Chapter 160
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 160
Chapter Title: 15th Floor - Lv. 3211 Incarnation of War (4)
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The God of War had no choice but to admit that he'd fallen into an utterly ridiculous trap.
The greatest weakness of a pure warrior was mobility.
Not the kind of mobility where you simply charge in and smash an enemy's skull, but the means to travel long distances.
The core of the crumbling planet was unleashing the energy it had held without restraint.
He wouldn't die, of course, but the consumption was a serious issue.
The divinity bestowed upon the troll's flesh was steadily being whittled away.
An incarnation was, after all, just one of the functions provided by the divine seat.
It was difficult to infuse more divinity at this point.
True to his nature as the God of War, he had strengthened his body and delayed death with various authorities, but the situation was far from ideal.
Even just charging ahead took more time than it seemed.
Yet the Incarnation of Chaos was out there, gleefully summoning the Spirit King again to ravage the collapsing planet.
And that was exquisitely timed. Since the planet was collapsing, he could ride that flow to escape faster.
But even so, he realized he was still circling in place.
Simply running wouldn't solve it.
The massive elemental forces moved by the Spirit King seemed to form some kind of array.
Using the planet's collapsing matter as a medium, they were drawing a seal to trap the incarnation.
There was more than enough mana here to activate it.
The worst, most horrific mage he'd ever encountered.
Gazing at his steadily eroding divine barrier, the God of War tightened his grip on his beloved weapon, [Ragnarok].
If he couldn't escape the normal way...
He'd have to shatter it completely.
Just as he always had.
The planet trembled, as if sensing the destruction about to come.
The moment the Hunter leaped into action, the Girl was utterly exhausted.
The instant her mastery buffs vanished, she realized just how accustomed she'd become to the Labyrinth's corrections.
She hadn't noticed while they were active, but in battle, she kept questioning herself: Had I always been this slow? This weak?
She'd grabbed a random elongated piece of debris, thinking it would be enough to block.
Most of the time, it wasn't.
She kept getting overpowered.
Movement speed, reaction time, dynamic vision—even stamina.
All her stats were affected.
It was a chain reaction.
Once defense became truly impossible, stamina drain spiked, making evasion harder too.
At this point, she could only rely on her innate senses, honed skills, and tricks from training.
She rarely fell behind in specs, so this was unfamiliar territory.
The Emperor pushed aggressively and brutishly, but there was a certain martial technique woven in.
Efficient linear motions, swung to maximize power transfer.
His footwork too. The shattered ship remnants shook or tilted under a high-level warrior's steps.
He adjusted his balance with practiced ease.
Breathing was the same. Toxic fumes and heat from burning fuel.
Fuel fires spread uncontrollably once ignited.
In the narrowing space, he maintained his strength with minimal, controlled breaths.
Dodging, parrying, and fleeing barehanded, the Girl realized it.
What had I been doing?
Just relying on superior speed to make it work?
She could excuse panicking over the unfamiliar weapon, but her response after was a mess.
She should have kept maximum distance and waited for an opening—or just run.
Retreat wasn't shameful.
She shouldn't have engaged from the start.
That initial complacency had doomed her.
Uncle would have bolted without looking back, then returned with the mage and archer in tow.
Had she gotten cocky, thinking, I can win this?
When there were surer ways.
The thought filled her with self-loathing.
Especially since she'd survived post-buff loss by focusing solely on staying alive.
Skills from her clan, refined techniques Uncle had tweaked as her specs rose.
Abilities honed to handle unfavorable foes.
She'd thrown it all away.
And her comrades, come to rescue her, were now in peril.
The youngest Uncle lay battered and broken; the Hunter, who'd been grinning like a fool lately, clung to life through the kid's quick thinking at death's door.
That kid was right behind her now, desperately sucking in flames to cast [Fire Bolt].
Panic and fear trembled in its hazy, flickering form.
All her doing.
In that heavy guilt, she'd recovered and faced the Emperor again.
One chainsaw was missing, but he wielded the remaining one two-handed without awkwardness.
The Emperor was a battle-hardened veteran who knew his limits intimately.
His initial words.
If not for your weapon advantage, you couldn't have won.
Even that might not have been a bluff.
Maybe he'd already maneuvered her thoughts back then.
The world was harsh.
Next run—would she be alone? Would new companions join her again?
What about their NPC kid?
Her thoughts raced alongside the unfolding crisis before her eyes.
Slipping from her grasp toward inevitable catastrophe.
It was one fragment among countless split moments in her mind.
The Emperor swung.
