Chapter 189
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 189
Most of the cultists carried silver-plated weapons or blades capable of creating sparks, accompanied by two mages who could cast low-level magic. Three others held ordinary weapons, ready for any unforeseen circumstances.
Though their individual skills were lacking, they were united by a singular desire for revenge. Every believer among them had survived several real battles. Tension hung thick in the air, but not a single one hesitated to press forward.
"May our faith become a sharp spear."
Rosalina, leading the way, stepped into the dungeon.
The interior was bleak and chilly. Their thin cult robes did little to ward off the biting cold. The temperature plummeted further the deeper they went, stiffening their limbs.
This was not good.
After descending a gentle slope for several meters, the path took a sharp turn. Beyond that point, no light reached, plunging them into absolute darkness.
One of the mages cast Brilliance to illuminate the path ahead. Only then did the cultists resume their march deeper into the dungeon.
They had walked dozens of meters more when a familiar, putrid stench wafted toward them.
"Vanguard!" Rosalina shouted calmly.
The cultists just behind her rushed to the front, raising their silver-plated axes.
Ahead, they could see three undead—the source of the stench.
They lay prone on the ground, completely motionless. But letting one's guard down for even a second would mean death. The undead often feigned inactivity, luring humans close before suddenly springing up in a surprise attack.
"Watch the rear as well!"
Monsters often ambushed from behind while their prey was distracted by enemies in front. The believers scanned their surroundings, their nerves stretched to the breaking point.
"Bishop…" one of the cultists whispered to Rosalina after a few tense minutes. "I think they're already dead."
Indeed, the undead had not budged an inch. Only then did one of the mages fire a small fireball at them.
The undead merely jolted from the impact, showing no other reaction.
One of the braver cultists stepped forward and nudged a corpse with the tip of his axe. Only then did they realize the creature’s body had been cleanly sliced in half.
Rotten entrails spilled from the smooth, clean cut.
"They're dead."
"..."
"It seems we're a step too late."
It was still early morning. On top of that, it was early winter, meaning the sun rose late.
Yet they were already dead? Had that proxy prepared to enter this dungeon at the crack of dawn?
"…No."
Overwhelmed by a sudden wave of anxiety, Rosalina muttered to herself. She had no idea what the man was thinking by coming here, but this was incredibly dangerous.
Examining the fallen undead, she realized they were highly mutated, high-tier variants of zombies. If monsters like this appeared right at the entrance, it was questionable whether even an A-rank Subjugation Squad could successfully clear this dungeon.
Seeing how he slaughtered these things and pressed onward, he must possess considerable skill.
But in the end, a 'proxy' was someone unrecognized by the Empire. How could such a person possibly survive in a place like this?
"We must hurry."
Rosalina quickened her pace. The believers followed suit, picking up their speed. As they ventured deeper along the winding path, they encountered several more undead corpses. They pressed on. Fortunately, this was not a maze-like dungeon but a linear one with a single path stretching forward.
"Dead."
They found more undead corpses.
They kept moving.
"…All dead."
The deeper they went, the greater the number of undead in each room. Yet every single one was already a corpse. The cultists grew increasingly bewildered.
Still, they forced themselves forward.
—Until they finally reached the gatekeeper of the dungeon, the Revenant, and found it dead as well.
"What on earth is happening…?" Rosalina let out a soft groan.
This speed was absurd.
Normally, clearing a single room and advancing to the next could take hours. Subjugation squads needed time to treat the wounded and reorganize their ranks.
Had he entered the moment he arrived yesterday?
But if so, why?
"Bishop, the marks on these undead…"
A cultist's voice snapped Rosalina out of her thoughts.
As the cultist pointed out, the speed of the advance was secondary to a much more baffling detail: every single undead corpse had been sliced apart by a blade.
He didn't bring a subjugation squad. He came alone.
Had he been part of a squad, there would be other signs—stray arrows or scorch marks from fire magic. Yet there was nothing of the sort. The only evidence left behind was the terrifyingly clean cuts on the undead, testifying to the sharpness of a single blade.
