Episode 2-a. The City Where Night Never Comes, Tebris. (7)
Originally, it's the blatantly weak who survive crises better than the half-assed strong ones. For those who've lived their whole lives as the weak, that survival instinct rings out loud and clear—ding!—like a bell.
The weak develop a habit of always watching their surroundings, desperately seeking an escape route in danger. At least in that one thing, they surpass the strong. They know their own skills are pathetic, so they never ignore the warning bells tolling in their gut.
"Horn."
"What."
Up until now, hiding in this silence, those bells hadn't rung.
"What do we do? Sneak in a bit further carefully, or since we know it's suspicious, just bail now?"
"Hm, it'd be best if we could scout a little more and snag some proof before bailing. But with our level, fat chance."
We still had plenty of time left, and the black mages hadn't noticed us yet. They were still muttering unknown incantations, frantically pulling out some hazy, cloudy stuff.
Like Horn said, if we could snag proof of that process and escape, we might convince the city lord to form a subjugation force. Whether that force could breach the black mages' turf and uncover the secret was another matter entirely.
But if word of the severity spread, it might draw in real powerhouses who wouldn't normally come here.
"Solving this just with us..."
"Is some musclehead idealist bullshit. That half-baked magic resistance cloak'll burn up after blocking one spell."
Blatantly sinister, blatantly vicious. Even we, with zero magic knowledge, could tell that stepping in with mediocre skills meant instant death.
So what was the prophet thinking, guiding us here? It was clearly beyond us, yet maybe she'd foreseen a future where we could solve it somehow.
"...Then let's just grab one piece of proof. Exactly one, and head back."
"You think we can?"
I still had no clue. Whether we could crack a century-old massive spell was beyond me.
But maybe we could snag one bit of proof. The bells weren't ringing yet, after all.
Ain and Horn crept in cautiously. The dark space was lit only by flickering tiny lights anyway, so as long as they kept quiet, they might avoid detection.
They moved a block at a time whenever black-robed figures passed by. Peeking out carefully, sensing no presence, they advanced bit by bit, scouting the interior.
It was vast inside. They'd come pretty far despite the caution, but the corridor stretched endlessly, and black mages kept appearing far down the hall before vanishing elsewhere.
If he had to guess, it probably spanned the whole underside of the city. Made sense if the magic enveloping the entire city originated from an underground area that size.
So, just grab some magical residue—leftover traces from black magic—and head back. Nodding at that thought, they pressed deeper in.
The silver lining: compared to the space's size, there weren't that many black mages, so they'd made it without running into any.
"...No fucking proof anywhere."
"Gotta hit a lab or something. Wonder if any are empty even briefly."
No idiots leaving stuff lying in the halls, like Horn said. They'd have to risk a lab-looking room, but one slip meant instant lockdown terror. Scary as hearing martial law declared in 21st-century Korea.
Time slipped by. The hour and a half left dwindled to under thirty minutes; time to bail, he felt.
"Rookie, rookie."
"Yeah, what? We gotta head back now..."
"Open door over there. Peeked in—looks empty."
About to say they had no choice but to leave, Ain snapped his head up at Horn's words, staring at the room he pointed to.
It was too far for his eyes to confirm.
"...For real?"
"Yeah. Dwarves got better eyesight than humans. No one's inside, and I see books, scrolls too."
"..."
Horn half-guaranteed it, patting Ain's shoulder. Clock showed about twenty-five minutes left. Tight for a quick grab-and-go.
Still.
"Fuck... Let's go. Straight in."
"Onward, rookie."
No way they'd come this far and leave empty-handed with the goal in sight. They hurried toward the room.
No black mages nearby, no presence from inside per Horn. They grinned at each other and slipped in.
And then—
The moment they entered, a sharp crackle rang out.
Nothing stepped on, but it buzzed past his ear, slamming his heart down—thud.
"...Horn."
"Yeah, magic reaction."
Horn heard it too, face paling as he snatched a scroll for proof and stuffed it away.
"Run. We're fucked."
"If we die here, I'll curse you forever, you goddamn rookie."
"Fucked already—what curse, shit."
Ain grabbed something suspicious too, spun, and bolted. Crossing the door triggered another crackle, and distant hall echoed with frantic footsteps and murmurs.
Suddenly, the weaklings' bells went off—ding!
Ding! That faint toll grew.
Ding! Ding! Diiiing!
Louder, stretching anxiously long inside him.
Diiiiing!—then boom! it shattered.
Black mages swarmed from the far end of the corridor.
"Wh-what the fuck—the alarm down here where we live alone...!"
"'Cause idiots like you sneak in! Perfect sacrifice material!"
Ain yanked several of Aberly's vials from his pocket, hurling them at the approaching corridor.
Lab failures turned successes here. Explosive byproduct from cure research plus ignition failure—boom!—huge flames erupted on impact.
