Chapter 26
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 26
A sound escaped Patrick’s lips. “Ah.”
A volley of buff-type spells had erupted all at once—they must have been preparing them for some time. The faint light in his hollow eye sockets shifted toward the mages. It was undoubtedly the work of the woman with the light-green bob, her hair hidden beneath a robe.
So that was why the rain of magic had stopped. It wasn't because they were out of mana.
They were preparing something else.
Patrick turned his head slightly, glancing toward where Tanabella had fallen.
This was an unfortunate and unexpected development. He hadn't brought any sword other than Tanabella.
Patrick remained silent, his mind racing.
The duration of those buffs isn't long. They’re the rare kind with no side effects. At most, they’ll only last for about a minute.
One minute. I just need to hold out for one minute.
His calculations complete, Patrick’s jaw clattered. First, he had to retrieve Tanabella. Immediately after leaning back to dodge Niphrim’s attack, Patrick lunged for the sword. The distance wasn't great. He could reach it. He definitely could.
Low-tier magic: 〈Stiffen〉.
He should have been able to reach it.
For a fleeting moment, his body locked in place.
He took another step forward.
Low-tier magic: 〈Stiffen〉.
Again, his movement ceased. Though his posture was frozen, Patrick’s neck twisted at a grotesque angle. Creeak… creeak… The sound of grinding bone echoed. Patrick’s gaze fixed on the girl with the light-green bob—Sylvia. As his cold gaze met hers, Sylvia’s eyes widened, but she held her ground, refusing to show fear.
Low-tier magic: 〈Stiffen〉, 〈Stiffen〉, 〈Stiffen〉, 〈Stiffen〉, 〈Stiffen〉, 〈Stiffen〉, 〈Stiffen〉, 〈Stiffen〉, 〈Stiffen〉, 〈Stiffen〉, 〈Stiffen〉.
Soon, every mage in the subjugation squad was working to halt Patrick’s movements.
Patrick’s frame groaned as if overloaded. He forced a heavy step forward against the layers of resistance, the sound of bone grinding against bone emanating from his entire body. It was as if time had slowed for him alone. Stiffen, then move. Stiffen again, then move again. Over and over.
As if fighting against invisible chains binding him tight, Patrick painfully extended his arm.
The distance to Tanabella was now only a palm’s width—he was getting closer, inch by inch. He could reach it if he just pushed a little harder.
And just before his hand could touch Tanabella—
Crunch.
A cold sensation pierced through Patrick’s spine.
Patrick turned his head. His eyes met Niphrim’s, who stood directly behind him, having driven a sword into his back.
“Who did you say was going to win?”
A chilling madness played on Niphrim’s lips as he tore the sword from the armor. Squelch. He drove it into another spot. Crunch. He plunged the blade in again, and again, and again, stabbing the Death Knight’s body dozens of times.
He continued right up until the moment the buffs were about to expire. After stabbing him in a rapid succession that turned the Death Knight’s armor into a honeycomb, Niphrim finally exhaled a ragged breath. In stark contrast, Patrick remained motionless, not a single bone twitching. When Niphrim finally pulled the sword out of the mangled remains, Patrick fell weakly to his knees.
Niphrim raised his sword over Patrick’s head.
Like an executioner.
“Die.”
With that short command, a final strike delivered with his full strength hurtled toward Patrick’s skull.
And then.
“Ha.”
The final blow that should have ended the battle.
“Haha.”
Was useless.
“Hahahahahahahahahaha. Ahahahahaha!”
So utterly useless.
“Ah, that was fun. Truly fun. I really got into character this time.”
It was stopped by a palm made of nothing but bone.
That skeleton should not have been able to move.
“I’m sorry. I didn't mean to play a prank from the start—no, that’s a lie. I meant to do it from the very beginning. I’ve been so bored these past few years. I wanted to know what a crisis felt like, even if it was just an act. So, thank you for playing along.”
