Chapter 145
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 145
Chapter Title: 14th Floor - Lv.2200 Dark Spirit King (2)
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To figure out how I could possibly take on a Spirit King, I first needed to understand the true nature of spirits.
In the magical worldview of this labyrinth, common spirits were seen as grand existences—the Great Spirits, incarnations of nature itself.
And those contracted to a Spirit King were regarded as something on the level of a Shaman King from those old comics.
Of course, that only held true if you could wield the contracted spirit freely at will.
Even as a so-called Spirit King contractor, in my case—with a level still shy of four digits—I could barely draw mana from elsewhere and use it for a fleeting moment.
A true spirit user contracted to a Spirit King from the start would already be at a four-digit level as a baseline.
Otherwise, they couldn't supply the mana needed for the contract, let alone possess the skill to form one.
I was the outlier, having cobbled together a half-assed contract under the gods' watch.
Besides, in the vast cosmos, the Wind Spirit King didn't hold much sway anyway.
Near a gaseous planet, she might unleash terrifying firepower in an entirely different way, but out here in the endless void? Not much.
In this realm of darkness—practically the spirit realm of dark spirits already—even Sylphid was powerless.
A Spirit King was part of nature, not its creator.
But here's the thing.
Spirits being portrayed as these grand, mystical beings? That's only the story before research advanced.
Even in this space-faring SF era where magic and mystery have withered away, lurking in some backwater corner is an old wizard like Sharkma. Old spirit users exist too.
The spirit users I'd met in past runs had given me some profound insights.
Spirits aren't that grandiose or impressive.
They're just magical AIs.
Think back to Sylphid at the start—her sense of self was barely there.
It was like an AlphaGo that hadn't finished deep learning.
Whether upper spirits or kings, they're all just singularities born from absurd concentrations of a single elemental mana. They don't have some sacred duty to protect nature.
The whole concept of contracts? That's ancient geniuses looking at these natural super AIs and thinking, This is usable! They sweet-talked and coaxed the naive spirits into it.
And thus, the spirit user class was born.
Spirits don't need contractors.
Furry, pitch-black spirit users just lured in the cute, innocent ones.
"Hey, hey, check this out. Contract with us, and you'll get summoned like this, see all sorts of sights, have fun, get excited, be happy."
Like offering candy.
The young spirits saw their seniors eagerly following along and thought, I don't know, but maybe we should too? And they became more open to contracts.
So what about spirits that don't spawn normally in spirit realms but pop into existence in the middle of space by some fluke?
Given the scale, their total power might even surpass the four great elemental spirits stationed on a single planet.
But as I said, it's not a proper spirit.
A pure, pristine AI that never touched human hands or faced a DeepMind challenge.
And pure and pristine? Put bluntly, that's just stupid.
You could tell from how it wielded that glimpse of power.
Past Sylphid was a young Spirit King, but she had a kind contractor who taught her exactly what to do and how to beat down foes efficiently and powerfully.
Other veteran Spirit Kings accumulate experience like that, turning the tables to toy with their contractors.
Not this one.
That's my opening.
Mage battles—or magical entity battles—aren't decided solely by raw power totals.
Sharkma was a powerhouse who could rival hero units with his immense strength and talent-derived abilities alone.
Even if this Spirit King's damage reach was five times greater, if it could only stupidly clump and hurl power, there was room to mix it up.
Unless it wasn't like that?
Then we're done for.
Another matter of probability.
What kind of life has this Dark Spirit lived since spawning?
The future maknae hadn't learned enough tech to repair a starship.
But from her outside experiences and Federation engineers' advice, she knew how to distinguish operable ships from scrap.
Piloting was shockingly similar to Earth's methods, where she'd lived.
The biggest issue on the 14th floor wasn't the undead—it was survival for the oxygen-breathing party members.
That's why the maknae, sent here via the Temple of Time, first scoured the wreckage.
