Chapter 95
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 95
Chapter Title: 9th Floor - Lv. ? [Gatling Cat](3)
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The God Seat of Chaos was a divine throne rooted in the Abyss, part of the evil god lineage.
There was no sun in the Abyss.
Undead were generally weak to sunlight.
That was precisely why faith in Chaos was so advantageous for the undead.
The power of a god originating from the lightless Abyss granted even a slight resistance to light.
Of course, that resistance was also heavily influenced by one's rank as a vampire.
A vampire's rank was like another level, one not displayed on the mind map, that greatly affected all vampire abilities.
It grew through blood consumption, with progress that wasn't obvious on the surface.
But it quietly accumulated and digested within.
The most noticeably changing part was the unbeating heart.
Pale complexion and lowered body temperature gradually began to normalize.
A human who died and became a walking corpse seemed to revert toward humanity the stronger it grew.
What an irony.
And exiles held an advantage even there.
Though faith seemed essential in this brutal continent, not everyone actually practiced it.
For ordinary residents, faith was a luxury. This medieval fantasy world was far from the information- and transportation-advanced modern era.
Most residents knew gods existed but treated them as tales from some distant land.
Experiencing their divine powers firsthand wasn't easy either.
Exiles had high access to gods and could select ones fitting their race and class to worship.
[Spring of Blood Purified by Chaos]
It was an unmatched cheat passive that boosted growth efficiency.
A privilege granted only to Chaos-worshipping vampires.
The draw chance was random but far from low.
Plus, minor points had steadily accumulated, yielding a few extras.
First up: [Mist Form].
Turning one's body into dispersing mist was a rather unpleasant experience.
Spread it too thin, and it might not reform.
Better to avoid it on windy or rainy days.
Still, the reason for using it was simple.
In conditions like now—no wind, weak sunlight—they couldn't detect my approach at all.
I spread myself across the vast space and flowed onward.
Every snow-covered tree branch felt tangible, as if part of my own body.
The sensation was no different from my actual innards.
Yet orcs were sensitive to the scent of blood.
"There's a blood smell..."
It was a battlefield with a vampire present.
Everyone had noticed.
"Wind! Any mage who can summon wind!"
None. All the mages had been eliminated. Only warriors and archers remained.
The other parties had been wiped out.
The blood moved.
The blood constituting my body required no domination. It was mine to begin with.
The mist thickened in an instant. The blood-red mist was dense enough to make breathing impossible.
A few who had already let their guard down clutched their throats, suffocating.
The mist infiltrating their bodies burrowed straight into their lungs. Once blood filled the alveoli, they'd drown in agony no matter how they gasped for air.
"Don't breathe!"
Aoong!
The Gatling Cat fired.
[Mist Form] rendered one nearly immune to physical attacks, but the paths those absurd bullets traversed vanished cleanly.
But my [Spring of Blood] reserves were overwhelmingly plentiful.
The orc leader judged swiftly.
[Heavy Impact]
It was a skill I'd planned to hand over to the girl if possible.
The effect was straightforward: deliver powerful physical force in blunt form.
The aftermath spread as a shockwave with nearly equal power to the original strike.
The mist was momentarily repelled.
I reformed my body. Not my original form.
Bats swarmed. They flapped as if in a cave.
The archers tried to intercept.
The Gatling Cat began roaring again.
The bats charged in.
The bats exploded.
Flames engulfed everything.
"What did he just do?"
Rarely, genuine bafflement colored the goddess's divine utterance.
The Girl couldn't help but ask.
"Didn't you say that magic system couldn't do it?"
The martial artist class built atop that.
A class that went all-in on magic but fought like a close-quarters brawler.
"That hit me kinda hard. So why do I get smacked around by mages?"
"Everyone's got their own standards!"
The Goddess of Chaos thought in earnest.
The God of Magic ought to see this mess.
That lunatic would immediately snag vampire followers for training.
[The God of Nature asks how it was done.]
'You can see it, right? Each bat rigged with explosions.'
「That's not why I'm asking. Is the mana connected? They're like clones, but clones don't share mana, do they?」
'But my will reaches every one. And magic is the manifestation of will.'
「How precisely are you perceiving each bat? Could you stack coins with them?」
'Hm, not easy, but doable I think.'
「What's your agility stat?」
'I'm swamped here—can you ask later?'
The God of Nature fell silent for a moment before acquiescing.
