Chapter 39
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 39
Prologue
It was a truly spectacular sight.
Only yesterday, the village had been filled with the savory scent of grain. Surrounded by fields and mountains, the small hamlet possessed the perfect terrain and climate for growing wheat. The daily lives of its people flowed peacefully as they cultivated their crops.
Though goblins occasionally loitered in the wheat fields, the village’s own vigilante corps was more than capable of driving them away.
The village knew no crisis. The harvested wheat was of high quality and sold at a premium, so there were no economic hardships.
They woke at sunrise to till the fields, gathered to share meals and laughter, and welcomed the occasional traveler. When the sun set, they went to bed.
Until yesterday, it had been just another peaceful day.
—At least, it was supposed to have been.
Now, a foul stench of filth and rotting corpses choked the air.
The scent of grain that had permeated the village for decades was gone. Everything was rotting. The wheat fields, the wooden houses, even the villagers themselves were in a state of advanced decay. The stench of decomposition had swallowed the village's unique aroma, replaced by the thick, metallic tang of blood.
Not a single villager had escaped the undead horde’s onslaught. The corpses strewn across the ground were frozen in uniform expressions of sheer terror.
Even those who clung tenaciously to life and managed to survive were not safe.
Those who had hidden to survive were eventually transformed, their bodies twisted into something no longer human. One by one, they merged into the ranks of the very undead horde that had destroyed their home.
The village was no different from hell.
“I commend your efforts.”
A low voice descended over the rotting fields.
The speaker walked upon a carpet of corpses. With every step he took, the undead, who had been moving frantically in search of the living, froze in their tracks.
The owner of the voice was a being of pure darkness.
He was closer to death than the dead themselves—an object of awe to the undead.
Thin skin clung to gaunt bones, his flesh was black, and his frame was twice the size of an ordinary lich. He was the Lord of the Dead.
The boss monster of the Great Evil Cave, ‘Where Corpses Die.’
Undead King Erebos.
The gloomy weather heightened the village’s despairing atmosphere. Soon, the black clouds that completely blotted out the sun began to pour down rain. The melting flesh of the corpses grew soggy, sticking to the ground under the downpour.
The sound of rain and the occasional rumble of thunder. Those were the only two things that stimulated the senses in this desolate place.
While all other undead bowed their heads, only the Lord of the Dead slowly raised his. His piercing eye sockets stared toward the peak of the mountain that stood between the plains and the village.
Beyond the mountain range lay a vast plain, bisected by a river. Past the river was a massive forest. Pushing through that forest and passing several human castles, one would eventually reach Riaze.
The heart of the enemy.
“...The perfect opportunity to destroy the Empire.”
Erebos muttered softly.
The dead resumed tearing at the corpses.
Prologue. 2
“This is a disaster.”
A dungeon is a battlefield.
On any battlefield, there are certain virtues one must possess to survive. One of them is maintaining a minimum level of tension.
No, it wasn't even a virtue. If you weren’t tense, you died. After all, there was no easier prey than a defenseless enemy.
Therefore…
Therefore, it was safe to say that a dungeon without a single shred of tension was already a ruined dungeon.
“If you’re going to call yourself a Demon King, then please stay still, Melju! How many times do I have to tell you that silence is the rule in Lord Swallow's room?! And! Rene has told you time and again not to wander off when someone is speaking! Ahh, don't run! Listen to me!”
“I refuse! We are a free monster of this dungeon! And Sir Rene, in all the trendy dungeons these days, the rulers strive for the welfare and rights of their subordinates! Before being a Demon King, We are a guest of the Primordial Core, and We have come to communicate with its ruler, Lord Swallow!”
“Lord Swallow needs to sleep right now!”
“That is precisely why We are needed! We intend to stick close to Lord Swallow's side and share our warmth until he falls fast asleep! Sir Rene, you are far too stingy! Too old-fashioned! You’re like a grandmother!”
