Chapter 18
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 18
Chapter Title: Floor 2 - Lv.185 Great Shaman (4)
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I've said it time and again, but you can't have just one plan.
Before stepping into the ruins, I'd prepared up to Plan E.
But the moment real combat kicks off, the first casualty is always the plan itself.
So what's left?
Ad-hoc improvisation branching off from the plan.
Because there's a plan for someone else to die in my stead, I survive.
It might lose all meaning right from the jump, but that's exactly why you can't slack on planning and contingencies.
Well, even so, this mess has already blown way past my designs.
Surprisingly, though, situations like this feel familiar.
The only issue is that we're barely on Floor 2.
When you break it down, it's no big deal.
Just absurd that it's like this from the start.
Being backed into a corner? So routine it's nauseating.
The Labyrinth might as well have been built to kill people.
And humans learn from experience.
The fireball was massive, but every bit as slow.
Buying us a moment to regroup.
Not exactly leisurely. The orb's reheating the still-scorching air.
The blistering heat has my skin prickling like it's cooking.
Its flight path alone tells me everything. That opening lightning bolt was aimed straight at me.
The old shaman's zeroed in on yours truly.
The named Great Shaman who always spawns fixed in the [Betrayed Saintess] encounter? 'Trdongt'.
Beyond familiar—he feels like a childhood buddy at this point, I've crossed paths so often.
Not that he'd remember.
Named monsters shift appearances each time, and orcs were never easy to tell apart by face anyway.
Should've clocked it sooner.
Seeing Trdongt this ancient? It's been ages.
Not welcome news.
Stats might dip from age, but that brain's sharper than ever.
A younger Trdongt would've fixated solely on the griffon ahead.
Alright. Situation grasped.
One key fact jumps back into focus.
How does that orc perceive my class?
No [Faith] defined yet means no clear class on my end.
But a named monster pushing Level 200? Trdongt sees it differently.
Everyone judges by their own yardstick.
Hunter still hasn't pegged the Girl as a total newbie.
If what I've flashed has him on edge...
I can nudge him toward the wrong conclusion.
What the orc clocked from me: bow mastery and wildly unpredictable crisis handling.
Good news? Haven't revealed the assassin-line [Blink Dagger] yet.
He's probably scratching his head over how our trio dropped the griffon.
So, 100% lock.
Trdongt's pegged me as a pure ranger.
And my mana? Gotta be scraping bottom now.
Beast shamans' insane sustain needs factoring, but it's not mana-based.
What about the Girl?
She's been tossing cocky lines lately.
I tested her first, while shaking the Hunter awake.
Pointing at Trdongt.
"Think we can take that thing?"
"Huh?"
Confidence is fine.
But the Labyrinth doesn't hand out wins every time.
Overconfidence? Just an egg waiting to crack.
"Uh... no. Can't we just run?"
"Oh? You've got some sense."
Her reply threw me for a loop.
She glances away, cheeks faintly flushed, head turning.
Fingers fidgeting all the while.
Hmm. Time to roast her now and then.
Her griffon takedown exceeded expectations, perfect moment to pop that inflated ego.
Dodged it clean.
But self-awareness of her limits? Even better.
As I quirked my lips in faint regret, the Hunter finally stirred with a groan.
"Leader, we really got time for chit-chat?"
This guy's no slouch—12-year exile earned, party leader material in the lowers.
No deep questions on the mess.
Just blunt: what to do about the incoming fireball?
"I'll lure it off. Find the exit."
Core tasks unchanged.
Scouting intel lets me pinpoint orders.
"Pressed everywhere from there to here? Shock door. Blast matching patterns with fruit. That direction."
Oddly, Labyrinth sharpens even drawing skills.
Too many times words fail complex shapes.
Sketching the door-wall and motifs? Quick work.
Girl's more wowed by the doodle than her own archery.
"Whoa, name one thing you're actually bad at."
"Escaping this place."
"Everyone bombs that."
"Precisely the issue."
Lately, everything's gone sideways.
Nonstop curveballs—my own outputs turned sloppy.
Can't linger on 'just Floor 2' forever.
Pretend it's Floor 20.
Everything snaps back to projected range.
"I'll clean that up en route. Head to Healing Spring, stock potions."
"Stock and return? Twenty minutes minimum."
Her eyes flick anxiously.
Then, resolute.
"Nah. Ten minutes. I got this."
I smirked.
"Wait there. I'll link up."
"Uh... badass. Dagger's mine then, right?"
"Blink's cooling. Range-limited too."
Roguelikes demand thrift, power or no.
Irrational bullshit can boot you next run anytime.
Thus, items get conservative handling.
She might've tensed up.
'Isn't the unknown kinda thrilling?'
Her words.
True enough.
Even so.
Knowing all.
Handling all—isn't that peak?
Floor 2 stacked encounters.
Viable scenarios.
Call it Floor 20 equiv.
Then.
All mapped.
Recon complete.
The Great Shaman's assessment was straightforward.
Foe's an archer.
Secondary arms possible, but those arrows screamed elf-make.