An angle she couldn't dodge.
Instinct knew it before thought could catch up.
Dead.
Then the Hunter dove in.
No matter how elite the chainsaw's material, human flesh provided drag.
Blood sprayed, meat tore, bones cracked.
A gap opened.
The Girl charged in, wanting to scream. The Emperor grinned pleasantly through his blood-smeared face.
She couldn't endure it.
This strike wasn't the saw.
A massive green fist—nearly as big as her head—slammed her gut.
"It's over now."
The kid's spell flew in, but it was useless.
He hoisted the fallen Girl as a shield; the magic veered aside naturally.
"Whew. Tough."
Unlike his earlier roars, he looked like he'd merely completed a necessary task.
No battle frenzy.
Those coldly cooled eyes weren't typical orc.
She wanted to speak, but her lungs held no air.
No vocal cords stirred; no words came.
Just gurgling groans.
The Emperor discarded the chainsaw.
His free arm clenched into a fist, aimed at her head.
A crunch, a smash—and it would end.
The motion halted.
A massive jolt rocked the ship.
The Emperor turned. A docking bay door impaled in his view.
A small spacecraft had smashed into the dock. Familiar. Built for one person.
From the half-embedded ship's prow came a sharp, piercing screech.
Metal plating shredded like paper; a sword gleaming with radiance emerged.
And a small goblin.
The Emperor knew who it was.
He snatched up the chainsaw again as the goblin shot forward like a beam. No finishing now—or he'd die.
Flashes of light and blade clashed repeatedly.
A sword master's aura blade was mighty, but the saw—forged from ancient dragon flesh—held.
It even shaved off some of the opponent's aura.
Endure even this? What a grueling task. Oh, God of War.
Wonder how that fight's going.
The goblin sword master positioned himself to thoroughly protect the Girl and kid.
Exchanging blows while tiring—then this powerhouse arrives.
The Emperor finally felt fatigue creeping in.
Minor wounds accumulating.
Then the decisive blow came.
Black darkness enveloped. The ship's flames snuffed out like blown candles.
Space tore; another squat goblin frame appeared.
A skeleton this time.
"Even legends descend. Good. I surrender."
The Emperor chuckled deeply and set down the chainsaw. He raised both hands.
The Hunter opened his eyes. No ceiling.
For a split second, he hoped for that primal darkness.
The total black he saw each reset, restarting the run.
Unwelcome yet welcome somehow.
But no familiar hologram stats appeared. And it wasn't darkness, but bright light.
Where was this?
The Girl, tears streaming.
Worried youngest Uncle's face, shiny bald head sparkling.
Looking around, unease stirred.
Why am I alive?
Gazing at his hand, he realized.
A skeleton.
His body too—ribs stark, no flesh inside.
A skeleton goblin approached.
He'd seen it before.
The Federation's legendary necromancer, was it?
A magical resonance echoed.
[Damage too severe post-death; could only resurrect as skeleton. Forgive me.]
A lich even more imposing than Sharkma bowed its head.
The Hunter laughed hollowly. His teeth clattered involuntarily.
So that's why skeletons' chattering jaws signal laughter.
Ridiculous, but not bad. His body felt fine—no joint aches or muscle pain.
Undead.
Something he'd never tried in his exile lifetime.
"Damn it. Isn't he too good at space rending?"
「I'll save as many as I can. Gonna burn through all my stockpiled faith. Whew.」
Space tore.
Beaten repeatedly by colossal force, it finally screamed in death throes, splitting open.
Not a mere rift from spatial magic—opened briefly then closed.
This void, wrought purely by one warrior's power, wouldn't heal quickly.
Nor would it function simply as a warp gate for distance.
The rift spread, devouring surrounding space.
The Incarnation of War was gone.
Apparently squeezed out his last to leave this disaster.
His great warrior might be satisfied with the final battle, but the victor couldn't smile.
'Three months like this?'
He surveyed.
Federation ships retreating—but getting sucked in.
That was the [Abyss].
The God of War had engineered artificial sudden death before leaving.
Forced open like that, it'd drag straight to the Abyss's depths.
Not the cute shallows he'd seen before.
Into the true Abyss god's domain, beyond even Chaos divinity's reach.
No resisting this storm.
Space consumed all.
Crashing planet, fleet, dead debris.
Me too.
Moments later, loading screen and message.
The Abyss may seem peaceful at a glance. In dire straits, it can even serve as an escape.
Of course, only in the shallows.
Don't stare into the Abyss too long. You never know how deep it'll pull you. No one but the Abyss god can guarantee return.