Chapter 15
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 15
Chapter Title: Dungeon Overflow (5)
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"What the fuck!"
The Orc Warlord was strong. His instincts were razor-sharp, his raw power surpassed my own despite my relentless training, and the weapon in his grip was no ordinary tool. It was an artifact.
A battle hammer that plunged into the ground as smoothly as a blade, despite not being edged. It swam through the earth like a fish through water, churning the soil, and at the same time, the surrounding ground began to quake.
And then.
Kwagak!
A strike erupted from below, charging at my head alongside a massive boulder to smash it to pieces.
I smashed a nearby rock, altering the trajectory of another to create a narrow gap, and squeezed my body through.
I focused on crouching to avoid direct hits from the unavoidable ones, letting them glance off.
I finally succeeded in closing the distance, but the Orc Warlord had already retrieved his weapon, swinging the battle hammer diagonally once more.
Trusting in my regeneration, I twisted my ankle unnaturally.
Crack.
Something in my ankle gave way with a snap, but I ignored it and struck the side of the battle hammer with the back of my hand, barely deflecting its path.
The hammer grazed my shoulder and slammed into the ground, shaking the earth.
On the quake-ravaged terrain, like an earthquake had hit, I stepped on the hammer's head with one foot and kicked the handle with the other. I didn't forget to put my full strength into it.
Creeeak!
It should have had hardness reinforcement magic as befitting an artifact, but the heat starting from near my heart... The pattern that had finally extended to my legs dispersed the aura, shattering the magic infused in the weapon itself.
The hammer snapped in half at the midpoint of the handle. Suddenly left with a mere stick, the Orc Warlord unhesitatingly tossed it aside and drew a new weapon.
A greatsword swung, wrapped in razor-sharp winds.
I clicked my tongue at the blade wind flying to cleave my upper body in two.
"Tch."
Perhaps because weapons kept slipping from his grasp or shattering like this, he seemed to have figured out that I could only dispel magic from one limb at a time.
With the pattern already extending to my legs, my upper body was defenseless unless I suddenly did a handstand.
Bracing for the incoming pain, I covered my vitals with my arms. And then.
Slash.
My already tattered ceremonial robe tore further, and my body was sliced open longwise along with it.
Blood poured from my arm and waist. It wasn't deep enough to hinder movement severely, but it wasn't a wound I could ignore either.
Even with regeneration, I couldn't heal a gash like this mid-fight.
It needed proper treatment and rest to mend. But the battle was still in full swing.
"You adventurers... Even if you're gonna die, at least take better care of your damn weapons before you go."
I knew it was nonsense, but I couldn't help grumbling it anyway.
Before I knew it, he'd retreated out of my fist's reach, cackling as he wildly swung his greatsword.
Sword winds turned into a storm following those erratic paths, crashing toward me. I swung my dripping fist at them. A bit harder than usual.
Squelch.
A sensation of something realigning inside me. The complex pattern starting from my heart this time enveloped my arm and began to glow. And then.
Ching!
With a sound like something shattering, all the sword winds from the greatsword scattered like a gentle breeze.
Even with a massive frame, swinging a sword in human form limited the possible trajectories, didn't it?
Destroy the core of every sword strike, and it was only natural the resulting winds would dissipate too.
But nullifying one of the Orc Warlord's attacks like that wouldn't change the flow of battle.
Even if I deflected the next magic shot and closed in again, he'd pull out a new weapon and widen the gap.
Our exchanges had already surpassed dozens of clashes, nearing a hundred.
I risked my life pushing forward and pulling back repeatedly to get into punching range, while he casually retreated, unilaterally swinging his weapons.
"Graha!"
"Having fun? Yeah, you probably are."
Nothing beat a one-sided beatdown for fun.
One mistake from me, and I'd be done for, but he could just swing from a safe distance. How convenient for him.
"Let's see how long you can keep that up."
Clearly, the fight between me and the Orc Warlord favored me less. But it wasn't entirely one-sided.
I ground my teeth, repeating advances and retreats, pulverizing the area around us countless times.
Some weapons shattered under my fists along with their magic; others were discarded too far to retrieve.
Before long, he had only two weapons left. I didn't miss the moment he raised one—the greatsword—high.
I lunged toward the arm he'd lifted with it.
Smack!
Kicking his forearm outright made him stagger, still clutching the greatsword.
