Menesteil (4)
The boss of Menesteil's tenth floor is a crude-looking golem formed from the dungeon's own packed stone.
Fitting for the first floor boss you encounter in the dungeon, it has no special abilities to speak of. In exchange, its raw stats are through the roof.
Devastating attack power. An enormous body that grants it a massive attack range. And armor so absurdly thick that unless you execute a specific gimmick, you can't even dent its health bar.
Back when Soul Academy was at the height of its popularity, this thing was infamous as the Menesteil Dungeon's newbie shredder — so brute-forcing it the honest way is genuinely exhausting work.
The attack patterns themselves are simple enough, but performing the gimmick drags the fight out forever. You have to smash through the golem's obscenely thick hide and strike its core, then repeat the process a good six times.
And remember, thanks to Menesteil's signature trait, your HP is constantly ticking down in real time. So say you slip up and take a single hit from that thing? Congratulations — the game just switched genres from RPG to survival horror.
But that was all true back when I charged into the tenth floor knowing nothing. If you already know the exploit for beating the golem, everything changes. Naturally, Soul Academy's resident veteran — that's me — knows exactly how it's done.
Alsaetin, I'm counting on you.
"A peddler of secrets, am I? Well, I'd best not be some greenhorn who fumbles even a task this simple."
"No need to worry. I don't make mistakes with things like this."
Briefing concluded, I placed an arrow enchanted with a particular spell into Alsaetin's hand and pushed open the boss room door.
Inside, it looked like an ordinary cave at a glance.
That is, if you ignored the streams of molten lava snaking across the floor, the countless quartz spikes overhead that could easily run us through like skewers, and the heat that made your breath catch in your throat the moment you stepped in.
Only one thing here actually mattered.
The tenth floor boss doesn't spawn in its completed form.
The moment all three of us crossed the threshold, the boss room door slammed shut behind us, a magic circle carved itself into the center of the cave, and above it, a single mass of magic stone rose into the air.
That stone was the core — the heart of the tenth floor golem.
That's right. The tenth floor boss doesn't appear fully formed. It waits until the players have entered the dungeon, then assembles itself right in front of you, as if to show off!
And here's the amazing part: the golem's core has a hitbox during the assembly. What do I mean by that? Exactly what it sounds like — you can attack it mid-transformation!
Alsaetin!
"Info broker!"
"On it!"
Before I'd even finished shouting, Alsaetin was already drawing his bow.
Weak by sword standards, sure, but Alsaetin is still leagues stronger than the current me. An arrow loosed from his hand was never going to miss.
The enchanted arrow sank dead center into the golem's core.
Since this information can be gleaned from various NPCs scattered throughout Menesteil, hitting the boss at this moment was clearly intended by the developers. The golem is unusually difficult for a tenth floor boss, so I suppose they built in a mercy lever for players in the know.
But what they didn't know — what they could never have known — was that a player's ingenuity will always outstrip the developers' imagination.
Barely a moment after the arrow struck home, a flower of ice blossomed from its tip.
The spell enchanting that arrow was Infectious Frostbloom.
An ice-attribute damage-over-time skill. The flower spreads gradually across the target, grinding away at it — and it even comes with a hefty bonus strike if you manage to freeze the enemy's entire body.
Frankly speaking? On paper, this spell is garbage.
The DoT ticks are pathetic compared to the bonus damage, and if the target has even a sliver of ice resistance, the flower's spread slows to a glacial crawl, making the bonus hit impossible to trigger. In practice it's a joke skill, something reserved for novelty runs and veteran challenge playthroughs.
But against this particular golem? A completely different story.
The core here has zero ice resistance. On top of that, its surface area is so small that the infection completes in record time. And most importantly of all — the golem's core has pathetically low HP.
The hard part was always supposed to be breaking the rock encasing the core; the core itself shatters after just a few successful hits. This flimsy little heart, deceptively frail for its size, explodes the instant the frostbloom covers it completely.
In other words, the golem was on borrowed time before it had even finished being born.
One task remained for the three of us: wait for the golem — now a walking dead man without knowing it — to collapse.
In the game, a minute was plenty. Now that this was reality? Longer, presumably. That would be normal.
Not long after the arrow buried itself in the core, the massive boulders scattered around the cave began to lift into the air. They converged around the core, binding themselves together, until at last they took the shape of a golem.
Ahh, magnificent. Even as a cutscene I thought it looked cool, but seeing it in person — the sheer spectacle of it, like watching a robot combine — was no joke.
Before I knew it, the assembly was complete, and the golem was stamping its colossal legs against the ground, radiating majesty. I couldn't hold back a snort.
It's objectively impressive, sure. But when you know the strutting thing is already dying, why does it look so pathetic?
"Hi there♡ Hey, empty tin can?♡ Do you think you look cool doing that? Is that what this is, striking a pose?♡ Hnngh♡ I'm dying♡ You're such a pathetic piece of garbage even the junkyard wouldn't take you♡"
At the taunt, the golem's gaze — following the sword — swung toward me. But neither the sword nor Alsaetin moved.
This, too, had been agreed upon before we entered the dungeon. I'd asked them to leave stalling the golem entirely to me.
Why go out of my way to suffer like this? Because I wanted to find out exactly how much my shield could take.