Shouts amid the spreading blaze. Short-lived, but it bought time—a huge help.
"Aberly, you bastard. Million kisses when we get back."
"That'd fuck his face up. Idiot."
Whatever. If they escaped, he'd apologize for cursing him over the precious sun herbs.
They sprinted madly for the exit. Lucky break: black mages, shady underground dwellers, didn't head out much, so the exit corridor was clear.
"Left...!"
"Got it, guide!"
Corridors split endlessly, of course. Some chased, even firing ominous mana blobs.
"Aberly, you lovable fuck...!"
"Quack, million hammer loves when back!"
Aberly's vials blocked paths with booms each time. Nearly out, just a couple left.
Long stairs up would suck, but focus on escaping first.
They raced back to the long entry corridor.
Tap-tap-tap! Their frantic steps slowed arriving there.
"...Fuck me."
"Blocking the exit's cheating, right?"
Two black mages at the corridor's end, staffs aimed at them. Mana rippled.
Chasers still distant, but imminent mana surge and creepy chant loomed.
So.
Ain thought: How does a mana-less guy beat a mana-spewer?
His eternal dilemma.
Well, obviously you can't. Begging for mercy's easiest survival, Ain.
Swordmaster Beks had chuckled awkwardly, saying beg to save your neck.
Ain, if you could beat that, why live talent-matched lives? Not impossible, but effort can't cover everything.
Crepen's Captain Yosep had smacked him with the sword again: Know your place.
Mana-blessed transcended human limits; effort reached just a tree's twig end. They eyed higher peaks from mountaintops. Impossible for him.
But.
If he'd quit there, he wouldn't have adventured.
"Horn, don't die here—you gotta fix the cart."
"Never seen such a rude bastard. I'm a smith, not carpenter."
He wouldn't have overreached for the gray without that.
Hm, mages might be doable. Not aura knights, but frail physicals—if you close in... 20% chance maybe, Ain?
Aura knight? Seppuku. Mage? Fight—break one shield, you can kill. With your stubborn ass.
Recalling that, Ain bolted again. No fatigue in the city helped—breath steady, legs firm despite the run. He charged the mages fast.
"Horn! I'll go first—save 'em!"
"Go!"
Magic flew. Ominous black mana blobs homed in despite dodges.
Ain grabbed his cloak's edge, flung it to block frontal hits, kept sprinting.
It hit. Sizzle—inscription shattered instantly; agony surged despite mitigation.
Arm skin charred, melting bit by bit.
"F-fuck...!"
Curse slipped out, but he clenched teeth—grind—and charged on. Stopping for pain meant death.
"Horn, spare cloak quick...!"
He snatched the third spare from Horn, wrapped himself.
Sizzle—
"Guh, you fucks...!"
Cursing black magic pain, he reached them. Forearms melting in agony, but he closed in.
Panic under their dark robes. Shields up; they chanted desperately, gathering mana.
"Last cloak...!"
Ain took Horn's worn magic resistance cloak, wrapped his fist, smashed the shield full force.
Bam!—arm nearly tore off.
Crackle—cracks spidered; glaring, he punched again, roaring.
Shield shattered on cloak contact; just two exposed black mages mid-incant left.
"Horn, hammer time...!"
"Die, you scum!!"
Arms truly fucked; finishing wasn't his job. Splat-splat!—Horn burst past, hammer pulverizing both skulls.
Headless corpses flopped down.
"Shit... solid performance."
"Centuries of hammering teach that. Rookie, arms okay...?"
"Ha... Worry later... after we bail."
"Right, out."
Ain chucked his last three vials to block rear, climbed stairs with Horn.
After that, smooth sailing. Fucked arms still beat mana-less guards; they grabbed weapons from storage, escaped.
Even took the advisory whore along.
"Your arm's...!"
"...Dunno, just run."
Guilt if caught advising; draped her in useless inscribed robe, bolted to Aberly's alley.
Aberly peeked out, welcoming them.
"Haha... T-time's a bit over but waiting was g-good, right...?"
"Potion."
"Y-yes...? Wh-what potion...?"
Ain showed his flesh-melted, bone-exposed arm to tilting-head Aberly.
"O-oh... Ain's bones look l-like this. Bone hunk...!"
"...Wanna die?"
"Haha... W-wait a b-bit."
Ain nearly cursed the madman, but remembered the escape aid, just sighed.
Sigh turned silent scream as potion poured on exposed bone.
"Mmph! Mmmph...!! Mmmphh...!!"
"Haha... Horn s-sir, gag him... If he b-blabs we hid here, b-big trouble...?"
"Got it."
"Mmmph! Mmmpphh...!! Mmph, mmmph!!"
Wild arm swings to beat Aberly tempting, but it'd hurt more. Tears streaming, he endured the torture till blackout.
Dead serious: Passing out from extreme pain was fucking horrific.