Chapter 25
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 25
Their investigation of the Primordial Core confirmed their suspicions. Room 1, which had the fastest regeneration rate, had not been restored. This meant the path to the boss room was currently clear. Of course, the "Blade Maid" Rene or the "Death Knight" Patrick would be waiting at the three-way fork, but they could simply take the right path, which was guaranteed to be free of the two gatekeepers. After all, the tentacles guarding that route had already been slaughtered by the Hishultz Subjugation Squad.
The subjugation squad led by Niphrim advanced without encountering a single monster.
After crossing a short passageway, they finally saw Room 2. It was similar in size to Room 1 and smelled musty, but the air was far fresher than the stench that had permeated the previous chamber. A few squad members let out quiet sighs of relief, as if they could finally breathe again. Ignoring his team’s minor reactions, Niphrim continued to lead the way.
The room was a wreck. Several stone pillars of varying heights, scattered irregularly throughout the space, had been cleanly sliced through. From the black scorch marks on the floor to the massive stone columns connecting the ground to the ceiling, traces of a fierce battle were everywhere. Unlike Room 1, not a single ray of light filtered in, leaving the cavern so dark they couldn't see an inch ahead without their lanterns.
Aside from the debris, there were no corpses.
"Niphrim… doesn't something feel off?" Sylvia asked, clutching her staff tightly.
Niphrim, leading the vanguard, didn't answer. He simply walked on in silence. Relying on Sylvia's magic lantern, the subjugation squad followed.
Only after they had crossed halfway to the next room did Niphrim stop.
"Well, what do you all make of this?"
It was a seemingly random question, but everyone, including Sylvia, understood its intent.
This subjugation squad—though small—had been formed under the name of Paimore, a highly renowned dungeon investor. They possessed more than enough data on the Primordial Core and had studied it exhaustively before the expedition. The monster that was supposed to be in Room 2 was the Murder Fairy, a fallen creature of decay whose corpse took at least several weeks to fully rot. Therefore, Room 2 should have been littered with their bodies.
Yet the corpses that should have been there were gone.
This meant someone had cleaned them up. The culprit couldn't have been the Hishultz Subjugation Squad, who had been here most recently. That left only one possibility: a monster—and an intelligent one at that. But why clean up the corpses?
"Are you stupid, or are you trying to mock us?" Niphrim shouted into the darkness.
As if in response, a voice echoed back.
"I'd love to say 'the latter,' but unfortunately, I wasn't trying to mock you. I just tidied up because it was a mess. It's rather hurtful to be insulted for going to the trouble of cleaning up for our guests."
"Sylvia, light it up."
Sylvia, who had been waiting for the command, cast the low-tier magic <Brilliance>. A sphere of light floated up into the air.
Like a miniature sun, the sphere radiated brilliance in all directions. The vivid light, far brighter than any lantern, washed over the pitch-black expanse of Room 2. Only then was the entity revealed, sitting in a thoroughly relaxed pose atop the stump of a cleanly sliced stone pillar.
"Ugh, too bright."
His voice was laced with the dry rattle of bones. The hand gripping a massive greatsword was skeletal. The eye sockets staring down at the subjugation squad were utterly hollow. As the light floated higher, dispelling the last of the shadows, Niphrim spoke.
"A skeleton… You must be Patrick."
"Oh my, I'm honored you know who I am. I spent ages preparing an introduction, worried you'd just say, 'Who's that guy?' but now all my effort has gone to waste. Thanks a lot, you bastards. The grand entrance speech I worked on all day is completely useless now."
Patrick sneered.
"Well, anyway, you've gone to a lot of trouble to come to such a humble place uninvited. Nice to meet you all."
Instead of a reply, the sound of blades scraping against scabbards echoed through the cavern. Patrick watched the subjugation squad with his chin resting on his hand, looking thoroughly amused.
Everyone except Niphrim had drawn their weapons and assumed a combat formation. From lightly held shortswords to massive two-handers, their stances were quite solid for a group that was supposed to be terrified.
"My, what a hostile reaction. Everyone, calm down and put your weapons away. You there, miss, put your staff away, and Mr. Martial Artist, put your fists away… Oh, wait, that sounds a bit odd, doesn't it?"
"They say the dead talk too much. It seems that wasn't just a rumor."
"Well, one has to make conversation. How else can I fondly reminisce later, thinking, 'Ah, I remember those guys'? Besides, what else is there to do but talk or fight? There's a saying that swordsmen speak with their blades… but that's easier said than done. Unless you're holding an actual talking magic sword, that is."
"Kahahat! How pathetic. Your incessant chattering makes it seem like you're desperate for us to stop thinking. If a gatekeeper has abandoned his post to wait in Room 2, what do you think I'd assume? I suppose that's the limit of a skeleton's brain. Let me guess: everything up to Room 5 has been wiped out, right? So all that's left is you, the homunculus gatekeeper, and Swallow?"
"Careful now. The tens of millions of skeletons across the continent might take offense to that. And what a shame, because the deduction you worked so hard on is completely wrong. I'm not hiding anything, and there aren't three of us. Everyone else went on vacation, leaving poor me behind. Right now, I'm the only one in this dungeon. Ah, I could almost cry. Not that I have tear ducts, of course."
'Of course, now that you've heard this, none of you will be leaving alive,' Patrick thought, resting his chin on his hand. Hearing his words, Niphrim frowned slightly.
"Besides," Patrick continued, "I have a few questions for you. I have my sources, so I know you came here with the backing of the dungeon investor, Paimore. But the Paimore I know is a coward. Whenever he sends a subjugation squad to an A-rank dungeon or higher, he always deploys at least fifty people. Now, count your heads. See? Isn't it strange? That's why this empty skull of mine has been speculating: 'Perhaps Paimore only lent his name.' I wonder if there's another faction behind you."
