Chapter 7
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 7
Chapter Title: Dungeon Appearance(?)
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The sole god Eukrasia's grace bestowed upon the humans of the continent: the 'Holy Relic'.
Though they were collectively referred to as Holy Relics, the forms of those granted to the people of the continent varied widely.
Rox's 'Baikal' took the shape of a spear, but they could also manifest as weapons like swords or shields. There were autonomous golems like 'Arhan', which guarded the capital of the Holy Empire Yukram, as well as architectural structures like the 'Tower of Blessing', and even body parts like the 'Evil Eye'.
Yet for all their differences, these Holy Relics shared one crucial trait: they granted commensurate power to the humans they chose.
From the moment a human was chosen by a Holy Relic and became a Hero, they possessed superhuman physical abilities beyond the ordinary, sharpened senses, and the blessing of mana that allowed even a mundane person to wield it.
This blessing persisted even if the Holy Relic was separated from the body, so long as the individual retained the qualifications of a Hero...
"...What the hell are you...!!"
Feeling as though the Baikal he had hurled had vanished into thin air and some vital connection had been severed, Rox broke out in cold sweat and bellowed in rage.
'I-I survived...!'
I was simply relieved that the spear trying to kill me had disappeared. I stood frozen, hand still outstretched toward where it had been.
But to the hunters, including Rox, it looked like the dignified poise of a powerhouse who had casually nullified Rox's strike with nothing more than an extended hand.
"Damn it... Baikal! Baikal!"
Sensing something gravely wrong, Rox spread his hand and called out Baikal's name. He had used it in javelin form countless times before. Every time, simply extending his hand with the intent to summon it brought Baikal right back to his grasp.
"...Baikal? Damn it! Why isn't it coming...!"
But this time was different. Accompanied by the sensation of having lost something irreplaceable within himself, Baikal—the one that had always answered his call—refused to appear.
"...You, you mongrel! Where did you send my Baikal... Guh?!"
Instinctively realizing the cause lay with the half-breed before him, Rox exploded in fury and lunged forward. But his body grew heavy as waterlogged cotton, unable even to bear the weight of his own armor.
"Wh-what... is this? My body..."
It wasn't just his body. No strength flowed into his arms or legs. His once-keen senses dulled horribly, his vision degraded, and ears that could hear whispers from dozens of meters away now picked up only nearby sounds.
As if... he had reverted to the state before being chosen by the Holy Relic.
"What... Rox? What's wrong?"
"Rox! Your appearance...!"
The changes continued. His firm muscles withered, his sturdy frame shrank. Skin kept pristine by mana turned rough and dry.
"Ugh..."
"Wh-what is this! You half-breed! What did you do to Rox?!"
Humans inherently fear the unknown. As Rox—the one who had lorded over them with overwhelming power—degenerated into a pitiful state, the hunters trembled in terror yet leveled their weapons at me all the same.
'Why's he acting like that?'
But I wanted to ask the same. He'd suddenly hurled his spear, I'd accepted a fleeting system message, the spear vanished, and now this guy was shrinking on his own.
"........."
With nothing to say and just as bewildered, I stayed silent. But to the hunters, it came across entirely differently.
A white cloth masking half his face (Cleaning Mask), bizarre attire unseen anywhere on the continent (janitor's uniform), black hair symbolizing oppression yet also ominous foreboding, and swift water magic that had felled one of their comrades in an instant...
-Pshoo!
"Gaaah!"
As they hesitated, a jet of water burst from the odd staff-wand in the half-breed's hand at tremendous speed, striking one of their comrades. Impaled through the body without fail, he collapsed with a final scream.
At that moment, the hunters' reactions split in two.
"Sh-shit... Run!"
"I don't know what he did, but Rox is done for!"
Those gripped by fear at the fall of Rox—their overwhelmingly superior comrade—and the helpless slaughter of their fellows turned tail and fled...
"That bastard killed Hexon!"
"Mages are weak up close!"