“You…”
“I’m saying that, up until now, this has all been a joke.”
There wasn't a fraction of a second to withdraw the sword, take a defensive stance, or respond in any way.
Before Niphrim could even react, an intense pain exploded in his abdomen. His consciousness grew distant. His vision began to stain black. As his sight darkened, his hearing gradually dulled. Only Patrick’s final words echoed endlessly in his mind, like a recurring nightmare.
How much time had passed? The pain seared his body as Niphrim slowly opened his eyes.
A chill crept up his entire frame; it felt as though he were lying on a cold stone floor. Despite having just regained consciousness, his memory was vivid. Those nightmare-like final words still made his head throb.
“Oh, are you coming to?”
The nightmare’s whisper reached him.
* * *
Feeling a bit more awake now?
Ah, you don’t have to look at me with such worried eyes. You only lost consciousness for a very brief moment. Ten seconds or so? That’s all.
Anyway, that was quite fun.
I got so immersed that I almost forgot I was acting. Besides, I learned quite a lot. I’ve had plenty of humans come at me with buffs already active, but you’re the first to cast them right in my face. Buffs are surprisingly effective, aren't they? This armor usually doesn't even get a scratch, so I was quite surprised when you kept sliding your sword in, even if it was through the gaps. Thanks to you, I have to get a new set of armor. You damn brat.
Ah, did I get off topic? Well, whatever. To cut a long story short, it seems I won after all.
“Well, that’s how it turned out.”
A drop of water fell from the tip of a stalactite. Niphrim flinched reflexively as it landed on the back of his hand. Even before the cold, there was a tingling sensation, as if his body were paralyzed.
The dungeon was silent. Patrick was crouching beside Niphrim. The posture must not have been very comfortable, as the sound of bones clattering could be heard continuously.
Niphrim’s unfocused eyes turned toward Patrick. As if waiting for that movement, Patrick finally clattered his jaw.
“First, as an apology for the prank, I’ll tell you a few things. Number one: physical enhancement using buff magic is certainly impressive, but you can never defeat our Boss with just that. Your sword cannot reach our Boss.”
Niphrim tried to respond but only managed to cough up a mouthful of blood.
“And second, I twisted your insides a bit earlier. So, I recommend you don’t speak. It would be best if you didn't move at all, either. If you’re curious about exactly what I twisted—I’m not going to tell you. It’s not like you could replicate it even if I did.”
Speaking in a languid tone, Patrick slowly stood up.
“Third, during the few seconds you were unconscious, I finished things up. Your body might be hard to move, but… you should be able to lift your head. It’ll be faster if you see for yourself.”
He lifted his head.
Every member of the subjugation squad was dead.
All thirty of them, in just ten seconds.
“Lastly, among the humans who have encountered ‘Death Knight’ Patrick in the Primordial Core, none have returned alive. Not a single one.”
The Tanabella lying next to Patrick reeked of blood.
As if remembering something, he muttered, “I have something to show you.”
Niphrim, unfortunate enough to still be alive, could only watch helplessly as Patrick walked off.
The sound of something being dragged across the floor echoed through the cavern. What Patrick dragged back were two corpses. The path they left behind was a smear of blood, like a red carpet.
The corpses were what had once been the Monk and the mage—Sylvia.
Patrick tossed the two bodies carelessly in front of Niphrim. What used to be Sylvia hit a jagged rock on the floor, and blood poured from her head.
“Dealing with these two was more troublesome than all the others combined. I had to swing my sword a total of eight times to cut everyone down. If I told you I swung four of those times at the Monk, would you understand? He was strong, persistent, and truly a magnificent opponent, despite being an enemy. Even after being cut halfway through his body, he tried to use it as an opportunity to attack me. I didn't let him, though.”
Patrick glanced at Niphrim. As expected, Niphrim’s eyes were filled with murderous intent. It was nothing more than hollow hostility.
