Chapter 33
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 33
Chapter Title: Floor 4 - Lv. 325 Barbaroi (2)
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Battle mages were mages with zero delay on their spells.
At their core, they were mages, but their style of combat leaned more toward warriors.
Sword masters were the opposite: warriors at heart, but their fighting resembled a mage's a bit more.
A battle mage's mana consumption wasn't as high as one might think.
A sword master's was far higher than expected.
Even accounting for racial differences, Dustban's reserves would run dry first.
The sword master irritably blinked his one remaining eye.
He'd known there was a lord-class vampire here.
Such information leaked easily within vampire society.
They craved a tea party massacre, after all.
But he hadn't anticipated the clan master himself gracing this old castle.
This was another tea party massacre.
Whoever leaked that info wanted mutual destruction.
This was a problem.
The Barbaroi weren't a clan native to these lands. They were a group that had fled from the east, chased by something.
Information on them was sorely lacking in every respect.
He unleashed a massive surge of sword aura and swung.
The vampire scattered into bats.
He caught and sliced some mid-flight, but the survivors regrouped, reforming his shape.
Dustban swiftly shifted angles for a thrust, only to meet fierce retaliation.
The explosion, crammed full of mana, scorched his hair even from the heated shockwave alone.
Even as a sword master, he had no choice but to tread carefully.
He couldn't afford to trade blows evenly.
If they inflicted lethal wounds on each other, the vampire's superior vitality would claim victory.
Dustban severed the flow of mana with sword aura just before the blast.
The overheated mana dispersed without detonating, like steam losing pressure.
Part of the lord's bat swarm bore deep gashes, but blood swirled in, refilling them.
Against a human of similar caliber, it would be even, but humans couldn't regenerate, putting them at a severe disadvantage.
Dustban signaled with a hand gesture.
An arrow from a waiting subordinate archer flew in at a slight angle, perfectly timed.
A sacred arrow steeped in holy water. On hit, it was deadlier than sword aura.
The Barbaroi twisted desperately to evade.
Dustban forced an opening.
He launched a crescent slash of sword aura.
His body charged in tandem.
A massive overhead cleave.
A strike impossible to dodge.
But the vampire detonated one of his own arms for propulsion, reeling back.
A human would be crippled, but the monster regrew the limb.
It was a perfect hit, yet it barely missed the heart.
Instead, the unavoidable sword aura bisected the vampire's waist.
The upper and lower halves split smoothly, dissolving into bats once more.
Dustban sensed their regrouping direction instinctively.
A flash of sword aura shot out. He accelerated with a mana burst.
The charge blurred even sound itself.
From the bat swarm, a hand thrust forth.
A hand wreathed in ominous, flickering mana flames.
It snatched the incoming sword aura whole and hurled it aside.
Dustban's thrust pierced the torso in that interval.
A chilling sensation, like stabbing a corpse.
He didn't slice sideways.
Vertically.
Using the flat of the blade, he applied force.
Ripping it apart entirely.
The sword, cloaked in aura, would never break.
The vampire's flesh, with durability no greater than a human's, tore vertically.
A gruesome sight, as if a giant had ripped it asunder by force.
Yet the heart was spared again.
Intestines spilled once more, scattering as bats.
But many plummeted dead, unable to fly.
This was somewhat hopeful.
That last one was particularly big.
The lord's face paled noticeably.
Dustban thought so as he taunted.
"Starting to struggle, are we?"
"Hardly."
The lord snapped his fingers.
Dustban thought it an opening, but the other hand pointed and detonated.
He cleaved the blast itself.
The split shockwave kicked up dust.
Something strange began happening.
Dead bats melted into pools of blood.
Turning into reddish mist.
It was sucked straight into him.
His recovery was visible.
The sword master gritted his teeth.
How absolute was his dominion over blood?
Dustban's vast experience offered no precedent for this level.
A subordinate's support spell incinerated bats trying to absorb it.
Calm down. Stick to this. They were definitely wearing him down relentlessly.
Even with recovery, he was depleting overall.
His pale face grew ever whiter.