“What? D-Did you just call Rene a grandmother?! I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you!”
Her eyes rolling back in fury, Rene swung Guillotine's Tooth wildly. Melju fled as the stray blades crashed against the cave walls, dancing through the massive underground cavern. Crash! Crash! Debris rained down from the scarred rock.
“Haha.”
Yes. That’s right.
It was safe to say that the Primordial Core was a ruined dungeon.
“It’s a total mess.”
Sitting on a rock, Patrick let out a sigh. Watching the scene, completely devoid of tension, drained the strength from his body. Having given up halfway—no, about ninety-seven percent of the way—Patrick raised his head. Driven by the remaining three percent of hope, he managed to look at Swallow, who had lifted his head for some reason.
His four eyes were fixed on Melju and Rene. What lingered in his gaze was sorrow, anguish, and worry. Patrick doubted his own eyes. Wait, could it be? There’s no mistake. That is definitely… a look of genuine concern for the future of the dungeon.
“Unbelievable…”
Overwhelmed by a sudden wave of emotion, Patrick made a choked sound. Though his heart was already a sea of tears, he possessed a body incapable of crying. Instead, his internal bones merely clashed against each other, producing a bizarre, repetitive clatter.
“Boss… to think you could finally make a face like that…”
“Patrick… they’re too noisy. I can’t sleep…”
“...Should I just give up on everything?”
What did you expect, Patrick?
He blamed himself, his head immediately drooping in despair. He noticed gray dust drifting like snow between the joints of his skeletal hands. Ah, is that the remaining three percent of my hope scattering into the void? How tragic.
“The outside world is in an uproar because of a certain someone, and yet…”
It had been three weeks since Rene, who had run away, returned.
If asked whether it was peaceful, one could tentatively answer yes. Aside from the young Demon King, who seemed to be missing a few screws, running rampant throughout the dungeon as a guest, things weren't much different from before.
Although it seemed Rene perceived Melju, who kept throwing herself at Swallow, as a formidable love rival—well, that’s none of my business.
In any case, Patrick was relieved by Rene's livelier behavior. While a slight, lingering awkwardness was unavoidable, the relationship between Swallow and Rene was otherwise no different than before. The reason was undoubtedly the right eye Swallow had given her.
It was an incredibly meaningful item to Rene, and since Swallow's eye had regenerated in an instant as if it had never been plucked out, there was no loss in combat power. Should he call it good luck, or foresight?
In any case, Swallow's response had been the best possible move. It was no exaggeration to say that the current peace was all thanks to him.
Even if our dungeon is peaceful for the time being…
The problem was that this peace was confined solely to the Primordial Core.
Out of habit, Patrick sighed and unfolded a newspaper. It was a human newspaper with a recent date—and most of the articles were about the aftermath of the ‘Black Disaster.’
Over the past three weeks, dozens of articles had been published. If one included the incidents that hadn't surfaced publicly, the number would easily exceed a hundred.
While the world was in turmoil, Swallow, the culprit himself, remained completely unmoved.
“How long do you plan on lying around?” Patrick asked.
No answer came. After waiting a few seconds, Patrick picked up Tanabella. Only after he poked Swallow several times with the pommel did the ancient black monster let out a groan.
“...Hey, Patrick. It's great that you're so passionate, but how about we think about this after resting a bit more?”
“I've told you this several times, Boss, but the aftermath of this incident is no laughing matter. You might not feel it since it doesn’t affect you directly… but do you even know what's happening out there?”
“Something about rebuilding the ruined Riaze and Hastin?”
“...For starters, Riaze has reinforced its defenses. They gathered additional forces by drafting soldiers from across the Empire, which means the villages on the imperial borders are now being devastated by monsters.”
“Sigh.”
“The Empire's 3rd Imperial Princess is still unconscious. It seems she had the misfortune of being on the Imperial Palace balcony when she caught sight of your true form, Boss.”