A single person had torn through a dungeon that would give even an A-rank Subjugation Squad pause.
The master of a great magic tower, the captain of an S-rank Subjugation Squad, the Edelbreas Black Wolf Knights, the Imperial Knights of the ‘Red Spear of Roa’… it should have been impossible for anyone below that caliber.
Could such a monster really exist among mere proxies? And if he possessed such overwhelming power, why on earth was he working as a proxy?
There was no time to ponder. Since Rosalina was standing in the gatekeeper's chamber, the boss room containing the Ragged Ghoul would be just ahead—at most, a few chambers away. She would meet this proxy very soon.
"…Let us proceed."
The cultists pressed onward. The deeper they went, the more intense the dungeon's chill became. Their teeth chattered, creating a rhythmic clicking that fell out of sync with their footsteps.
Only after passing through two more empty chambers did Rosalina finally halt.
There was nowhere left to go. The chamber before them was the very end of the dungeon.
The boss monster's chamber.
Unable to bring themselves to step inside, they merely peered into the room from the corridor. Surprisingly, the chamber was quite bright. Though they felt they had been descending deep underground, they must have been closer to the surface than they realized; faint shafts of light filtered down through cracks in the ceiling. There was no longer any need for the Brilliance spell.
And there, in that very room, Rosalina saw the Ragged Ghoul.
"..."
Silence fell over them. Everyone held their breath, utterly speechless.
The proxy Rosalina had been searching for was there as well. He was swinging his sword at the Ragged Ghoul.
Was he fighting? No, the battle was already over.
He was simply straddling the fallen Ragged Ghoul, hacking it to pieces with his sword.
"..."
Sensing their presence, the man turned his head to look at the cultists.
Though the distance made it hard to discern his facial features, his hostility was unmistakable. Just meeting his gaze sent a shiver down her spine.
"Bishop…"
"..."
Despite the murderous glare directed at her, Rosalina stood frozen, offering no orders to her followers.
The man—Niphrim—stood up and flicked the blood from his sword. The Ragged Ghoul twitched a few more times before finally going completely still.
The distance between Niphrim and Rosalina began to close. It was Rosalina who stepped forward to bridge the gap.
The other cultists could only watch her anxiously. Walking up to Niphrim alone, Rosalina stared at him in silence for a few moments.
This man…
…was someone who had conquered a dungeon single-handedly, in a matter of hours, and without a single scratch—a dungeon that the entire cult, even with specialized anti-undead gear and a readiness to die, would have struggled to survive.
She scanned his attire. There were no crests or armor indicating any affiliation. Even the sword he held was nothing more than a common blade. He likely belonged to no faction, nor was he a subjugation squad captain or a knight.
He was unbound power.
—The very thing she had been searching for.
"..."
If this man could help them slay the undead—
"We…"
Whoosh!
The moment Rosalina parted her lips, Niphrim swung his sword. The blade flashed through the air, stopping a hair's breadth from her throat.
"I know who you are," Niphrim said coldly.
He had recognized them as the cultists he had seen back at the Subjugation Agency.
"If you're here to steal my kill, get the hell out."
"We mean you no harm."
Despite his threatening tone, Rosalina replied without flinching. Niphrim's brow furrowed deeply at her lack of fear.
Bowing her head to hide her face, a faint smile played on Rosalina's lips.
…Ah.
He is dangerous.
Just before she bowed her head, she had caught a glimpse of his expression. It wasn't a bluff. He was radiating genuine, cold-blooded murderous intent, fully prepared to slaughter her and every single one of her followers.
Has this man… killed people before? Many times?
She didn't know where his blade would ultimately point. But one thought firmly took root in Rosalina's mind—this man's sword might actually be able to pierce him.
The Undead King.
"..."
As Rosalina slowly began to raise her head, keeping her expression carefully blank, Niphrim shifted his sword arm. The blade that had been hovering at her throat slid down, lightly slicing her shoulder. Blood began to seep from her collarbone.
Yet she didn't even wince.
"Ha."
Niphrim let out a hollow laugh.
