Chapter 158
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 158
Chapter Title: 15th Floor - Lv. 1567 Future Emperor (2)
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The Labyrinth was riddled with every kind of matchup imaginable.
Classes, specific skills, gear, races—even something as basic as one's birth could serve as a hard counter. Fatal relationships like that were scattered everywhere.
Among them, chainsaws dominated close-quarters brawls against similar physiques, unleashing overwhelming power.
For an exile, losing a weapon created problems far beyond just going barehanded.
With dagger mastery, forgoing a dagger meant missing out on all those sweet, honey-like bonuses.
She didn't carry many spares. Once the beam dagger ran dry, that was it.
Thrown daggers had become pointless against more and more enemies, so she'd stopped bothering.
This was a problem.
First things first: retreat.
Orc troops or the Emperor—which way to run was obvious.
The Emperor was alone and slower than the Girl.
Charging a crowd in this tight space was suicide.
No matter her raw strength, if a pack of orcs grabbed and pinned her, that was it.
Goblin ship corridors sealed up tight with just three burly orcs shoulder-to-shoulder.
So the Girl charged.
Of course, not head-on. Uncle had never taught her that kind of stupidity.
She swung the beam dagger, its heat rays flashing to seize attention, pretended to charge the orc soldiers, then whipped around with [Dash].
As expected, the Emperor was the type honed by pursuing fleeing foes.
The orc, dead certain she was running from him, reacted a half-beat late to her pivot.
Even so, in that narrow passage, he figured her outs were jumping overhead, slipping left or right. Just three options.
Wrong.
She dove between his legs, planting a blade on the way through.
His groin burned. The Emperor flew into a rage.
Excruciating pain hit, but fury overrode it—he didn't drop.
He ripped a pack from his belt.
The fake healing potion inside patched his groin. His pride as a wounded male? Not so much.
Rage as fuel, the Emperor spun and gave chase.
The orc reinforcements froze in confusion, soon slammed by another exile squad from behind.
A massive shield led the charge—pure Greenskin style, but pity the owner was human.
A few orcs bellowed and rushed in.
Shields collided; orcs got shoved back hard.
Muzzles poked from behind the human's shield, zeroing on the downed orcs' skulls.
Light flashed.
Two warriors dropped like that, and the orcs quit slacking.
The narrow-passage skirmish stretched a little longer.
After the Dragon King met his brutal end, the dragons lost all fight.
Their pumped-up spirits crashed into the abyss.
All young dragons.
The elders had perished long ago at the Federation's legendary exile's hands.
Some still couldn't shake the words from the man who'd butchered them yet let them live.
"Catching babies feels like overhunting."
Humiliating enough to drive you insane.
But greater terror gripped them.
Dazed, the dragons beheld a colossal skeletal dragon—and did the unthinkable in their history.
Surrendered.
The Federation's goblin lich was infamous enough. More precisely, the true dragon it commanded.
Son of the prior Dragon King, brother to the freshly slain current one—this true dragon kept its dread majesty even undead.
The fear source that had dragons huddled in the Empire's shadow for ages.
Arcana smirked at the utterly broken dragons.
No reason for dozens to cower before one.
Fight now, she'd lose.
But her master always showed at the clutch.
Clearing every headache.
This time, spectacularly ripping the current Dragon King apart. Necessary.
Whether her past-sent master read the room better than her? Unknown.
This chain had been forging since far antiquity.
Long-taught fear and helplessness finally broke the dragons to the Federation.
Her subtle role as draconic terror symbol? Done.
One hell of a long con.
How not to follow her master?
Trail his back, problems solved.
Not just master—hero everyone had to trust.
And the goddess picking that great warrior to safeguard them?
The lich, role complete, offered praise. Goddess replied.
「Rear's under attack. War Incarnation's a non-issue. Get back fast.」
The skull's blank face hardened terrifyingly.
No muscles, but dragons sensed the mana quake.
True dragon stayed; lich vanished.
Flickering dark-space rift screamed urgent warp.
Some dragons eyed it, but the huge true dragon growled, breath primed—they hushed.
That oracle hit another too.
Goblin on flagship for boarding action bolted like lightning, solo-piloting his personal shuttle. No crew.
Federation's no-expense-spared mini speedster rocketed off.
Owner: people's hero, sole goblin Swordmaster.
Clueless to the incoming bailout, the Girl bolted wildly.
Finishing the Emperor? Ideal. But mutual KO? Nah.
Obvious strength warrior—tankier than her.
