Chapter 85
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 85
Chapter Title: Floor 9 - Lv. 79 Not-So-Weak Foes (2)
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The Goddess of Chaos seemed thrilled to see the newbies in action after so long.
It was unexpected, even to her.
When had she started getting so invested in this party?
She'd probably just been ignoring how hurt she was.
The crumbling cult, the great warriors and priests who'd lost faith in their god.
Her followers had dwindled until she could count them on one hand.
They were, of course, the most loyal ones.
The cult that had even claimed the title of Pope was gone now, but he was still called that.
The great warriors still guarded the Pope, and the archbishops, with no subordinates left, sewed their own robes, tended fields, and hunted beasts.
When asked by divine oracle why they didn't leave, they answered:
"You are our only god, O Chaos."
Their words were undoubtedly noble and sincere.
In the end, they remained devotees of Chaos until they died of old age or fell in battle.
She could barely remember their faces now, let alone how they met their ends.
A mere human who'd sat upon the throne of a god—no, more precisely, a demon.
Even so, she couldn't recall their final moments.
At some point, she must have stopped responding altogether.
The past lingered only as faint traces etched somewhere in her mind.
Why had it been that way?
Why hadn't their pleas reached her heart back then?
The human heart breaks easily.
It never truly hardens with training; it just ignores the wounds.
Her heart—the heart of the so-called Goddess of Chaos—had probably withered away completely by then.
"How pathetic. Truly pathetic."
She'd abandoned them and clung to this half-life.
Letting the throne toy with the few remaining devotees who clung to it, without a second thought.
Just neglecting them, over and over.
And even in their final moments, something in her stirred back to life.
She wailed and begged like the childlike figure she appeared to be.
Truth be told, she was still cowardly now.
She suspected herself of doing all this because some other motive had crept in.
She couldn't bear the nagging doubt otherwise.
The goddess had never seen a party like this. More precisely, an exile like this one.
Many had commanded vampires before.
Plenty boasted expertise in vampirism.
Some were nearing the end of their century-long exile; others had already exceeded it.
Vampires live long.
A hundred years, a thousand—it doesn't matter.
Of course, truly enduring that long is rare.
Most crumble before then.
Their bodies may be immortal, but their minds aren't.
Many vampire devotees had faded that way.
Some honed themselves to the bitter end, finally reaching some goal as vampires.
Vampires are a deeply flawed race.
Their theoretical power is immense beyond words, but wielding it properly? A [Sword Master] is easier by comparison.
Easy to say. [Mist Form] turns the body into molecules and sends it flying. [Bat Form] turns each part into a living flying beast. Flashy and powerful, sure.
Even becoming an angel doesn't make human wings easy to flap.
If a new body part is hard enough, what about transforming into something that barely qualifies as one?
Just scattering and reforming as bats freely puts you at Elder level, right below Lord.
Even a Vampire Lord struggles to send bats to distant spots for simultaneous scouting and recall.
Not even a Clan Master-level ancient vampire can do it effortlessly, depending on temperament.
Yet he does it all so casually.
He's proven his mastery countless times, but handling a race as finicky as vampires this well is special.
The goddess admitted her own cowardice.
In that final moment, when she'd given up mending her shattered heart as death loomed.
Some whim from the Throne of Chaos—whether commanded or not—had led to this.
The goddess pondered.
What happens to gods who reach the Labyrinth's end?
Liberation?
This man might just pull it off.
That's why she'd thrown herself into it willingly. If liberation was coming anyway, what did it matter serving another god?
[The God of Nature sighs.]
"What's wrong?"
[The God of Nature says you could just go out and wipe them all out.]
"It's still daytime."
[The God of Nature shakes his head.]
"Well, with the sky all overcast, it's not like I couldn't manage."
[The God of Nature tells you not to play coy.]
"Aw, you're so picky. Me getting stronger alone doesn't mean much anyway."
"Trying to clear the Labyrinth, are we?"
"Don't all exiles want that?"
"Hardly. Most give up once they've got enough power. No reason not to."
Rankers do live luxuriously, that's true.
Some might miss home, but plenty weren't happy there anyway.
Even without that, once you grasp the server's future, whipping up soda is doable.
The Labyrinth's world oddly lacks such entertainments, but an exile with knowledge could make them.
Lots lose the drive to clear it. Even former challengers.
"Didn't Chaos ever wonder?"
"Why I'm gunning for the clear? Nah, she never asked."
"She's always been like that."
"Who?"
"Someone like that exists."
[The God of Nature says he's jealous.]
"What the hell's that supposed to mean?"
The God of Nature fell silent after that.
Dignity of a god and all—he rarely even issued oracles.
I shrugged and patted the kid's head while waiting a bit.
Her thin silver hair was dull and brittle, lacking luster.
She'd probably wake by morning.
She'd been critically wounded from the 8th floor battle's aftermath, but even accounting for that, her recovery was sluggish.
Looked like she had no real will to live.
Like so many things, without the drive, the body won't follow.
Creatures balance instinct and reason on a tightrope.
Undead being "alive" is debatable, but magically, they count as living.
How had Barbaroi managed this kid? Should've asked.
I'll check with the party when they return.
No Chaos devotees in the cabin now.
The bats' vision fed me the outside scene.
The fight right in front of the cabin was nearing its end.
A few warriors thrashed helplessly without limbs or potions; I was staunching their bleeding.
Control blood, and you can stop leaks too.
Those who rushed the old man got a taste of the veteran orc warrior's axe.
Near level 200 named orc? No match for 9th floor scrubs.