A glaring opening, but since I was mid-air, it was an opening he couldn't exploit either...
"Hup!"
I pushed off the flat of the greatsword, propelling my airborne body.
Crashing diagonally toward the Orc Warlord.
I couldn't end it in one blow, but I was confident I could land a solid hit. That was the moment.
Even though there wasn't time to draw a new weapon, his boar-like face twisted into a sneer without fail.
The moment I saw the killing intent gleaming in his eyes, I realized it. In this setup, my actions were restricted too.
This positioning was his ploy—he'd had his fun and was ready to end it now.
"Kog, Fuga."
He muttered something, and the flamberge at his waist drew itself unbidden.
Its wavy blade traced a circle in the air, spinning until its afterimage formed a disk-like shape, from which swirling flames erupted.
"Huh?"
An unavoidable strike from mid-air. Blocking it outright? The flames were too vast to shatter in one go.
...Not bad.
This wasn't luck. He'd calculated the scale of magic I could dispel from the start and maneuvered me into an inescapable spot.
His cunning had pierced my weakness perfectly. I wouldn't die, but major injury was unavoidable.
If it weren't for the flame-attribute magic sword, anyway.
"Fun."
Ever since swallowing that elixir, I'd occasionally felt a scorching pain as if my body was burning from the inside out...
But the moment I overcame it, ordinary flames no longer affected me.
Whether natural fire or magic-born, no exceptions.
Whoosh.
Flames enveloped my body. Contrary to appearances, it was a pleasantly warm sensation as I steadied my stance.
A bit less power in mid-air, but I'd manage.
My view obscured by the roiling flames. The moment I gauged the positions of the flamberge and Orc Warlord beyond them.
"Young Lord Enoch...!"
Was it my imagination? I heard Karen's voice from what I thought was a safe spot.
Taking it as my cue, I thrust my hand out.
The flamberge, still spinning and spewing flames, flew into my grasp and halted forcibly.
The torrent of flames naturally subsided, revealing the Orc Warlord's panicked face amid the embers.
"Peekaboo."
Sneering at him, I thrust the sword in my hand straight ahead. We were close enough already—the blade plunged into his shoulder.
Stab!
"Kwaaa!!"
The Orc Warlord let out a scream filled with agony and rage, reflexively reaching to pull out the sword. That was the instant.
He froze in place, as if time had stopped just for him, locked in his motion.
A thread?
Thin, shimmering something wrapped around his limbs. I was curious about it, but before I could ponder, my falling speed exceeded my musing— I slammed into him faster.
Thud!
The flamberge, half-buried already, sank to the hilt from the impact, jolting his body.
With his massive size, this wouldn't topple him normally... but right now, those thread-like things kept him immobile.
His hulking form toppled as I pushed.
I didn't know who'd come to help, but I wouldn't waste the chance.
I drove the flamberge through his shoulder deep into the ground to pin it, then mounted his chest.
And unleashed the pounding.
Thud! Thud! Thump!
I hammered his head relentlessly. His head snapped back with every fist that connected.
He finally severed the threads and flailed his arms to shake me off, but I took the hits and endured. Falling off here would mean losing momentum again.
My back took blows that choked the breath from me; an elbow to my side came with a cracking sound, but it didn't matter.
I channeled even the pain into my fists, focused on turning his head to pulp.
Crack!
His already flat nose sank further; his stylish tusks snapped.
Snap!
His head couldn't snap back anymore; his flailing arms increasingly whiffed through empty air.
Splat!
And at some point, the impacts shifted from striking something solid to splashing liquid.
Only then did I snap to my senses and look at the Orc Warlord.
Where his head should have been, only its remnants remained.
Panting raggedly, I rose. A convulsing colossal corpse lay there.
"Huuuuh..."
Finally, I drew a deep breath and lifted my head.
Karen crouched, ready to charge at any moment. Aaron with one arm dangling unnaturally. The knights staring blankly my way.
I scanned the surrounding group one by one. Plenty of people, but not a sound from any.
As if waiting for me to speak, I let out a hollow laugh and pointed at the orc's corpse.
"I win."
Maybe from losing too much blood. With those words, my body collapsed on its own. In my darkening vision, I thought.
Becoming House Zahav's Patriarch meant fighting bastards like this my whole life?
I'd quit no matter what.
Everyone has plans.
Until every territory around swears loyalty.
"Dudet?"
Not even the succession ceremony yet...?