“Sigh…”
“And the Lord of Hastin committed suicide.”
“...Now that is a bit serious.”
Swallow, who had been reacting flippantly, finally stiffened his expression at the last piece of news.
“Judging by the circumstances, he took his own life before the Imperial Family could hold him accountable. I heard he was dangling from his bedroom ceiling like a ripe fruit. Thanks to that, Hastin is completely paralyzed.”
There was far more news to share, but this was enough to make his point. Patrick stopped reading.
“Besides all that, there are plenty of things we need to do right away. Even if Mr. 116 Black Tentacles is slowly regenerating and the Anthropophago in Room 5 are breeding smoothly, we still need to fill the empty rooms from one to four. We don't need to care what happens in the Empire, but we definitely need to pay attention to Hastin. We have to check the situation ourselves and find an alternative.”
Finishing his speech, Patrick drove Tanabella into the ground. A heavy clang echoed as the blade bit into the earth. Rene and Melju must have moved elsewhere, as silence finally fell over the room.
“It is time to make a choice, Boss.”
If they delayed any longer, there was no telling what might happen. As if accepting the gravity of Patrick’s words, Swallow nodded. Nearly a minute of silence passed. Finally, the ancient monster spoke.
“Patrick, I understand how much you care about the dungeon. …Alright, then. Just a little, just a little more—”
“Just a little more?”
“Just a little more rest, and then we’ll think about it.”
“Haha, I’m not even angry anymore.”
The Primordial Core, one of the Seven Great Evil Caves—dungeons ‘provisionally deemed impossible for humanity to conquer’—and home to the Ancient Monster Swallow who shook the Empire, was…
“Maybe I should run away from home too.”
A total mess.
Phase. 1
The room was narrow. The small flame of a lamp hanging from the ceiling burned pitifully.
Every time the flame flickered, milky-white dust piled thickly on the lampshade drifted down like snow.
The fallen dust landed softly upon the snow-white bones of the figure silently reading a newspaper beneath it.
“This is troubling.”
The monstrous entity reading the newspaper in the quiet room—Death Knight Patrick—muttered softly.
No matter how hard he looked, it wasn't there.
He leisurely turned the page, scanned the next, and confirmed the information he sought was still missing before turning it again. Nothing. It was the same every time. There was no need to scrutinize it. As an undead who did not sleep, he had plenty of time to spare, and he had already read these articles repeatedly during those idle hours.
In the three weeks since the ‘Advent of the Black Disaster,’ he had gathered every human newspaper he could find, enough to boast that he had collected them all.
And he had read them all. He had done so multiple times, spending his abundant free time until he was absolutely certain.
There was nothing. Still nothing.
There was no longer any need to agonize over it.
His mind made up, Patrick folded the newspaper. Contrary to his disciplined movement, the paper fluttered weakly. Rising from his seat, Patrick stretched. Perhaps due to his crooked sitting posture, cracking sounds echoed from his various joints.
After loosening up, Patrick headed toward the dungeon’s entrance.
Retracing his steps through the three-way path, he saw Room 5, where the Anthropophago resided. Though it had been covered with the corpses of the man-eating plants just three weeks ago, its recovery rate was remarkably fast. The air in Room 5 was now thick with the pollen of bizarre flora.
Stepping over the vines of the Anthropophago, which had multiplied into the dozens, he headed toward Room 4.
Room 4, where giant twin golems had once guarded the path, had been an ownerless, empty space for three weeks. The same went for Room 3 and Room 2. Room 1 was so empty that even the scent of the monsters that used to live there had completely vanished.
He sighed and looked up. The spiderwebs scattered around the cave entrance grated on his nerves.
「Patrick, we still have plenty of time, so let's rest a bit more before we start.」
If we rest any more, Boss, this dungeon will go out of business. If other monsters found out that a Great Evil Cave, supposedly one of the strongest dungeons, was being run like this, they would all be horrified.