"You talk too much. I should just kill you."
"Shall I beat you down after you confess? Or shall I beat you down first and then make you confess?"
Having finished speaking, Patrick stood up. He had barely finished stretching when a massive line of sword energy shot toward him. With a leisurely movement, Patrick stomped on the tip of his sword. As it flipped into the air, he caught it with one hand, pointing the blade of Tanabella toward the subjugation squad.
He tilted his body, dodging the sword energy—
Clang!
The sound of clashing blades rang out.
"How rude. Not even giving me time to catch my breath."
*
A flurry of blows was exchanged in mere seconds.
Instinct, not reason, ruled the battlefield. Swords and spells flew so wildly that just trying to follow them made the head spin; everyone's body moved before their mind could process it. Thrust first. Slash first. Block first. Stripped to its core, combat was a continuous series of simple choices.
"Wow, isn't this a bit much?"
And amidst it all, not a single attack managed to pierce Patrick.
Of course, that didn't mean he held the upper hand. Even as he blocked every attack, he was gradually being pushed back.
There was absolutely no room for a counterattack. It was a relentless onslaught. Whenever he managed to spot a gap, a rain of magic poured down from the rear as supporting fire.
Swordsmanship was a constant flow of offense and defense, yet his was almost entirely defense. Even when he seized a rare opening to launch a counterattack, the subjugation squad members easily dodged it. There was no elegance to his stiff movements. For fighters of their caliber, his attacks were easy to avoid.
Patrick, who had been so relaxed at first, gradually grew quiet. The moment he barely managed to create some distance, a dagger and a shortsword imbued with sword energy targeted him from his left and rear. Spinning his greatsword, he just barely blocked the attacks. It should have been a perfect defense, yet a single missed attack flew toward his left shoulder.
Thwack!
A heavy impact resonated through his right hand. A monk had lunged for his shoulder, but Patrick had caught the fist. The monk's fist and Patrick's hand trembled from the force. Even in that split second, another sword drew a short arc, aiming for his chest. This time, instead of blocking, Patrick took the hit head-on, raised Tanabella high, and plunged it into the ground. The blade sank deep into the earth, unleashing a violent shockwave. The squad members, already preparing their next strikes, instantly lost their balance.
A sudden, brief opening.
Leaning forward, Patrick rushed a swordsman and brought Tanabella's massive blade down on the man's right arm. It was severed cleanly, falling to the floor with a soft thud. Capitalizing on the momentum, Patrick tried to thrust his sword into the abdomen of the squad member beside him—only to be kicked hard in the stomach. His skeletal body flew several meters before crashing into the ground with a loud smash that echoed through the cave.
"Hah."
Niphrim, who had rushed in to deliver the kick, exhaled sharply. Patrick pushed himself up with his sword, a delighted expression on his face. His voice, filled with admiration, bounced off the cave walls.
"Impressive. To think such power could come from that small frame of yours."
"Kahahat. I guess you're a gatekeeper for a reason. This is fun. Good. You should at least be this much of a challenge."
"I'm reminded of this every time, but fighting one-on-many is tough. Not that I'm asking for a series of duels… but I suppose I started on the wrong foot. It would have been much easier if I'd taken out three of you from the start."
As he spoke, Patrick raised Tanabella once more. The blade, still retaining its silver luster, smoothly reflected the light.
"Well, I think I'm going to win anyway."
Despite having only taken a single arm, Patrick made his declaration triumphantly. He immediately leaped forward, plunging back into the subjugation squad's ranks. Shattering a magic barrier with sheer sword pressure, he brought his sword down toward the monk. The monk, who had been about to twist his body to counterattack, suddenly seemed to realize something and hastily dodged. Another shockwave erupted from the ground where Tanabella struck.
"Good judgment," Patrick said, his tone somewhere between mockery and praise.
Immediately, two spells flew toward him—only two. Ducking easily to avoid them, Patrick scooped up a stone and hurled it toward the casters. With a heavy thud, one of the mages collapsed. Not wanting to miss the opening in their disrupted formation, Patrick dashed toward his next target.
"See? I told you I'd win."
The tide of battle began to turn.
The opening he'd created after exchanging hundreds of blows had changed everything. It wasn't a gap in the swordsmen's defense, but one born from the fading magical support from the rear.
The magic buckshot that had initially split into dozens of projectiles was now reduced to a mere trickle.
The mages' support was dwindling. It was undeniable proof that their mana was running dry.
A dark light gleamed in the Death Knight's eye sockets as he raised his greatsword. His gaze locked with Niphrim's. Without a moment's hesitation, he charged. The opening had been made. Even against several opponents, as long as there was an opening, he could cut them down.
From Patrick's perspective, Niphrim, the captain, was the squad's pillar. If he fell, the rest would crumble.
A large shield blocked his path. He stomped down with his full weight, knocking it aside, then sliced through the muscles of a rogue who rushed him next. Striking the writhing rogue's head with his pommel, Patrick pressed on toward Niphrim.
"Well, it was fun while it lasted."
Clang!
Sparks flew as two blades clashed. The swordsman buckled, unable to withstand the impact—yet it was Tanabella that was flung from its wielder's grasp, clattering to the floor.
It was Patrick who had been disarmed.
"Kahahat, that was close."
The corners of Niphrim's mouth twitched into a grin.
Intermediate Magic <Reading Omens>.
Intermediate Magic <Light Feathers>.
Intermediate Magic <Step of Silence>.
Intermediate Magic <Boiling Blood>.
Intermediate Magic <Bone Ashes of Famous Warrior>.
Countless buff spells enveloped Niphrim's body.