Cradle of Obsession (2)
A suspicion had begun to take shape.
But it wasn't something I could be sure of yet. An uncertain order only sows chaos in a party. For now, I needed to focus on the enemy in front of me. This wasn't the kind of opponent you could afford to daydream against.
My leading foot drove deep into the Guardian's range. Twin blades whipped toward me at blistering speed. I slipped past one and caught the other at an angle, steel locking against steel. Technically, I had the edge. Using the guard of my dagger as a fulcrum, I twisted hard and forced its defense open.
Whether from the earlier exchange or not, its high-line defense had tightened up. Fine. Then I'd just go low.
I dropped my body hard and went for the instep. Sliding out to the side, I raked its shin and flung a hidden weapon at its eyes. Fortunately, outside the armored sections, its defenses were still human enough.
Paralysis poison effect ignored due to the enemy's racial trait.
So poison doesn't work after all?
Well, it would be stranger if paralysis poison worked on something that barely counted as a living creature.
A greatsword that had been circling the boss came scything in on a diagonal. That trajectory looked like a greatsword warrior's skill—my calf, still not fully clear, was a hair from being skewered. I rode the shadow toward the dagger I'd thrown earlier and reclaimed the rear.
The spot I'd stabbed before was too heavily armored. But not every part of it was that tough. I aimed for a place free of that near-ink-black plating—just below the nape of the neck. On a human, that would be where the sternocleidomastoid sat.
A clean hit.
I'd meant to rake an X across its upper body from there, but the armor caught midway and I couldn't stack any more damage. I slipped the twin blades' counter and fell back, then kicked off the ground and closed the distance again.
Party member is preparing High Magic: Scorching Heat
Vacate the target zone. Fatal damage may be sustained.
Caster: Elderin
Adaptation Rate: 36.45%
High-tier offensive magic detected. Deploying Forced Dispel Barrier.
The dungeon's mana source emits a powerful pulse.
Skill use requiring mana is disabled.
Remaining Duration: 9.87 sec
The spell Elderin had been casting was forcibly cancelled. One of the bastions I'd been counting on had just vanished. At this point, pulling back myself was the smarter play—assuming the thing would let me, of course.
Twin blades aimed at my instep slammed into the floor. Something about the way it worked the low line felt unnervingly familiar. Instead of pulling the twin blades free, the Guardian produced a fresh dagger from somewhere. Low-left to high-right. A thrust from the opposite side. A low kick meant to break my balance—then a dagger thrusting in from outside my field of vision.
I managed to dodge, but I'd already been driven a dozen meters back.
This is bad. One mistake and I'm done.
Should I call this lucky? Behind the Guardian, a familiar silhouette appeared. The warm-faced berserker. Backup from Uncle Turkic.
Perfect. I'd take his support and jump for the ceiling. Blur its vision once, then dive back in.
—No. That's the wrong answer.
"Don't! Stay back, Uncle!"
"……?"
The Guardian recovered its dagger, preparing the next attack. The figure that had been baring its fangs at me vanished as if it had never been there—sucked into a shadow. A movement I knew far too well. An assassin's shadow step.
It reappeared at the blade it had driven into the floor earlier. Holding the rear, the Guardian stabbed both of Uncle Turkic's sternocleidomastoids. The crossing daggers that followed were the exact move I hadn't managed to finish. An X-shaped wound opened across that broad back, and for the finishing touch, a dagger punched into his side.
That, too, was exactly what I'd tried to do moments before.
Party member DadTurkicIsHere has died.
That settled it.
The Guardian's AI was copying me. With specs far superior to my own.
It was a thoroughly repulsive little game.
The Guardian went beyond mimicking my movements and started becoming me outright. Its massive frame shrank, long thin hair whipping through the air. Its ash-gray body even fluttered in imitation of my clothes.
Adaptation Rate: 50.00%
Rank 2 Guardian. Deployment of 'Uncle' authorized.
Battlefield reconfiguration. Commencing annihilation of highest-threat entity.
The once-open battlefield split in two. I caught a glimpse of a second one, and then a partition rose as if to sever me from my party. More walls slammed down around me, boxing me into a field built for two.
