Chapter 25
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 25
Chapter Title: 3rd Floor - Lv.18 Gamer (3)
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Skipping the killing blow on the griffin was truly the right call.
In hindsight, it led to a far better outcome than just escaping unscathed.
My current level is exactly 21.
It would've been nice if I'd gotten all the experience from the last hit, but sadly, it's based on contribution, so I didn't get much.
Trdongt probably gobbled up a hefty share.
Still, amid all that, I snagged three active skills.
Pretty damn lucrative, if you ask me. It was thanks to everything aligning perfectly—situational bonuses and a favorable mind map layout.
A shame it didn't lean heavier into strength, but prioritizing agility and intelligence classes offers higher late-game potential, so no complaints here.
Besides, I'm suited to be a dealer, not a warrior.
Most games work that way.
Might warriors hold the front line, doubling as meat shields to some degree.
It's practically historical tradition that glass-cannon dealers have frail bodies.
Balance demands it.
But from a strength class user's perspective, it's a bit unfair.
Back when it was just a game, maybe not—but now, I'm the one taking hits with my actual body, so there's no laughing this off.
Game characters don't feel pain, but I sure as hell do when I get smacked.
Ironically, though, the deeper you go into the labyrinth, the more crucial front-liners become.
Sure, against massive enemies where front and back don't matter, it's different—but humanoid powerhouses pop up constantly.
Demons, especially, are total bastards.
Melee warriors who grapple, pummel, and beat those things to death play a vital, vital role.
Yet as their importance rises, their numbers dwindle.
They die easily.
Exposed to enemy attacks up close, it's unavoidable.
By the time you reach kingdom levels, a competent high-level melee warrior's value is beyond imagination.
Either they're all dead, or already affiliated somewhere. No way to recruit them.
On the flip side, early zones before the kingdom are overflowing with warriors.
Strength builds make clearing the start easiest and smoothest, so naturally, there are tons.
So, it would've been smart to pick one up now and raise them.
Even as I set out with the Hunter, I kept scanning the refugees nonstop.
It'd be great to find a warrior talented enough to take all the way, but at minimum, I need someone usable for a while.
Thinking about the potential chaos every even layer with the Girl, it's practically essential.
Sorry, meat shield, but I need the time you'll buy me.
One-on-one ambushes exploiting momentary gaps are fine, too.
But against warriors, backstabs are more efficient.
I don't need amazing tanking or DPS from them.
We've already got three dealers in the party—just draw aggro well enough.
Then we can kill the enemy before the warrior drops.
Up until leaving camp, my eyes were busy scanning.
The Hunter noticed.
"You do need a warrior, huh."
"Oho, spoken like someone who's partied properly before?"
The Hunter gave a wry smile.
"It was the floor where I settled down. I was the sole survivor, with no way forward."
"Guess I owe you an apology for that."
The labyrinth forces endless failures.
Memories of those rare successful runs burn brighter than anything.
Solid party play needs camaraderie.
Comrades in life-or-death struggles aren't just business.
Even if they're surviving elsewhere now, it's still a painful memory.
"So, any promising ones?"
"Nah, couldn't spot any. Plenty with that rising venom in their eyes, but no burly builds."
Exceptions like the Girl aside, initial stats show in physique.
Skinny guys like me aren't packing high strength.
No matter how much you pump strength and train, sturdy bones and big frames suit warriors best.
Initial stats are like multipliers. New points just scale your physical capabilities.
Locked in the moment you're kidnapped into the labyrinth as an exile—no changing it.
"Let's think it over slowly."
"Got it."
Unlike before, I didn't tire out and need rests during travel.
Partly 'cause I bulked up on strength, partly 'cause stamina's improved.
We moved swiftly through the jungle.
The third floor—first odd layer—is less a proper floor and more a plaza for gathering party members.
Beasts maybe, but no real monsters.
I pressed on, swinging a hefty machete suited for jungle.
Onward. Ever onward.
Easy to lose your way in the thicket, but the Hunter's experience shone.
I was a bit skeptical, but somehow he nailed the directions.
Eventually, I signaled the Hunter to halt.
He froze, puzzled.
I pointed through the branches at a distant glimpse of clothing fluttering.
The Hunter got it.
The spring on the third floor was in a clearing smack in the jungle's heart.
