Chapter 188
Chapter 188
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: penny
Chapter: 188
Chapter Title: Pechi - 3
-----------------------------------------------------------------
“Argh!”
Pechi’s body flew through the air for what felt like forever before slamming into the ruin wall. He let out a reflexive scream, but it didn’t hurt at all.
Pechi steadied his trembling body and barely managed to lift his head. A blue-haired woman gripping glowing blue daggers in both hands was approaching with the light behind her, her steps heavy and deliberate.
‘I can’t win. No way in hell I can beat her.’
He’d had a gut feeling about it for a while now. No matter what, he could never defeat this woman.
If you were going to run a scam, you had to know your place. Step out of line, and you’d get stepped on. That was one of Pechi’s ironclad rules.
But this wasn’t just getting stepped on—it was like his entire lower half had been ripped off. He’d messed with the wrong person. There was no way to smooth this over.
‘...I should’ve realized sooner.’
Regret washed over him in waves. When that black-haired man had called him by his real name, he should’ve bolted without looking back instead of brushing it off.
But it was far too late now. Begging to be spared in exchange for pulling the man out? He didn’t have the guts for that.
If the man was still alive, sure, yank the lever and free him. But if he was dead? The thought of that woman—who’d called him “my man”—seeing the corpse made Pechi’s stomach turn.
“Here, catch.”
The woman tossed something. A faintly round object rolled toward him with a clatter. It was a potion bottle filled with red liquid—the same kind the black-haired man had bought from Pechi.
Pechi’s face drained of color at the sight.
‘M-My stomach’s... full...’
Not for any other reason—his belly was bloated.
That woman had zero control over her strength. He’d taken a brutal beating, yet not a single bone was broken, not even a bruise. And still, she kept tossing him potions.
Potions absorbed instantly into wounds. So they never filled you up no matter how many you chugged. But with no injuries left—just a few scrapes—downing them was no different from gulping water.
With only scratches on his body, chugging potion after potion was killing him in a whole other way. This was already his seventh bottle.
“Urp, urp. Gulp...”
“Good, good. You’re drinking it well. Finish it quick so you can heal faster.”
Of course, that was a side issue. Pechi fought back vomit and forced down the potion. He ignored the sloshing in his overstuffed gut.
If he didn’t drink it, who knew what she’d do? The gap in skill and strength was so overwhelming that defiance wasn’t even an option.
“Well done. Now, get up. You’re all healed, right?”
“......”
The blue-haired woman flashed an approving smile and flicked the tip of her dagger. Her tone urged him to stand, but he didn’t want to. Standing meant more potions.
Pechi stayed flat on the floor, only peeking up to gauge her reaction. She tilted her head at him.
“Hm? Not attacking? Weren’t you gonna kill me?”
He’d lost count of how many times she’d said that. Every time he hesitated to charge, she’d repeat it: hadn’t he sworn to kill her?
“If you don’t come, I’ll come to you?”
She took a step forward. Her footfall echoed with a thud.
Pechi flinched. He’d rather die than keep fighting. It was a fight he’d obviously lose—one where he’d just get force-fed more potions unilaterally. Why bother?
So, Pechi decided to do what he was second-best at after scamming.
“I’m sorry!”
Begging for forgiveness.
“Hm?”
It must’ve caught her off guard, because she stopped in her tracks.
“I’m truly sorry for charging in without knowing my place! Please forgive me!”
Seizing the moment, Pechi dropped to his knees, curled up tight, slammed his forehead to the ground, huddled his arms by his head, and bowed as vigorously as he could.
Normally, this was how you lulled them into complacency for a sneak attack. But right now, he couldn’t even think of it. The gap between them was too vast for such nonsense.
And his stomach was too full.
“What’s with you? You’d think I was trying to kill you.”
*I’m about to burst from a bloated gut,* nearly slipped out. Pechi swallowed it back. Saying that would just stir up trouble. He wasn’t that stupid.
“Don’t worry, don’t worry. I’d never kill you.”
“......”
“Delta asked me not to go too hard on you. To keep you alive and kicking.”
*Not blow me up with potions?*
Suppressing another wave of nausea from his position, Pechi barely held it together.
“Anyway, no need to fret too much. Him getting trapped in there? That was all part of Delta’s plan.”
Part of his plan? At that absurd claim, Pechi unwittingly lifted his head.