They were pushing him back, bit by bit, surely.
If they maintained this, victory was certain.
The monster might lash out desperately.
But attempting greater destruction would create an opening.
That's when the heart would split in two.
The exiles, whom he hadn't expected much from, had inflicted massive damage.
He angled his sword slightly off. To cleave even wider.
A bit precarious, but victory was clear.
So Dustban believed.
Until the vampire lord snapped his fingers again.
In a survival-focused game, extreme glass cannons weren't all that impressive.
Their stability was abysmal.
Yet like many glass cannons, they overflowed with romantic appeal.
Intelligence builds were prime examples of firepower-obsessed classes.
Agility favored reliably dismantling single targets, while strength trended toward stability and melee prowess.
Single-stat classes had their niches, but top-tier jobs typically combined two or more stats.
Sword masters and battle mages exemplified this.
The irony? Strength plus intelligence birthed the game's most firepower-crazed class.
Melding intelligence firepower with strength melee.
Melee's risks demanded equally extreme output.
Perfectly balanced design.
Easy to accept from behind a monitor, but in reality? What the hell is this?
Sir Dustban's sword strikes pursued the Barbaroi.
The vampire lord retreated, face twisted in fury.
As he shook his hand, an explosion erupted.
Even sword masters lacked defense.
Sir Dustban slashed the mana forming the blast, weakening or nullifying it, and dodged aside.
Like the shattered sword aura, the incomplete destructive mana scattered, igniting fires everywhere.
The hall had no flammable remnants left.
Stones glowed briefly before cooling.
Their battle had to be this way.
Those were their classes. No defense.
No utility either.
To win, they restrained firepower somewhat, fighting cautiously.
Battle mages used spells but abandoned range.
They mixed close-quarters brawling with mana bursts. Perverted classes fixated on peak output.
Sword masters weren't much different.
They bet everything on cutting power, even slicing magic.
But as warriors, they were paper-thin, forsaking durability entirely.
Their duel was a swelling mass of pure romance.
Of course, no time to admire it indefinitely.
"Need a healing potion, by chance?"
A mage who seemed like the vice captain halted his casting to ask.
The Night Crow stragglers had been wiped out easily.
Night Crow arrived in the hall with minimal losses.
A few supporting archers aided Sir Dustban's fight.
The face under the hood looked youthful, almost boyish.
Probably not even twenty, yet his speech was that of an old man. Must have a story.
"I'd be grateful for a share."
Our healing potions were all spent.
We'd dumped them all on the Barbaroi as pre-planned damage.
The thick red liquid in the vials didn't smell great.
The Girl grimaced, slathering it on light burns.
No one was critically injured yet, but everyone bore wounds big and small affecting combat ability.
Not instant like a spring, but it disinfected and dulled pain effectively enough.
The mage hastily erected a barrier.
Splashed flames from the fight deflected off the mana shield.
I smacked my lips, watching Sir Dustban's battle.
A sword master's offense overwhelmed even vampire vitality.
The Barbaroi couldn't charge casually like he had with us, holding back on big destruction.
No burial attempts.
His racial [Blood Reservoir] was likely bottoming out.
He could regenerate massively with stored blood, but our spring assaults had depleted it enormously.
Of course, remaining capacity was gauged by his paling complexion.
No more heart-tossing tricks now.
That would kill him.
"Rest now. You've exceeded every expectation."
The old-young mage smiled in praise.
Then apologized.
"I've never seen exiles as valiant as you. Thought you all had nine lives and acted like cowards. My apologies."
Not a bad reputation.
Without a race change, exiles were human. Night Crow protected humans.
And they were a formidable force.
Friendship with them was a huge boon anywhere in human lands.
Sir Dustban would reunite on even floors in future runs.
Once you met native NPCs, the Labyrinth's rules kept entangling you.
"You're dominant, sir. It should end soon."
The old-young one viewed the battle optimistically.
Probably not.
The Barbaroi was cornered, sure.
It looked that way.
'Vampire Lord' was just a rank denoting vampire prestige.
Criteria: Ability to form and lead a clan.