Our spot was roughly one corner of that clearing. They'd woven logs and vines into a makeshift watchpost atop the trees.
Too dense foliage for proper scouting from up there.
But solid cover was set up.
Less a lookout, more a bunker for hurling projectiles from high ground.
Bow? Or maybe a gun?
Guns would suck.
People die to bullets.
Regrettably, I'd ditched my double-barrel shotgun in the abyss—out of ammo.
Uneasy without premium arrows or bomb fruits unspent, but using them felt wasteful.
Anyway, we're just scouting, so ignore it for now.
With the Girl, even guns wouldn't stop a frontal assault win.
"If it's guns, probably a blunderbuss?"
"Unless it's a shotgun, early floors only drop those."
"What if it's an automatic rifle? Nah, probably just us who saw that hell on two."
Guns take the least labyrinth buffs—almost no related passives.
Instead, the gear itself performs well, I guess.
Gunners are classic gear-dependent classes.
I circled for a better look.
Toward the refugees, defenses were decent.
Opposite side? Barely any.
They figure threats come in hordes.
The elf archer said her group hadn't clashed directly yet.
But there'd been skirmishes with roaming exiles avoiding camp.
The spring holders were bigger than reported.
A dozen or so—practically a bandit crew.
Intel was off.
Not that the elf archer lied.
Mage scouted via magic, so maybe incomplete view; plus, some surrendered and joined after.
Anyway, the spring squatters aren't the ragtag bunch expected.
I noted more terrain, then pulled back.
Would've liked to confirm arms, but no gun spotted. Come back fully prepped.
As we retreated—
"Ah, gotta take a massive dump—cover me!"
From the first watchpost, a hulking mass clambered down fidgeting.
Hidden before, but what a glorious beefcake.
Grumbling from the other side—something about not wanting shit-stink, piss off far away.
Far from spring means our way.
Hunter grinned viciously, hefting his mace.
His go-to since smashing goblin pots on two.
Swords are trickier than they look. For non-experts, blunt weapons. Pure ranger pick.
The guy pushed through brush toward us.
Bald dome gleamed.
Tattooed arms, ripped Hispanic muscles...
Familiar somehow?
Blissfully unaware, the brute closed in and crudely dug with a dull knife.
Hunter glanced my way.
Eye contact spoke volumes when minds aligned.
'Strike now?'
I shook my head.
'Wait 'til pants down, then smack.'
Hunter smiled delightedly.
'Right. Messy if he shits while we drag.'
His grin had a sadistic edge.
This guy's been stressed lately?
The abyss really grinds people down.
The brute squatted, foul noises and pile ensuing.
Hunter swung the mace.
Veteran guerrilla ranger.
Muscled Hispanic crumpled forward, out cold without a whimper.
I caught the body quick. Hunter sheathed mace, helped haul.
Silently, we dragged him back the way we came.
Far enough, we spaced out and slapped him awake.
Fierce bald face scowled.
Body like iron—head bonked, yet no lingering effects.
Such bulk is stat abuse itself.
Not Girl-level supernatural, but still.
"Ugh, my head. What the—wait. Who the hell are you?"
Well, well. South American cartel vibes...
We recognized each other instantly.
"You! You bastard! Gweh!"
Hook grazed the jaw. Shake the brain, toughness crumbles.
Huge frame faceplanted again.
Hunter panicked.
"Weren't we interrogating then killing?"
"Nah. Look at this hunk. Initial strength sky-high, right?"
"...True, but we don't even know what kinda guy he is."
I do.
First floor survivor. Pulled his arm checking traps 'cause he was too meek for a thug look and vibe.
Funny how compliant he was despite the gangster aesthetic.
"Man, tankiness off the charts, yeah?"
Hunter nodded reluctantly.
I declared:
"Rejoice. Looks like we just nabbed our party's melee warrior."
I know his type well—seen plenty.
Fists fly at weaklings, grovels to the strong.
Just make him see I'm absolute top dog, and he'll obey like a puppy.
The silent Goddess of Chaos piped up then.
「Hey! Gimme him!」
'Chaos tank? Wild. But he's yours.'
「Yesss! Follower count up!」
Party balance improves—great for me.
Hunter gets a minion—great for him.
Goddess gains a devotee—great for her.
Perfection.