The Guardian spun a dagger between its fingers and fixed me with mineral-hard eyes.
You little bitch.
Who the hell do you think you're looking at like that?
"Fine. Let's do this. I'm curious how much of me you've actually copied."
How many chances do you get in a lifetime to fight yourself? It should have felt novel. Instead, my throat locked up so tight I wanted to tear out my own windpipe.
A familiar dagger flashed. Opening move: high line first. An attack paired with a hand thrown up to foul my vision. That kind of dirty trick rarely worked in this game—body sizes usually differed too much. But with a frame identical to mine, the hand blotting out my eyes was genuinely irritating.
Playing dirty as hell, this thing.
You are under the effect of Obsession.
Damage received from the Guardian increases proportional to stacks.
Debuffs began stacking steadily along the bottom of the interface. The design was blatantly pushing me toward a defensive playstyle. The original gimmick was probably for me to pin this thing down while the rest of the party accomplished something outside. Which explained why party status wasn't updating here—and why even chat had gone silent. No voices either, so the voice channel was locked out too.
A completely isolated one-on-one.
It would have been a nightmare for anyone else. For me, it was almost a relief. Because what it had copied was me, of all people. Assassins are far stronger in multi-target melees. Chaos makes ambushes hit that much harder. Unlike us, where Elderin or Sansae could be targeted, their side had the assassin itself as the boss. Settling this here, just the two of us, was the right call.
……No. That wasn't the honest truth. There was no one watching. No need to lie to myself.
Adaptation Rate: 67.54%
The moment the distance closed, we both settled into the exact same stance. Right-hand daggers crossed. Wrists twisted in the same instant, each scoring a shallow cut across the other's hand. Blood droplets scattered through the air as spikes erupted from the floor. A slight shift of posture was enough to dodge them. Spikes lancing up through armpits, beside the neck, between the legs—all of them missing by a finger's width, drawing no blood.
Which was another way of saying the attack wasn't over.
Thinking the same thing, we both swung without hesitation. Daggers glanced off and went for the fingers. The instant the other's gaze locked on the blade tip, I switched targets and kicked for the ankle. Failure. Thinking the same thought again, our shins cracked together.
"Aaugh!"
The pain that shot up was no joke. Unfair. My body isn't that hard. Don't you dare pretend to be me when you're not even the same.
It made me sick.
My insides burned like a furnace, ready to vomit up black ash. The hand using the exact same grip as mine was repulsive. The breathing when we locked up for a second. Eyes that looked for the opponent's opening first even when a blade was about to enter their own body. A sticky, clinging obsession to win that oozed from every cut of the blade.
The ash-gray dagger's trajectory carried a foul smell. The damp, musty reek of a building decades old. Of course it did—born in that dark, cramped space.
Something that should have crumpled and died. Thrashing and clawing just to stay alive. Pathetic. Like a bug.
"Disgusting."
It was like looking at a pest that refused to die even after you'd stepped on it. Or maybe a snake with half its body crushed flat—a dying serpent trailing grotesque venom from its jaws, almost laughable. Had it actually believed it would become a dragon someday? That it could become one of those shining people up above?
How stupid.
What had I even been so happy about? I already knew nothing would change. Even if I won a tournament, given enough time everything would settle back into place. I'd already decided to treat it as a sweet dream and leave it at that.
Adaptation Rate: 85.3……?
Anomaly detected. Recalculating.
Adaptation Rate: 42.6%
My body moved from a place that was pure instinct. I pressed down from above on the hand stabbing for my lower abdomen and deflected it. The dagger's grip shifted instantly, angling to rake my wrist. Not yet. I drove my own blade in first.
The day I won the arena, I spent my own money ordering a webcam. An expensive, high-end model. I wanted the first face I showed the world not to look too ugly. They said the picture came out clear and bright, so I didn't skimp. I cleaned myself up carefully and tidied the room in advance.
Right. If streaming from inside the game wasn't an option, I could just stream from reality. Fortunately, my body seemed to be quite pretty. Maybe Elderin and Sansae's fussing had given me the courage.
When I lifted the box with the camera inside, my heart pounded.
But in the end, I couldn't take it out.
I didn't have the courage.