And those charging recklessly at the half-breed mage anyway.
'What the fu...!'
Faced with ferocious hunters bearing savage weapons charging at me, I panicked. The [High-Pressure Cleaner] had somehow shown insane power... but I myself was utterly ordinary.
One swing of those blades in their hands, and I'd slice apart like a cake.
'A way out! Think of something!'
How many life-or-death crises was this in such a short time? They say humans awaken in extreme situations. My mind was spinning at full speed right now!
The [High-Pressure Cleaner] could take some down, but there were too many. Compared to their superhuman speed, my arm swings were pathetically slow. I'd drop a few at best before they overwhelmed me. Unless I could sweep them all at once...
'...All at once?'
Range. Yes, range settings! Just like expanding the [Dry Mop]'s cleaning area earlier!
-[Cleaning Range Setting]
Just like with the [Dry Mop], manipulating the system window displaying the [High-Pressure Cleaner]'s description brought up options to set the cleaning range.
'Max it out!'
Not knowing the sweet spot, I cranked the range to maximum. Should I have gone moderate? Expanding the range probably diluted the power...
"Die!!!"
"Guh...!"
Shit. They were already too close! Just fire!
-Click.
"...Cough! Cough!"
Bran, one of the demon hunters, coughed repeatedly as he opened his eyes.
'Wh-what happened...?'
He remembered charging at that half-breed mage with a few comrades, leaving the cowards behind... then his memory cut off.
"Where... is this?"
Somehow hauling his heavy body up and looking around, he found himself sprawled quite a distance from the suspicious door they'd assaulted together. Similar-looking comrades lay scattered nearby.
"Cough! Urk...!"
Unable to hold back, he coughed and dry-heaved. Clear water gushed from his mouth—like he'd swallowed a barrel of it whole.
'...Fuck.'
Spewing water and seeing his drenched body jogged his memory.
He and his comrades had charged with weapons raised. The mage had watched their approach calmly, as if unperturbed, then raised his staff and cast.
Having witnessed that swift magic several times already, they'd scattered while attacking, wary of its direction. Seasoned hunters who'd felled countless demons could predict and dodge such linear strikes after seeing them twice.
But then, the anomaly struck.
-Click!
Instead of incantation, a strange mechanical whir echoed...
-Roooaaar...
"Gah!"
"What the...!"
How to describe it... A wave? No, bigger—a tsunami?
"Glug glug...!"
Those lunging for his throat, those fleeing with backs turned—even Rox, still denying reality and calling for Baikal. Everyone got swept away by the massive surge.
'...The half-breed. Where's that half-breed?'
Memory restored, Bran sought the half-breed mage responsible. There he stood, in the exact spot they'd charged, nobly inside the antique door.
"Ugh...!!"
Comrades regaining consciousness one by one backed away from the half-breed man with eyes full of dread. Their fighting spirit had long evaporated. How could they challenge a mage who summoned a tsunami in these landlocked mountains?
-Click.
"!!!"
"Uwaaah... Retreat!"
As the man silently raised his staff again, the hunters spun and fled. They slung unconscious comrades over shoulders and bolted.
For some reason, the mysterious man didn't pursue.
"Huff...! Huff...!"
"What the hell, you guys. Why do you all look like drowned rats?"
Who knew how far they'd run in blind panic. Reaching the temporary base in the Red Demon Tribe village, comrades left to guard it greeted them.
"We-we gotta pull back!"
"What're you—"
"Fuck, we need to run!"
"What're you talking about! We're waiting here to hunt the Red Demons when they return to the village!"
The comrades who'd gone to hunt Arcna's rumored half-demon returned in tatters, screaming retreat. The base guards were baffled, unable to grasp the situation.
Frustrated, Bran—who'd fled at the front—thumped his chest and started explaining. Then it hit him: the simplest way to sum it up.
"...A Dungeon."
"What?"
"Fuck, a Dungeon appeared!"
The joke they'd tossed around before departing had become reality.