Creating and dominating thralls.
Slightly different from actual clan master status.
Why I'd hoped pre-castle entry it wasn't clan master level?
"Heavens. What is this?"
Clan masters came with signature gear.
I feared the gear advantage.
"Whoa, whoa, what is this?"
Even from the Girl's minor scratches, blood was steadily siphoned.
Vast dominion over blood.
Effect of the Barbaroi's mantle, [Bloodied Wings].
True to their 'foreigner' name, the Barbaroi clan lore had them constantly displaced from elsewhere.
Yet they often settled down.
Chased out this time, bad luck, but a nightmare clan master matchup.
For vampires, few artifacts beat it.
It drastically boosted sustainability. Perfect synergy with battle mage Barbaroi.
With it, humans were hopelessly outmatched.
Just land scratches.
Recovery secured.
No human victory in this war of attrition.
I grinned.
The old-young mage resumed casting.
I tapped his shoulder, halting him.
"Leave this to me now."
I drew Akasha's Eye from the Girl.
The opponent's eyes widened.
"A sinister mana dagger with a violet blade and black pearl... This is an Abyssal relic..."
I was mildly surprised instead.
Why did this guy recognize Akasha's Eye instantly? A native knowing Abyss entities? No ordinary mage.
But explanations could wait. This saved time.
"You know what I'm planning?"
The mage nodded.
"Banishment to the Abyss."
I'd assumed clan master meant this was the only way from the start.
For whatever reason—Girl's influence?—it felt tuned for razor-thin clears.
Could just sneak past stairs while Dustban fought.
But that wasn't right.
Remember Floor 2?
Plenty to gain there.
Even without Akasha's Eye, a World Tree sapling piece or better ties with Trdongt would open paths.
Grab something minimum.
Ignore and skip? Difficulty snowballs to flip eventually.
Full farm impossible, but snag something for progress.
This run's even floors were that level.
And on Floor 4, my gain?
Night Crow friendship.
Huge anywhere in human turf.
Luck willing, detach the Barbaroi's [Bloodied Wings] too.
My right hand blurred as the dagger appeared.
The trusty [Blink Dagger].
Cooldown up.
I gestured for the party to fall back.
Can't risk them getting caught.
The Hunter quietly led them away.
I asked the mage.
"Can you first blast that ceiling?"
The hall was half-collapsed.
Barbaroi explosions cleared debris avalanches, but upper ruins leaned, blocking much sunlight.
The mage got it quick.
A [Fireball] flew, widening ceiling holes.
Sunlight exposure grew.
Sir Dustban caught on.
Sunlight damaged vampires, halted regen.
He feigned checks, carving more light holes with sword aura.
The lord knew what was coming but lacked openings to stop it.
Battle turned sour.
Ongoing fight drew blood from many minor wounds constantly.
His recovery barely kept pace with depletion.
He needed to bite for sustain.
But withdrawing support isolated Dustban.
Dilemma.
Sir Dustban doggedly herded the Barbaroi into sunlight.
Other Night Crows followed suit.
Light paused regen; shade restored pristine.
Forcing greater bleeds.
Everyone thought now:
Full sunlight exposure decided the fight.
Exactly the perception needed.
Amid urgency, smokescreen to ignore Akasha's Eye.
Psychological blind spot.
And one more.
[Bloodied Wings]
Signature gear.
Normally inseparable.
Less 'equipment' passed to heirs, more innate authority.
Acquire properly? Join clan, inherit.
Impossible for exiles.
But why knew it was truly 'gear'?
Abyss god's authority detached it.
Honestly? Bug from banish mechanics tangling with bat swarms.
Forced reason: Abyss as timeless absolute, no suffix like others.
Labyrinth's core gods interfered differently.
Anyway, named unique steals were impossible in game days.
Reality changed things—not all against me.
Exploit everything possible.
Abyss buggy even in game.
Snag [Bloodied Wings]? Peace this run.
Faith's Chaos too.
Vampires: sole race where Chaos faith was meta.
Nice. Heart racing after ages.
Let me freeload this time.
I don't hate vampire play.