Faint mana trace? Elven bow too.
Fairy allies, somehow linked.
Plus unreal precision, fire rate.
"Looks like they're dead."
Goblins AWOL despite foe intact.
Senses lightning buildup, solos the assassin.
Hell, beats the assassin.
Archer like that? Way stronger than assumed.
How many passives stacked, synergizing?
Level guess: 100-plus easy.
Exiles gonna exile.
Forget 'em, they pop up screwing plans.
Vile pests.
Still, Great Shaman stayed chill.
Foe just overperforming.
He hadn't soft-lived to fold to outsider trash.
Setting all aside.
Completed-spell shaman = powerhouse.
Mages wide open mid-cast.
Post-activation? Unchallenged.
Internal mana tanking, sure—but shamanism borrows.
Griffon's belching element mass proportional to bulk.
Fully leashed? Zero risk.
That sun-slow orb: ultimate offense and shield.
Pure arrows won't punch the thermal wall.
Won't dodge clean either.
He's steering it.
Slow death grip tightening.
That's shaman craft.
Overwhelming might.
Doom dealer via unstoppable force.
True shamans battle from victory already sealed.
But.
That nagging 'what if' lingered.
"Disciple."
"Yes?"
"Guard me."
"Price...?"
"Settle on return."
Non-human now, yet disciple clings to order-and-coin gospel.
Ex-Saintess jumps at the deal.
Mercy for weak. Toll from strong.
Faith's sellsword, god-and-gold alone.
Offensively committing [Blink Dagger]? Tough sell.
Not specs—pure risk.
God-tier escape tool; yanking it for attack feels wrong.
Like front-sighting some MMO skill.
But if you're solid? Elite option.
Life cheap or not, you lose everything built.
Folks shy away easy.
Obvious: noobs only.
Why I skipped handing dagger to Girl.
Win needed.
No strike-and-fade.
Full-mana Great Shaman caster? War-beast faith? Frontal assault's suicide.
Mage Achilles: mana drought = scrap metal.
Upper Kurare vats prep for this. Burn enemy casters dry.
Labyrinth: lone wolves scarier than hordes sometimes.
Shaman heals? Mana hog. Inherently trash efficiency.
Enter: narrow escape window.
Dump saved points.
Mobility required.
Bow, shotgun—floor 'em.
Roguelike RNG seems bullshit, but nah.
Pure chaos vars = frustration simulator.
Solid design: controllable chaos.
"Random" skills? Condition-weighted probs.
My gear. Stats. Hidden flags.
Pulls pedigrees exist.
[Dash] near-guaranteed? Dead simple.
No other moves. No ranged attacks.
Throw-daggers count ranged—drop 'em.
[Blink Dagger] moves, sure. But CD-parked = nonexistent.
Early-game staple.
Bin later anyway.
[Forget]? Too precious.
One of this hell world's gamer concessions?
System rule: skills weighted by affinity.
Bow line loves agility highs. Melee craves strength.
Stats climb? High-tiers spike odds.
Init stats strong? Extra juice.
Init stats = meta kings.
Snowballs huge.
Skill fruits dangle at Mind Map branch tips.
Spot the agility-green 3-dot branch.
Dot trio colors tweak tables too.
Green-green-green branch fruit? Non-agility nuked to oblivion.
Sniping godsend.
Luck still bites—max agility first.
I flood agility.
No rando passives.
No full branches.
Green dots only. Rinse across.
Back-of-napkin: 98% [Dash].
Life-on-line odds: ~2%.
Goblin XP shaved it; else dicier.
Quantify? Mobile gacha SSR ~2% ten-pull.
Link that agility-3 fruit.
Dash
Instant forward lunge. Cooldown: 15s. Mana: Low.
A flash, light descends.
Yes.
This is the game.
The Girl didn't even register Uncle popping the Mind Map, reallocating stats.
Just a split-second freeze, she figured.
Her head was elsewhere.
"You're not gonna die, right?"
Truth time.
Girl had zero faith in herself.
If this powerhouse guardian croaks here, zapped to next world? She'd never hack it solo.
He'd laughed about learning via death.
Untested theory. No thanks, rather skip.
Hunter's conflicted look mirrored it.
Tinged with grim acceptance, though.
Death-veteran perk, maybe.
Girl couldn't swing that.
Talk's cheap.
To her senses, death = over.
Sister's final battle flashes—never came home.
And this "restart"? Parallel world unmeetable forever?
Not normal death?
Total cutoff.
No res or rewind tag fits.
Rebirth, reincarnation.
Endgame: goodbye permanent. Same as vanilla death.
Girl hated that.
Fiercely.
"You can't die...?"
Finally clicked.
What she wanted.
Forced her usual bubbly grin, but eyes welled.
Uncle? Glances blank, like what?
Hand extends.
"Go swap clothes. Potion-patched rags'll shred soon."
"Ah."
Deadpan, but clutch intel.
Closes in like for a pat—abrupt air-freeze.
"Right. Head-touch averse. Sorry, angle was gold."
Nods solo.
Girl swallows the "No, fine, go for it."
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