He couldn't sense a shred of Touki or mana from the girl who had introduced herself as Rosalina. She was a powerless, ordinary human—so weak that he wondered what kind of suicidal courage had driven her to enter this dungeon in the first place.
Except for one thing.
Her mind was broken.
The proof was in her eyes, which stared back at him without a single tremor despite his blatant threat.
"I have a favor to ask of you."
Instead of answering, Niphrim raised his sword. The cult might have business with him, but he had absolutely no interest in them. He was already busy enough trying to take care of Pesil.
"Please, help us," Rosalina spoke, even with death staring her in the face.
Phase. 5
"Well, thank you for your hard work, everyone. The long room assignment process is finally over."
Patrick's cheerful voice echoed through the room.
It was the moment the grueling, multi-day selection exam finally came to an end. The instant Patrick finished speaking, dozens of monsters collapsed to the floor. The room shook with a heavy thud.
"But wasn't it quite fun?"
"..."
Absolute silence fell over the monsters. Not a single one of them was willing to agree, even out of politeness.
Because to them, it had been pure hell.
They felt thoroughly exploited. The initial aptitude and trait tests had been fine, but things had started to feel off around the adaptability test. From then on, they had been shamelessly used, forced to perform utterly ridiculous tasks. Looking back, "tortured" or "bullied" felt like much more accurate descriptions.
"It's all for your own good, you know."
The Dullahan lay sprawled on the floor, not having budged for hours. Patrick had singled him out far more than anyone else. Occasionally, other monsters would nudge the Dullahan just to make sure he was still alive.
"An undead shouldn't be sleeping. Wake him up."
"I don't think he's sleeping. It looks like his soul has been completely drained."
"Wake him up anyway."
The Dullahan stumbled to his feet. Patrick chuckled, saying, "Oh, as expected of a fine talent worthy of the Ten Calamities."
Having finished organizing his paperwork, Patrick stood up leisurely. He scanned the final list one last time and murmured cheerfully to himself.
"My, whoever drew up this list did a truly magnificent job."
*
A meeting was convened.
Swallow, as was his custom, was the last to arrive. By Patrick's precise count, he showed up exactly twenty minutes after everyone else had gathered.
"Now this place is starting to feel like a proper dungeon."
Normally, Swallow would whine from the moment he sat down until the meeting adjourned, but today, his voice was surprisingly cheerful, as if his satisfaction outweighed his usual laziness.
He crossed his legs without a single complaint. The sound of his sharp, untrimmed fingernails scratching the back of his neck rasped loudly in the quiet room. His half-lidded eyes slowly scanned the round table.
—Rene, Patrick, Melju, 2 Ounce, Dullahan, the Yaksha Sisters, and the Basilisk.
"Why did you bring 2 Ounce here?"
"Whimper…"
At Swallow's remark, 2 Ounce let out a pitiful whine and slunk back toward Room 4.
His droopy tail wagged dejectedly as he retreated, a truly pitiful sight. Melju watched his departure with longing, only turning back with a sullen pout once 2 Ounce had completely vanished from view. Of course, Swallow didn't notice her reaction in the slightest.
Swallow scanned the round table once more.
—Rene, Patrick, Melju, Dullahan, the Yaksha Sisters, and the Basilisk.
"These are the handpicked managers of our new rooms, Boss," Patrick said.
He handed a document to Swallow, who pinched it between his index and middle fingers and casually scanned the contents.
"So you ended up letting in almost all of them except for a few."
"Well, we weren't exactly in a position to be picky."
"Fair enough."
As Swallow skimmed the pages, he muttered aloud, reading a footnote at the bottom of the sheet.
The primary factor distinguishing Room 1 from Room 2 is loyalty.
These are monsters who have lived for decades taking immense pride in their own strength. Although we managed to take them down a peg through "training" disguised as an exam, that alone wasn't enough to completely break their spirits.
Those who still cling to their pride have been assigned to Room 1. The monsters who have recognized their place and accepted reality have been assigned to Room 2.
"The managers of Room 2, the Yaksha Sisters."
At Patrick's call, the Yaksha Sisters raised their heads.