The Hunter had a close call with assassins, but Flintlock spat fire.
Guns are instant, after all.
Head explodes spectacularly—no potion saves that.
The Hunter blew dramatically on his smoking pistol, striking a pose.
The Youngest advanced slowly, hefting a shield as big as himself.
Really slowly.
Arrows couldn't dent it.
When a skill-laced one flew, [Barrier] deployed.
Obviously impenetrable.
Minor scratches from it faded thanks to troll-leather armor.
He bonked the archer with the shield, then smashed his head down.
Dead.
Meanwhile, checking on the Girl.
She was getting back into the groove despite the long hiatus.
Skills learned never betray an exile.
Replicating game vampire play in reality was a pain, but damn rewarding.
As the Labyrinth's early floors wind down, reliance on skills ramps up.
Skills differ from swordsmanship, martial arts, archery, or magic—techniques ingrained in the body.
Skills happen without principle or cause; pure [Skill].
Take [Blink Dagger].
Mana flow? None.
Incantation? Nope.
It just blinks. That's how it is.
Closer to divine authority.
Like the invisible force suddenly binding the Girl's feet right now.
Not magical bind. No mana trace—just bam.
Who’s staring at her feet? An archer, eyes sharper than before.
She guards frontal attacks first.
Feet won’t budge. Heavy as lead.
Can’t move freely, can’t put force into motions.
Without power, a warrior’s overhead might topple her.
Feet still nailed down, probably.
But with just her upper body strength...
Bam!
She blocked it.
The warrior bringing down a bastard sword-sized blade panicked.
Veteran himself, he was gearing for the follow-up.
Block or not, she'd lose balance—he'd kick and cleave.
That intent was clear.
The Girl flung two more daggers.
Then raised her sword to an arrow.
A bit slow. Deep gash in her side. Not embedded, but near-fatal.
Faster than expected.
Skill too?
She swallowed a bit of mouth-held potion, gripped her sword. Next arrow zipped in.
Tried dodging by reading the archer's gaze.
Still fixated on her feet.
Incredible precision without looking straight.
Where next? Can’t tell without eyes.
Warrior charged.
One dagger hit him, but he splashed potion and pressed on.
Girl checked him with her left sword.
No proper exchange.
Like Uncle taught: strong blows slide off mana-clad blades.
Didn’t fully. Opponent tried same; her left arm buckled.
Dagger in right blocked incoming arrow.
She’s right-handed. More focus there.
Never practiced batting arrows back, but felt doable.
Mana-clad flat deflected it.
Like left sword on arrows.
Cushioned physics, lofted it slightly.
Then smacked it bat-style with dagger flat.
Unorthodox, so it worked.
Archer blocked with one arm.
Not full-draw power.
But his gear wasn’t either.
Thud of embedding arrow. He sighed in relief. Then passed out.
Dagger hilt nailed his head spinning.
Foot-bind vanished simultaneously.
Mage—how to handle.
Warrior rolled.
Girl felt intense hatred toward him. Overwhelming, couldn’t look away.
Knew she shouldn’t, but charged.
No ambush, no technique—just raw power overhead.
Even [Trajectory Replay] triggered.
Warrior horizontally parried the simple path easily.
And felt the stab in his back.
Ambush proc.
Pierced fairy priest robe defense.
Chilling spine sensation, pain.
Gulped down held potion fully this time.
Lower body numbness from severed nerves returned.
Warrior’s [Taunt] ended.
Regained body and emotion control—retreated full throttle.
[Dash] triple-cast again.
Assassin tailed with similar stunt.
Daggers clashed.
He threw too. She tried parrying with left sword.
Too much. His form blurred in black shadow.
Knew it: [Stealth].
Motions invisible.
Another dagger flew from him.
Then one more.
Right arm bare—blocked. Short. Twisted shoulder—barely.
Neck, vitals, bones, muscles—razor thin.
Defense held.
But feet froze next.
Assassin hastily distanced.
Behind: fallen warrior from unexpected [Trajectory Replay].
Frost spreads.
Cold mist rises like pale fog.
Massive mana overhead. Not skill—or magic skill.
"Ah..."
Mana-laced ice shards rained down.
"That's enough."
Bats circling above dove fast.
Girl had neutralized two.
Archer and warrior.
But assassin bought time for magecast.
Facing enemy clump with mage? If it gets this far, you're done mostly.
Bats flew in, reverted to blood.
Long-range blood control like this? Only Barbaroi's authority.
One bat secures view; rest form blood lances pouring.
Deflects all ice at Girl.
Meanwhile, downed archer and warrior bleed out fast.
Gushing blood whirls.
Blood meant for masters now shreds everywhere.
Sever carotid, and it fountains with heartbeat.
Quick potion grab is smart, but futile.
Shackles of blood clamp limbs.
Mage bolted without a word.
Needs finesse here. Bat-only distant control limits speed.
Hardens blood into shell, packs compressed blood inside.
Not water rocket—blood rocket?
Physics bends sometimes, but Labyrinth laws hold.
Fire!
The woman snarled in frustration.
Observing via mage's floating scry screen.
A pigeon overhead scans the ground.
Battlefield in view.
Blood sweeps snowbound forest.
Sometimes spear-sharp, now...
That a gun? Mechanism looked it.
"What the hell did we just see?"
"Vampire?"
"Be serious. Where's a vampire like that?"
"Nah, we know a guy who could pull that off."
"Who?"
The man replied glumly.
"Barbaroi."
"Fuck. Why the hell's that bastard here?"