The enemies I'd faced so far had almost always fallen into one of two categories: ones I was certain I could block no matter what they threw at me, or ones who could shatter my shield with a flick. Either way, neither type let me objectively measure my own ability.
I know my shield is quite thick at this point. But I don't know precisely what level of attack it can hold off. This is reality now.
It would be a different story if the useless Chief God had granted me a status window, but tragically, our good-for-nothing Chief God is a cheapskate. He doesn't hand out cheat features that easily.
And so I was planting my shield in front of a golem that's designed to be dodged and parried, never blocked — to gauge just how far my shield arts have come. This is one of the very enemies I've killed so many times I'm sick of it. Watch the damage numbers come in, and you can judge pretty well.
Now then. Let's go get hit a little, shall we?
Watching the golem raise its arm, I layered several buffs over myself. Then, eyes fixed on the fist hurtling toward me, I lifted my shield.
Its attacks are unquestionably dangerous — but just as slow. Easy to dodge, and easy to parry, too.
I spread divinity across my whole body and took the blow head-on.
KRA-KOOM!
The instant the fist connected, I knew for certain: I'd landed the parry.
That unmistakable sensation — the impact diminishing sharply the moment the attack kissed my shield — was parrying, beyond any doubt.
"Hrrgh—!"
Even with the parry, absorbing the golem's strike took everything I had. Gritting my teeth and holding on until I finally knocked the fist aside, I bit down hard on my lip.
You holding up alright?
'I'm fine.'
Taking on this golem poses no real problem. I was confident I could parry every attack it threw at me.
As long as I land the parry, I can absorb whatever comes after, one way or another. Which, put another way, means that the instant a parry fails, I go flying. That's apparently where I stand right now.
True, the golem is designed around the assumption that you evade everything and counterattack — which is why it carries attack power no boss of this tier should rightfully have. Even in game terms, a character who had barely finished the first semester of their first year tanking that thing's blows would be genuinely remarkable.
But from here on, I have to push down through the depths of the Menesteil Dungeon. Settling for this? Not acceptable!
Having weathered another of the golem's hammering fists, I took a deep breath and squared my stance once more.
Honestly, there was no real need to clench my teeth this hard. I could just piggyback off the sword and Alsaetin and be done with it. With the two of them at my side, most problems would solve themselves.
But this is reality, isn't it? There's no telling what variable might rear its head. And if I want to survive the worst case, I'd better be able to carry at least one person's weight myself.
This is a problem.
Just as I was gnashing my teeth over how much weaker I was than I'd expected, Grandfather spoke up.
Listen here, lass.
'What is it, Grandpa?! I'm a little busy right now!'
There's a technique I've been keeping from you, thinking it too soon. One you don't yet know.
'Excuse me, NOW?!'
Even as I listened to Grandfather, I never took my eyes off the golem.
Its foot rose high overhead. So this was the pattern that shakes the ceiling's spikes loose. Instead of moving my shield, I wove a wall of divinity above my head. Its strength fell short of my shield, but it was plenty to stop falling rock. Unharmed, I rode out the golem's next pattern with room to spare.
Think, girl. You can pour divinity into a mace — what possible reason would there be that you can't pour it into a shield? I'm telling you the arts of divine infusion serve defense as well as offense.
'And why are you only telling me this NOW?!'
I was waiting for you to grow comfortable handling divinity.
My proficiency in divine infusion is still low. The reality is that if I channel it through a mace swing, I'm forced to dump half my divinity in a single strike. Using it on my shield would be much the same — effective enough, but catastrophically inefficient.
For a killing blow, waste means nothing. If one strike ends the enemy, what comes after is no concern. But what sense is there in pouring your entire strength into a defense? The next attack will simply find you bare.
So that was why Grandfather had planned to stay silent until I reached a certain threshold. But watching the golem's attacks had changed his mind.
Yet seeing that golem fight, I've reconsidered. In days to come, you'll face worse than it, no? And when you do, there will be comrades at your side ready to cut its throat the moment you stop one blow. Better that you grow accustomed to this technique now.
'So how do I do it?'
Same as ever. If it's you, you can manage it.
The golem raised both fists high above its head.
Hands lifted skyward, then brought crashing down — the single most devastating attack in its arsenal. Normally, the correct answer is to dodge.
Well now — perfect timing. It's committing everything, so you commit everything and stop it.
Fine. Let's give it a shot.
Worst case, the brooch explodes in my place. It's handled worse.
I poured divinity into the face of my shield. I'd practiced this very thing with Grandfather and my mace in Practice Mode just last night. Harder than with a mace that comes pre-enchanted with divinity, granted — but honestly, this much is doable.
As the divinity gathered, a warm light blossomed across the shield's face. Moments later, the golem brought its clenched fists down.
A single blow carrying the full will to crush me flat.
The moment I saw it, I knew for certain: I could stop this attack.
Grandfather speaks. Iron Wall answers. I decide.
Shield up!
KRA-KAAAAM!
'Grandpa, seriously — how nice would it have been to tell me this SOONER?'
Beyond my divinity-laden shield, I could see the golem's hand. So enormous it cast a shadow over everything around me — the fist that had come down to end a human being named me.
"Pathetic little tin can♡ Weak♡ You're just weak♡ This is what happens with every trash mob that has ugly character design, I'm telling you♡"
It stopped. Blocked by my shield. Pitifully, pathetically, completely stopped.