For survival, she needed a ship with working life support at minimum.
Hard to believe, but countless vessels had crews die without firing a shot.
Focusing on recently wrecked ships made it easier than expected.
The Dark Spirit burrowed into minds. Without magical aptitude or exceptional mental fortitude, madness came quick.
"Why are we fine, then?"
"Exiles end up pumping Intelligence stats whether they like it or not."
"Ah... Mental fortitude correction. Can't feel it myself, but it must make a difference."
"I'm a shaman, so no issue."
In an era where magic faded, surviving only as part of magitech industry, few crew had magical grounding.
Most ships slumbered like that.
The life support on their ship felt barely worn.
Air had a slight musty tinge, but they'd trudged through harsh places anyway.
No one cared about a little suspicion now.
The real concern was outside.
"What's that?"
The working external camera showed a majestic, colossal scene.
The moment they saw it, the party grasped reality.
They had no means to fight that monster—or even operate in space.
Here, they were mere spectators.
The old man marveled.
"Good lord. Is that the Dark Spirit? Even among shamans, its existence was long debated."
A massive black curtain draped the pitch-black cosmos.
Everyone knew it was magical.
Yet so intensely magical, it seemed physical.
"Less like a mana barrier, more like an actual curtain hung up."
"Could be literal. Mana's particles and waves, but magical power is their motion—we just covered that."
"Ugh, I hate studying."
"Study hard, and it'd help you fight out there in situations like this."
The Girl deflated instantly.
She knew they couldn't do space combat now. Rushing out would help zilch.
The old man chuckled and continued.
"That's actually a bad form for it. Know why spirits lack physical bodies?"
"No clue."
"Mana as base particles only generates power when moving. That's magical power—immense force. Spirits wield it freely, so they're strong. But this one's materialized. Over-condensed its power, probably."
This feels like science class. The Girl didn't always sleep through lessons.
Sometimes they were fun.
"Over-condensed the power so much it became a plain physical entity!"
"Hm? Quick on the uptake there."
It was a rare phenomenon only peak shamans occasionally sensed.
Mana formed all matter's base particles.
But manifesting matter from mana alone? That'd take enough power to end a continent.
No caster could will it freely.
The old man was puzzled by her leaping straight to the conclusion, skipping the high-level explanation.
An orc shaman from a medieval fantasy world wouldn't know modern science.
"Anyway, it's a monster of unimaginable power, but greed for strength weakened itself. To materialize a body that huge... Beyond my imagining."
If it'd wielded that power purely as force, like a proper spirit, it'd be far worse.
The pre-bodied monster was likely stronger.
"So Uncle can handle it easily?"
The Girl couldn't shake the sense it still looked mighty.
Enormous bulk—not just buildings, but satellite-sized? Scale broke perspective.
Impossible to gauge.
The Quetzalcoatl from before? Child's toy by comparison.
Fear crept in.
She glanced aside. The Hunter frowned. The little mage's face was pallid from overtaxing mana.
The old man smiled at them.
"He'll handle it. By the way, that guy's eyes look like they're opening—knock him out again."
The current maknae, groaning, let out a gurgle and stilled.
The Girl's blow had been too fierce; the Hunter checked his pulse worriedly.
The future maknae approached with a hollow laugh.
"I got that treatment, so I didn't see it before, but Leader said it's no big deal."
Confirmation from the future carried weight.
The Girl's face brightened.
The old man groaned inwardly.
No big deal, my ass.
Frankly, they'd all die screaming it.
Physical form or not, denial. One swing of that monster's arm ends us.
Direst crisis yet.
Better if it were dragons?
But he played dumb. If Leader didn't explain details, no one knew the exact threat level.
Ignorance could be bliss.
They'd set out adventuring anyway.
Betrayed the War God, even their own kind, arguably.
Still, he was an orc.
Orcs feared not death.
So he'd bear it alone.
But he snuck a glance at the future maknae amid those thoughts.