Patrick scoffed.
“Ah, and this mage was even more of a nuisance than the Monk. She really got me. To think she could use wide-area holy magic. My bones still feel itchy. By the way, is your name Niphrim?”
…Seeing that ‘so what’ look in your eyes, I guess I’m right. This woman kept calling your name until the very moment she died.
She was searching for you quite desperately.”
Patrick ended his speech there and fell silent, seeming to observe Niphrim’s reaction. After watching him for nearly a minute, Patrick let out a small sigh. He looked somewhat disappointed that he didn't get the reaction he wanted.
“I was hoping for some agitated emotions, but there’s no response. Mr. Niphrim, you’re quite cold-hearted. Sigh, what’s the point of all this? Let’s just get to the point. Mr. Niphrim, why do you think I didn't kill you? Do you remember what I said at the beginning? I said I’d beat you down and then make you talk. That’s right. It’s question time.”
He took a long breath and paused.
“No matter how I think about it, too many things are too strange to be taken at face value. No matter how much of an idiot Paimore is, there’s no way he would have sent only thirty people. Besides, you all—ah, right, since everyone is dead, that choice of words is wrong. Anyway, this subjugation squad wasn't particularly strong. Usually, the squads that come here are all above this level. If anything, you guys are below average.”
This squad had surely set out with the intention of fighting the Boss—Swallow. It was exactly as he said. They were the ones selected by the humans as a ‘squad that might actually be able to win against Swallow.’ However, with the exception of Niphrim, the female mage, and the Monk, everyone was clearly below average.
“What are you hiding?”
If a question had a shape, Patrick’s would have been a sharp dagger. His cold voice stirred Niphrim’s eardrums. Niphrim reached out his arm as if to react, but there was no way he could do anything with a paralyzed body.
“I’m not telling you to answer with your guts twisted. Hmm… well, since I’m a perfectly nice and kind skeleton, I’ll give you a choice. I don’t intend to force an answer out of you. It’s obvious that trying to dominate someone like you by force would be pointless. Now, if you’re willing to answer, just lift your right hand slightly; if you’re not, lift your left hand. Oh, of course, whichever one you lift, you’re going to die, Mr. Niphrim. There will just be a difference in the process.”
What choice will you make?
It was the optimal condition.
The corpses before his eyes, the terror of his comrades, the longing for survival mixed with the fear of death—but without a shred of hope. In this situation, he was even offering a ‘painless death,’ a promise sweeter than ‘survival.’ When a man has nothing left and is still losing, what better option could he be given?
This was surely the optimal state for craving death.
Niphrim dropped his head while still lying face down. His head hit the floor, and blood flowed. Since his head was lowered, his expression couldn't be read. Patrick, on the other hand, was amused, as if such behavior piqued his interest.
The hand Niphrim finally lifted was his right hand.
“A wise choice. Good. If you just tell me everything, I’ll send you off with as little pain as possible… Oh? Giving me the finger, even now?”
Patrick let out a hollow laugh.
“This is the first time I’ve seen a human stick out their middle finger in this situation. Just what kind of brain do you have to come up with such an idea in this state? I’m starting to respect you.”
Maintaining his smile, Patrick snapped the middle finger Niphrim had raised. Crack, cra-crack. The finger, twisted left and right until it was a mangled mess, looked grotesque.
“I shall respect that choice.”
But I still don't like it.
Muttering to himself, Patrick glanced around and picked up a sword belonging to one of the fallen squad members. He drove the thin, long blade straight into Niphrim’s abdomen. He stirred it. Every time the blade squelched through flesh, a garbled scream and a spray of blood burst from Niphrim’s mouth. Only after churning his insides several times did Patrick let go. He kicked Niphrim, who now looked no different from the other corpses scattered around. The sword remained lodged in his belly.
“I hope you die slowly.”
Retrieving Tanabella, Patrick began walking toward the depths of the Core.