had to figure out why.
The zombies were remarkably well-preserved. They'd dried out completely, shriveled from dehydration, but their races were still identifiable.
Which led to another question.
The races were far too diverse. It was obvious these weren't Greenskins, but humans, dwarves, fairies, and all sorts of other corpses in various forms.
But it was a warship, after all.
I wondered about the story behind it, but I hadn't studied this future history in detail, so I had no clue.
Every future stage was like its own alternate history.
The baseline medieval fantasy world started off somewhat similarly across runs, despite the roguelike randomness.
But the future? It was shaped by countless butterfly effects.
The Labyrinth nudged things toward certain patterns, but the details varied wildly.
I only knew the broad strokes, so the rest was a mystery.
Like with Lee Min-sun?
A warship?
I didn't know how the Empire had escaped after conquering the homeworld, so maybe this was from that era?
I could date it with magic, but that required equipment.
Not feasible with zombies swarming everywhere.
These corpses, exposed to darkness for ages, had revived as powerful zombies fitting their exposure—but no new organs grew where there weren't any before.
Bodies evolved for walking and running on land couldn't function properly in zero gravity.
Even in numbers, they just floated aimlessly, flailing toward anything they spotted.
Of course, getting grabbed would be bad news.
I couldn't scatter into bats here, and mist form was even less viable.
Even if I could control my blood against damage, the injuries would be incomparably worse than on the surface.
So, I had to pass through safely.
But quickly, too.
I'd reached a point inside, connected to deeper passages—not the outer corridors near the wreckage.
From here, I couldn't just turn the zombies into space orphans.
But I kept running.
Having footing didn't necessarily mean artificial gravity.
I flipped mid-stride to kick off the ceiling, ran along walls.
I stopped suppressing the zombies I encountered.
Monsters without purchase just spun away if shoved, crashing into opposite walls.
Even up close, as long as I watched hands and claws, no big issue.
Grappling helped, too.
No joint locks— it'd be like that time on the 7th floor with the angel's wings.
But I could adapt it to avoid grabs.
No weight meant easy throws.
When unavoidable, I scorched their brains with fire to stun them briefly.
Fire gave off light, somewhat akin to the light element.
No matter how much darkness they'd accumulated, brain-fried zombies paused but didn't shut down.
I hadn't infused much mana, yet their durability shocked me.
I blasted through a few walls.
Corridors grew thicker with zombies ahead; soon it'd be a wall of corpses.
Blowing walls drew more in.
Time to bait with spells.
Flashy blasts scattered multicolored mana everywhere.
To mask my mana light, I took in a bit of darkness.
Vision spun dizzily. Not physical—just bad memories flashing back.
Space was bad for your health.
Zombies missed me, shrouded in darkness, looking elsewhere.
I slipped between a dwarf's legs and pressed on.
Finally reached the changing room where the kid was hiding.
"It's like watching a master at work."
'High praise. Thanks again.'
"Zero-grav combat like that? You've been in and out of the Abyss depths a ton."
'The environment's similar enough.'
The Abyss deepened into something like space. A more malicious, chaotic space.
I opened the door. The kid lay pale-faced, passed out.
Or was she? Vampires were pale anyway.
Shaking didn't wake her. In a rush, I hoisted her on my back and sent mana to check her state.
Black as pitch.
Her sensitivity and absorption of mana were too exceptional.
Not fully corrupted—her overwhelming talent resisted that.
Dark mana was still mana, so no threat to her life. But mental damage? Unclear.
Her face was serene, like sleep, but who knew.
First, escape this darkness-filled place.
The sealed air pocket was safe, untouched by space's dark.
No need to linger in this headache of a wreck. Better to isolate and eject that air-filled room into space.
I poured mana freely to enact it.
Overworked mage schedule meant I wasn't at full mana, but martial mages had decent efficiency.
Palm to wall, directed blast. Metal tore with a groan.
Debris nicked me, but I ran.
My hasty path had zombies densely packed from scattered traces.
Good. Party room was at the ship's tail—block that side, and safe.
An ominous feeling crept up.
From the darkness I'd absorbed? Or intuition warning?
Unclear, but hurry regardless.
I bolted, ignoring zombies.
Hands grabbed for hair—I sliced strands free.
Ankle grabber got my shoe as I ran.
Cloak snag.
Ah, can't give that up.
Precise mana: thin pressure line sliced the zombie's arm...
No dice, damn it.
Two more quick tries shook it off.
Blasted another wall. Opposite zombies lunged, mouths agape.