He regretted it the moment their eyes met, but her face was calm. She didn’t seem to be lying.
“And honestly, it’s better for you that he meant to get trapped.”
Her dagger’s tip pointed at him. He reflexively slammed his head back down. Her voice floated over him.
“If you’d really scammed my man like that, plenty of others besides me would come beat your ass. You might even have to line up for it.”
Even without seeing her face, her tone told him everything. Pechi’s body shuddered.
‘Well, no real difference.’
I nodded at the secret passage behind the largest treasure chest, revealed by swinging my Wingless Nightmare.
In the game, it’d been an illusionary wall that vanished like a hologram. Here, it worked just the same.
‘I’ll have Lize grab those when I get out. Or maybe Nix, since it’s one-against-many?’
I glanced at the treasure chests I’d left behind. Six in a row on each side, plus one massive one in the middle—untouched.
Obviously, all thirteen were mimics.
After getting duped by Pechi and shelling out a million gold each, trapped players followed a typical pattern.
First, they’d fling open the biggest chest or one without bloodstains, only to get chomped by a mimic and die.
Reviving and returning, they’d think it was bad luck, pick another, and die the same way.
Revive again, temper flaring—they’d smack a chest before opening it.
Cue all thirteen mimics waking up at once, iron bars slamming down, trapping them for a gang-beating death.
Only after that grind did they realize every chest was a mimic. A diabolically designed trap.
‘Gotta dodge the gang-up.’
A single mimic was grotesque-looking but easy to smash. Thirteen? Whole different story.
In open terrain, maybe. But in this cramped room—barely a few rolls end-to-end—1 vs. 13 was suicide, even for me.
I ignored the mimics and headed into the secret passage.
It was short. A few steps, and a square room appeared—about twice my height in width and length.
In the center sat a treasure chest that looked a bit different from the outer ones. I walked right past without a glance.
That one was a mimic too.
I swung Wingless Nightmare at the opposite wall. The illusionary wall vanished, revealing another secret room. Same size, square, with a flashy treasure chest in the middle. I passed it by.
Mimic.
Another swing at the far wall. Another illusionary wall gone, another secret room, another central chest.
Mimic.
‘Fucking devs.’
Illusion mimics inside illusions inside illusions. A structure designed to drive you insane. Sixteen mimics crammed in this tight space.
Worse, wake one, and they all stir. Picking them off one-by-one? Near impossible.
It screamed “use Pechi as bait to screw players.” Nothing else explained this sadism.
‘And two more to go.’
Passing the final mimic, I stood before the right wall—not the entrance opposite. I struck it exactly five times.
Checking for more illusions, sure—but it mocked players who’d only tap once or twice.
Plenty clutched their necks later upon learning this. The hint document was in a late-game field.
Rumble!
After five strikes, the wall lifted, revealing another secret passage.
Midway sat a treasure chest identical to the entrance room’s. The ruin’s sole real chest—and the devs’ final trap.
One hit with any weapon shattered it. Even a broken iron sword with single-digit damage obliterated it.
‘How do you not check here?’
After sixteen mimics, any player would suspect this one too.
So they’d test it with a smack? It explodes, leaving them stunned.
This million-gold quest’s level design was at least thirty percent pure Pechi hate.
‘Dirty bastards.’
Cursing the devs inwardly, I opened it. Inside gleamed a vial ornate with gold and silver.
A consumable that cured all status ailments on drink, granted temporary immunity, maxed HP, mana, and faith, and massively boosted stamina regen for a time.
‘Grace of the Sun.’
Its sister item, ‘Grace of the Moon,’ had identical effects. No wonder they were round-limited to one per playthrough—the power was obscene.
No clue why sun-and-moon relics were in a holy nation’s ruin instead of a church, though.
‘I’ll use this.’
I pocketed Grace of the Sun in my uniform’s inner pocket. Other rewards were meh now, but status immunity was gold for one boss fight.
I pressed deeper into the passage. In-game, I could’ve suicided to the statue respawn—but not here. Had to clear the dungeon to exit.
I could ask Lize to open the bars, but since I was here, I’d snag the dungeon boss too. No downside.
Plus, this route skipped the whole midsection. Untouched even in hardcore mode.
Only vets could pull it off—rush it blindly, and you’d see death screens dozens of times.
‘Maybe thirty minutes.’
Could be shorter.