Factor in fake potions? Odds crapshoot.
Trouble brewed ahead.
Dock.
Corridors tight; small-ship bays gotta be roomy.
Dead end.
Emperor closed in. Casual pace.
"Goblin ship layouts? Old hat. Rode assault boats plenty pre-throne."
Empire succession's simple.
Chuck loads of princes and princesses into endless wars. Survivor wins.
Dead's just dead.
Girl pondered shuttle escape.
No dice. Controls? Maybe. Locks? Clueless.
Emperor grinned feral, charged.
Sudden speed burst. [Dash]? Faster.
Same skill family. Sharp turns tough.
Faked low, vaulted over instead.
Emperor, fixated below, turned sheepish.
"Memory for life."
"Stinkmouth shut. Orcs mouth-fighting now?"
"Sassy brat."
Evade maxed, but blade met beam dagger—barely held.
No block viable. Fight lopsided.
Girl gambled. Time against her.
Full-thrust killshot. Gulp potion.
Emperor clocked it, pack-ripped potion down.
Mutual suicide rush.
No boom.
Too slow to tag proper; glancing pass.
Shuttles in crossover zone crumbled, noises wild.
Girl spun out, floor-rolling.
Blinding speed—ricochets galore before halt.
Roll-spot: blood modern-art splatter.
Push-up try.
Failed.
Girl grimaced at mangled-regenerating right arm, left wrist.
Chainsaw: pain-efficient weapon.
Flesh-rend agony briefly blanked her mind.
Weapon lost. Mastery buffs gone. Superhuman still, but slower, weaker.
Duh, no weapon.
Glance back: Emperor fine. Spine chill.
Then clutched chest-right, dropped.
Dead?
Nope.
Blood-puking, regen active.
Rush-finisher needed!
Her real potion outpaces.
Wreckage chunks: jagged metal.
Snagged glowing shard with fresh arm, hurled.
Late. Awake Emperor twitched, tanked it.
Chainsaw whirred back up.
Shredding, shards flying.
Damn. Weapon-worthy...? Nada.
Barehand fisticuffs. Long time. Doable?
Emperor up full-heal. Once-noble orc face: blank void.
Empty visage.
"Not quite angelic legend, but filthy strong. Humans eat what to beast-mode?"
Silence after.
That trap won't reopen.
Emperor ditched chill.
Bad for Girl.
Hunter crashed in with Youngest and the Kid; dock was bloodbath central.
Girl cornered, potions tapped, shredded ragdoll.
Injuries screamed severe. Why the L?
No weapon, chainsaw spotted—dawned.
Hunter never chainsaw foe, but gut-said: gear-shredder supreme.
Puzzle clicked.
Emperor chainsaw-downswing; muzzles blazed.
Shield cooldown ate shots.
Emperor boot-kicked Girl clear, rolled cover.
Debris heaven.
Youngest lunged.
Chainsaw screamed.
Shield shards everywhere.
"Fall back!"
Super-strength or not, barehand no-go.
Hunter cool-headed assess.
This enemy breed.
Melee hell, gear-hunter over user.
No slimes this run bar abyss, but slimes bully warriors so.
Warriors slime-blind. Sniper-mage turf.
Hunter big breath, mind-hack: dual-chainsaw orc = slime.
Not Lv.1000+ beast.
Slime. Orc-slime. My kill.
I got this.
Works? Shrug.
Kid chanted.
Fired-up mini-vamp speed-ran spells.
Fire focus: low flex, high ease, intuitive.
Cluster of mini fireballs hovered, no boom-risk.
Base stats OP—spams lowbies by dozens.
[Fire Bolt]s streaked, ember-trails.
Hunter chucked plasma rifle.
Mace backup too. Block-proof.
Body lighter.
Potion swig.
"Dunno if I nail it. Whew."
Leader intel: future-stage warrior flaw.
Crisis hedge secret.
Era warriors slack magic resist.
Mages rare AF.
Dual-saw gear trashed. Girl no freebie.
Dwarf vault gems.
Magic-infusion guns.
Priceless vs. elite warriors: magic bites.
Left cold revolver: slow 'em.
Right flame autopistol: fire-pain focus-fog, DoT stack.
Leader: post-kingdom gunners mandatory.
Frontline-immune foes force range-melee.
Hunter's play: akimbo hell.
Cover-bound Emperor batted spells, situation-scan, rage-roar.
"Where my soldiers at?!"
Youngest set the table nice.