Grabbed detached wall as shield, swung.
Hit zombies reeled back. Zero-g spared weight burden—convenient.
Then dual blasts fore and aft, mana thrust backward for propulsion.
Exposed space ahead.
Punched, kicked, ran—exhausting.
Then a shadow blocked the way.
I recognized it, realized how this ship's graveyard formed.
Scratch that about weak enemies. One of space war's worst lurked here.
Gorbachev the Secretary-General had to greet a long-lost guest.
He got plenty of visitors usually, but as Federation pinnacle and proxy high priest, few warranted personal welcome.
Especially not foreign dignitaries—internal figures even less.
Unlike forward-facing Barbaroi Director, this one had secluded for ages.
Uncertain if even alive before the goblin's birth.
Sipping vodka over war reports, a sudden chill turned his head to burning darkness.
Anyone not recognizing her wouldn't qualify for the Goddess.
He hastily guided to a comfy seat, brewed tea, sat himself. Forgot the secretary.
Realized midway she had no throat to swallow.
She just watched silently.
Staring into the skull's dark-burning sockets, he shivered.
Steam rose from the cup.
Tech had advanced, but the Federation started with few refugees.
Its founder, lich revered by all goblins as mighty necromancer, was there.
No necromancy, no Federation.
More active in history's wars than outnumbered vampires.
Mana voice echoed without vocal cords.
[I heard my disciple is in peril.]
Instead of biological fear of the mighty lich, he recalled great warrior and necromancer's bond.
"Oh, great Arcanasi, no need for you to step in. Our Federation fleet will handle it."
The lich clattered teeth irritably.
Goblin skulls were small.
The sound felt shrill. He worried he'd offended.
Bygone era's hero, hidden away—odd pressure.
Barbaroi, legendary but visible in meetings, felt familiar.
This lich? Fairy-tale protagonist from childhood.
Legendary mage shaking continents in Goddess's name.
Thankfully, lich seemed unoffended.
[Chin up. How could I ignore your reverence? But how can I rest if my disciple fails her duty?]
"Y-yes, true."
Slim goblin skeleton rose.
He stood reflexively.
Floated smoothly before him.
Black-burning sockets radiated mana even to mana-blind goblin.
[Prepare my ship.]
"But the Dark Spirit King's domain. You know it's forbidden, dubious if magical life or real monster..."
[Darkness is where I was born—and will die. Who in the Federation knows it better?]
"The fleet deploys! Matriarch, please stay and watch over the people..."
[Your tongue matches that old man's.]
He knew who: ancestor raising revolution's flag, founding Federation.
Reminder: this lich was there then.
Mana spilled from skull. Black darkness crept, enveloping office.
Chill pierced him, flinching.
Room plunged into thick dark.
Yet Matriarch's burning eyes shone clear.
Darkness choked throat. Breathing hard. Real or hallucination?
Cold sweat soaked, trickled spine.
Great Necromancer Arcana spoke last.
Maybe not, but felt final.
[Prepare the ship.]
"Yes, ma'am!"
He called Defense Minister, barked orders before explanation.
Ships mobilized, crew assigned.
Only after confirming did lich vanish, satisfied.
Wiping sweat at lingering dark traces.
Minister, voice shaking:
"Her...? No way?"
"Your thought exactly."
Calming, he pondered post-return from Dark Spirit lands.
Dragons: Empire war's top worry.
Legend: she slew one.
Now her loyal undead servant...
Even for Goddess and Federation, calculating gains irked him.
Still, he smiled.
The Girl was frustrated.
"Can't we peek outside at all?"
"Magic gets detected. Space undead track living via mana, they say."
The old man shook his head.
She itched with boredom, but ignorance of the families' dangers outside was unbearable.
Couldn't charge out, but better than nothing.
Magic lessons weren't fun either. She wanted instant lightning zaps, not mental math rituals.
No enthusiasm, so old man chuckled.
"Fine, quick peek outside then."
Mana detection-free scrying spell activated.
Dark wreckage silent.
"Nothing visible."
"Can't see far."
Sudden impact rocked wreckage. Shock hit their room vividly.
Amid shakes, battleship moved.
Scrying view warped.
Explosion.
Recognizable one.
"Uncle doing that?"
Groaning twist. Something tore ship in half.
"Wh-what?!"
Dazed words as it fully split. Momentum carried halves apart.
"Big trouble!"
She screamed.
"Us too!"
Old man surged mana. Wake sleepy kid mage.
Torsion spread. Fragmented ship disintegrated literally.
If it hit their air room, total wipeout.