「Guess I need to teach your followers on other servers.」
Easier than expected. Just a matter of mindset. Magic's possibilities often hinged on conception.
Martial artists cast fast because their mana process was extremely abbreviated.
Bat-form casting was tough only because the mage's mind dispersed every which way.
The ultra-simplified martial artist mana method made it barely feasible.
Without a mind map, even I couldn't pull it off.
The labyrinth's don't-ask bonus made it possible.
But most exile mages over-relied on skills and never researched magic themselves.
True native mages lacked mind maps.
A delicate harmony of real magic and game systems.
If I could make others understand...
With effort, maybe possible.
I was skeptical, though.
The dwarf leader downed incoming bats with the Gatling Cat somehow.
No precise aiming needed. The enigmatic cat handled tracking whenever he twisted his head.
It sent chills down his spine.
Gun rangers had few weapon-specific skills, so they invested heavily in mobility.
Including [Dash] and [Emergency Evasion], he'd collected a stack of escape skills.
When the cat suddenly shut its mouth mid-fight to groom itself, it was downright eerie.
Bats endlessly flitted about, pursuing the scattered exiles from all directions.
Any lull in the barrage meant death.
As he desperately rolled, leaped, and dodged, the cat let out a thin, displeased mew.
"Please! I'm begging! Snacks galore if you keep it up!"
No telling if it understood. But it snatched the jerky he offered.
He diligently scratched its chin too.
The cat began meowing again.
This time, lower and fiercer.
Kyaaooong!
The bats circling nearby all vanished. The dwarf leader finally grasped what happened: the bullets auto-curved to intercept them.
Aeong! Aeong!
The cat turned back with an adorable expression, as if to say, "Good job, right?"
The dwarf leader hurriedly petted its head.
The cat began purring contentedly.
No more bats appeared.
The orc leader called for surrender, knowing no response would come.
An NPC had no reason to recruit a non-exile like him.
His once-human brain, now orcish, began spewing rage.
The orc leader turned. No [Mjolnir], but he had a backup weapon prepared.
He swung the hammer at the incoming bats.
He artfully avoided fatal blasts.
His orcish sturdy flesh endured somehow.
He chugged potions relentlessly.
He could attrition the bats. The sun had risen.
Stall long enough, who knew.
He didn't ponder if that chance was real.
True to orc nature, eyes only on the present.
His swings grew keener. Bats tore before exploding.
Their blood-needles pierced, but he swallowed potions and tanked.
Spotting dead exiles' corpses, he rolled over to smash their potion vials.
It felt like hours had passed subjectively. Actually not.
The bats converged.
Finally, the foe revealed itself.
If only he could crush that heart!
Roaring thunderously, he charged.
[Heavy Impact]
The vampire stood still, accepting the attack. Instead, it extended an arm to seize the orc.
Orcs dwarfed human-based vampires in size. The near-two-meter brute's skill strike pulverized half the vampire's body.
The upper torso definitely vanished.
Fleeting hope crossed the orc leader's face.
But the arm floating in midair seized the orc's throat.
Not a size fit for grabbing by the collar.
Yet the orc sensed death.
Die enough, and you instinctively know. This is it.
Mana flowed from the gripped arm, infiltrating every crevice.
He tried resisting, to no avail. Torrent-like mana ravaged every inch.
His body burned hot.
No—actually turning to scattering ash.
Just before head and eyes fully incinerated, he glimpsed a tiny bat.
It flew to the headless vampire torso and nestled at the right chest, transforming into a blackened, half-dead heart.
Lots of blood now.
Martial artist blasts fundamentally generated heat, but bat-cast versions couldn't cleanly incinerate corpses.
Most crumpled from blast pressure or passed out—not fully dead.
Carpet bombing had subtly poor lethality.
But all were bleeding.
I dismissed the magic. Time for more cost-effective divine powers.
The dwarf leader clutched the cat and bolted mindlessly for the stairs. Survive first.
But a terrifying roar began from behind.
Too scared to look, but couldn't not.
A tidal wave of blood surged.
Red liquid rampaging like a flood across the snow-blanketed white forest—grotesque.
The dwarf leader wished it all a nightmare.
Set the cat down.
Turned to face death.
The cat tilted its head.
As if sensing his thoughts, it let out a pitiful meow.
The blood swept past, leaving only the cat behind.