No major changes, but she looked healthy, thriving.
Futures could shift, but what of it.
Not fearing death didn't mean craving it.
Anyway, he kept smiling.
I shouldn't think about damage output.
The moment you aim to win, you're pierced.
Goblins go mad and warp right here if they spot it.
They know the place, so no raw troop dumps—plenty of mages incoming too.
Magic battles hinge more on numbers than physical ones.
Interference and control.
One entity dominating all nearby mages? Rare without extremes.
Mana belongs to all.
Plus, this materialized monster couldn't tap its full potential.
But the headache was—
Crunch-crunch-creak.
It had physical attack means too. An overwhelmingly huge body swinging its arm.
The space I'd just occupied warped entirely.
Martial artist's efficient bursts, finely chained for rocket-like speed—but still insufficient.
So, short-range teleports, a couple times.
Space had mana, no matter.
Teleport magic was risky, but here? Spam away. Empty void anyway.
Martial artist range limits kept it short.
But activation speed allowed chaining.
Mana drained fast—what choice?
My own mana solely for mobility.
Not just physical—purely magical attacks flew too.
Sudden rising black mist.
This was dangerous.
Like the [Darkness Fall] I used to torment that angel on floor 7. Obvious effect.
Resistance be damned—caught in it, my 97 years of trauma would reflux.
Instant death tier.
Accelerate harder.
The kid was practically strapped to my back.
Subordinate minor spirits flickered around faintly. The thick darkness from the ship pierced at me.
Even dodging, my focus elsewhere.
Mental unity. Clarity of mind.
What I truly guarded against wasn't the petty attacks.
The immense power.
When that monster, seeing a gnat of a human, finally unleashed its full might.
The colossal shadow at the wreck graveyard's center lost patience.
Simple mindset was easy to predict.
Black darkness beamed as rays, pouring out. Dense mana torrent visualized.
Anyone would see the black pillar surging.
It cleared intervening debris, overwhelming power crashing.
There, I relaxed.
As expected. This Dark Spirit King had lived in isolation, no proper contact with outsiders.
No learning, no idea how.
Like a child with brute strength but no control.
Then I could do it.
First, widen distance from minions.
Instant chain of a dozen-plus teleports.
Before new darkness spawned, that massive mana—or mass—would hit.
To spare the body, minimal mana barrier.
Of course, that "minimal" sucked nearly all my mana. Even drained [Blood Spring] for more blood.
Mantle's authority meshed with [Blood Lord's] dominance bonus, forming physical wards.
Gigantic wolves materialized in vacuum, shielding me.
This setup might survive a broadside.
But mere endurance meant death.
Eyes closed. Focus mind.
Perceive world via mana, not eyes.
Physical around me vanished.
Space like the spirit realm when I shifted there.
This area was dark spirit realm-esque anyway.
Amid focus, dwell on good thoughts. Fleeting montage... no, not that.
Pull cherished memories from subconscious.
Smashing first [Main Dungeon], reuniting; romance with the valiant-yet-cutely-endearing swordswoman; other golden runs.
Fleeting glimpse of the Girl's worried face.
Oh, no. Death flag.
Meanwhile, spread mana to preemptively claim space.
If the magic was already cast, no blocking it—but this oncoming dark torrent? Unformed mana surge.
Immense volume, high density, but mindless.
Magically, not even a spell formula—just natural phenomenon.
Like roadside breeze.
Could be a typhoon, sure. But taming typhoons, summoning rain? That's mages.
So now, like a martial master parrying strikes.
Gamer terms: Magical parry.
I could do it.
Had to.
Thoughts hyper-accelerated.
Hit peak of pursued mental exaltation.
Eyes opened. Physical sight briefly gone. Only mana vision remained, etching world into my brain.
Every strand of oncoming black darkness felt tangible, vivid.
This must be what they mean by changed world resolution.
Next instant.
Darkness swallowed me.