As Expected, I'm Glad I Brought Ascalon (the Chopsticks)

I couldn't help but think I'd made the right call bringing Ascalon—the chopsticks—with me.

'As expected, nothing beats this against black magic users.'

Objects that had worked miracles in the world and ascended to mythic status. Among them, those blessed by the gods and infused with holy power were called Holy Relics. They exerted even greater might against items wielding the powers of "evil" and "demons.

"First time seeing a Holy Relic?"

In a situation like this, it was like a hard counter designed specifically for black magic.

"That pathetic piece of junk is a Holy Relic? Are you mocking me?"

The guy scowled, clearly not buying that the iron chopsticks in my hand were a Holy Relic. From my perspective, it was the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠true Holy Lance that had slain dragons, but to him, it just looked like an ordinary stick.

This is why faithless people are a problem. Not that believing would change anything.

"You have no idea how much hell I went through to catch you for real."

It was a grudge carried over from the game.

Ten fresh characters created from scratch. Sure, only two were properly leveled, the rest just cannon fodder, but getting to his cabin had cost me double digits in characters. Poison needles hidden in the brush, fishing lines rigged on the ground, engravings that infected on contact with deadly venom, traps that shattered the mind—it had taken ages to map every route and possibility.

Thanks to that, I could stand here now.

'Senior, mind helping me with this elixir?'

'What? You're eating it here?'

'Got something urgent. Here goes?'

'Hey, hey! You crazy bastard!'

Suddenly, a jet-black dagger hurtled toward my face. I twisted my head to dodge, but the blinding speed made a full evasion impossible. It grazed my cheek.

"Still got that habit of throwing daggers mid-conversation, huh."

"...Why do you talk like you know me?"

"Because I do?"

He smirked incredulously at my reply.

"You don't even know what's coated on that dagger—"

"Nope, doesn't work~"

That's what Ten Thousand Poisons Immunity is for.

I pulled a shotgun from my cube and aimed at him. Fired.

BANG—!!

A massive boom, and the wall behind him crumbled. In that split second, he melted into the shadows.

I started counting down in my head.

3. 2. 1.

I spun and fired again.

"How?!"

The shotgun blast to his gut sent him flying back into the wall.

"Guhk!"

Black blood spewed as his body trembled.

'Shadow Step.' His main movement skill—freely traversing shadows for three seconds. Simple, deadly, and the one that pissed off players the most.

"Your patterns haven't changed."

Maybe due to his nature, his first Shadow Step always went behind the target—a fixed pattern. The second—

"GRAAAAAH!!"

—was a charge straight at the player, followed by random flurries of attacks.

"Your shotgun's double-barrel! It'll take time to reload!"

He hadn't charged blindly. But...

"Ever heard this one? Drawing a backup is faster than reloading."

I drew the pistol from my holster and unloaded on him. His speed slowed, but like a raging bull, he barreled on, black blood trailing.

'He should've stopped here.'

Canceling Shadow Step required enough damage mid-charge. But for some reason, his eyes gleamed as he kept coming.

As expected, this wasn't the game—unexpected variables.

"Ngh!"

CLANG—!!

I blocked the first strike with my arm. The impact through Dis Pater's protection made my bones ache; I gritted my teeth.

Worse, this was the infamous instant-death combo.

'Who'd have thought I'd be the one hitting that bug!'

No way I'd just take it lying down. Up, down, left, right—daggers zigzagging mid-flight. Too fast for the eye? Barely. I could track them.

'I'll give you that.'

Silvery trails slashing across my body—each a brush with death. I minimized hits by maxing Dis Pater's defenses.

THUD!THUD!THUD!

Dull impacts rang out. The shockwaves lingered, but I'd nullified over a dozen strikes already.

He wasn't slacking either. Realizing my suit wasn't ordinary, his targets shifted—unprotected spots: back of hand, neck, face. Small areas, easy to dodge or deflect, but the sheer ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠volume was the issue.

A cut on my cheek. Blood on my hand. A blade whispering past my carotid.

Skin soaked in blood in seconds. But... just hold out here.

—KABOOM!!

"Ngh...!"

I endured. He'd burned stamina on the reckless flurry too—legs shaking, barely standing, glaring daggers.

"Damn clothes gave me trouble."

"Oh, this? Premium stuff, pretty tough..."

"Joking at a time like this? You'll bleed out soon. Not scared of death?"

Breathing ragged, but holding his poise. Something special on his blade? Wounds showed no sign of natural healing.

"Dying? Terrifying, obviously. But do you, a spirit, grasp real fear of death?"

"...!"

He reacted hard to "spirit."

"You know that much...?"

"Humans don't move like you. Freely through shadows, no traces, black magic with that agility. Weirder to think you're human."

One of his secrets: the undying immortal race—a spirit.

"Yeah, unlike you lot, humans bleed out and die. Flowing like this? I'd be toast."

Had the Berserker's Ring ever shone this bright? Devouring blood, my body dying yet power surging.

"But what to do about this."

SIZZLE—

"—I'm no ordinary human either."

Red blood on my skin evaporated rapidly. Like emerging from a hot spring, my body steamed crimson. Wounds healed fast; pale skin regained color.

"What the—? Are you really human?"

"Why...? First time seeing this?"

He gaped at my perfect recovery.

"...What did you do?"

"Just played my trump card."

I flexed wrists, ankles, neck—checking. No pain, peak condition.

All thanks to the Rodmang heirloom elixir I'd prepped for.

Just in case the "bug" hit and damage didn't stop him, I'd downed it early. Good prep.

"Round two now—ready?"

He was exhausted from overextending. Me?

Wounds, assaults, combat—most passives triggered.

"Damn you..."

He melted into the floor, fleeing. No win, so escape.

But.

"...You can't run."

Familiar engraving pain. Then.

"Howling."

—Awooooo!!

Red aura burst from me, shaping into dozens of wolves encircling me.

"Hunt him down."

Dozens of wolves dashed into the forest from the cabin, seeking prey. Now, I just wait for them to drag him back.

I mixed instant coffee with hot water, sat, and relaxed.

A night with such a clear moon. Hide-and-seek with a wolf pack in the woods? With zero stamina?

"Even Amyak's grandpa couldn't escape this."

Sounds filtered through the gaping hole in the cabin: nameless insects chirping, night breeze rustling weeds, moonlight kissing leaves.

And.

Woof!Woof!

The hunters' cries upon spotting prey.

"Ruins the romance, really."

For a near-death scrape, it was one hell of a beautiful night.