With cat in arms, I patrolled to eliminate potential survivors. Spotted a familiar face en route.
Splashed a potion; dazed eyes fluttered open.
"Yo, been a while."
"...Senior?"
The female archer, ragged from head to toe, blinked in her threadbare state.
"Figured a competent one like you might've hunkered down here alive."
"Is it really you, Senior?"
The little mage would love this.
Returning with the beggar-like archer, I saw the youngest wiping sweat and the old man. The new house already had a solid foundation.
No need to build grand like before.
The cat came carried by the archer. It disliked my low vampire body temp.
The archer staggered in, cradling the cat.
Seemed out of it.
The little mage was ecstatic. Her all-int build stemmed from a personality struggling to accept the labyrinth.
Mental bonuses didn't alter her inherently sentimental, tender nature.
Seeing the little mage hug and tear up, the archer gave a wry smile.
I let them reunite and checked for other exiles.
Bats scoured the forest all day.
A few rat-like hiders got found.
All turned to EXP.
That night, I asked the archer and little mage: join the party briefly to escort to the kingdom?
Normally, they'd beg to join regardless.
The little mage beamed. But the archer shook her head wearily.
"You said no sudden death on this floor?"
"Right."
"I'll stay here."
"Taking a break? Happens."
The archer began recounting her labyrinth survival.
Even as a gamer, I was... a bit shocked.
"...Workaholic outside too?"
"Haha, once I set a goal, I can't stop."
"Folks like that burn out suddenly sometimes. Not every challenger grinds nonstop. I did too."
Truth: 97 years, never once rested. Even insane, part of me pondered the labyrinth.
But I said it anyway.
The archer looked far more aged somehow. Fatigue probably piled up unnoticed. Mental wear's hard to self-diagnose.
She'd always volunteered as party leader, to boot.
"That cat... Seeing it made me suddenly wonder where the hell I even was."
"Cat hater?"
"No, love 'em. But a cat spitting bullets? Dunno."
Ah, fair point. Some laugh it off, others find it cute. Some rethink their worldview.
I saw the archer as diligent—stubborn, put charitably.
The [Gatling Cat] might've exceeded her tolerance.
"Honestly, you scared me most, Senior. I'd swear off anywhere near 'Barbarosa'."
Blood writhing to attack people.
Diving bats exploding folks.
Could happen.
Wait, did I mess up?
"Still, you should raise that cat."
"That thing?"
Terror flickered across her face.
"Free PK floor here. More'll come till it's deserted. Gotta have self-defense, right? You shoot?"
"American too. Never shot a cat, though..."
"Befriend it, auto-aims. Raise it well."
The cat meowed and approached to lick her leg.
"Minus the bullets-from-mouth, normal cat. Nah, smarter, more loyal—better. Bit heavy for one, sure."
The archer tentatively petted it, caution like handling a bomb.
"Had five cats outside. Can't see 'em again."
"You'll manage."
She smiled awkwardly.
People crumble abruptly sometimes. Harder workers, more so.
This was a decent rest opportunity at least.
"10th floor's a boss floor. And we might have to rush to 15 without a single breather."
The Girl raised her hand.
"Good, student's question time."
"Why?"
First, 10th floor wasn't normal difficulty. Something from 8th triggered weirdly.
Lucky break: with future intel, clearing was hopeful.
"10th's a ruin sealed during the ancient fairy wars."
"So?"
"Remember Kakrish and the saintess?"
"Hero units. Stupid strong."
Orc talk had the old man perking up too.
"Fairies surviving on the continent? Greenskins took massive losses too, obviously. Decisive factor: their hero-equivalent greenskins mass-disappeared."
The old man sighed.
"Wait, that ruin—you don't mean..."
"War God was hunting it?"
"Aye."
"He found it."
The royal flower petal fairies, at the absolute last, lured in the greenskin heroes and buried them in the ruin together.
The ruin got sealed, location hushed.
But dead? Not quite.
They couldn't handle orc heroes to begin with.
Just borrowed the God of Time to freeze the entire ruin in stasis.
It was a tomb of time.
A grave where 1000-year-old [Hero Units] remained eternally frozen mid-brawl.
Per future info, our 10th-floor entry triggers greenskin shamans entering the ruin too.
A time race to awaken [Hero Units] first.
Obviously, greenskin heroes outnumbered.
[The God of Nature smiles contentedly.]
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