Chapter 22
Chapter 22
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 22
Chapter Title: 4th Floor: Inner Thoughts
-----------------------------------------------------------------
At first, I just thought he was another moth to the flame, charging headlong into death for the sake of honor without knowing his own limits.
Just looking at his shabby gear—which seemed like it'd be better to fight naked without—and his clumsy sword swings, like it was his first time ever gripping one, made it obvious.
He had a solid build, sure, but if that alone solved everything, why bother with training or learning swordsmanship?
Yet seeing him boldly accept Maria's request to stand in my way twisted something deep inside me.
In that stupid man's confident face—who knew nothing, couldn't even look after himself, yet responded so assuredly—I saw echoes of my own foolish past self.
And to my old friend, still stubbornly clinging to the hope of a miracle, unable to let go even after witnessing that unstoppable evil firsthand.
So I had to make him see.
He'd surely drop dead before even reaching it, but if by some slim chance he faced that end and his soul eroded away to oblivion, it was better to end him painlessly with my own hand.
That's why I revealed myself to kill that man.
But right after, a flash of light trapped me in some unknown narrow space, rendering me unable to move.
An advanced spell I couldn't even comprehend, let alone figure out how he'd cast it.
A judgment error. That fool's getup was bait.
In truth, a skilled sealer had hunkered down, luring the prey to pounce. That's what I thought.
The helplessness of retaining only my consciousness, unable to exert any will whatsoever—it brought back a terror I'd forgotten even after death and my corpse decayed, seeping through my entire being.
I screamed at the creepy sensation gnawing away at my body. Get me out of here right now!
But the man acted like he couldn't hear, stuffing my form into his backpack like mere luggage and prowling the dungeon as if it were his own backyard.
If he could seal even me, this sewer would be a cakewalk.
['But things won't go as smoothly from here on out. Compared to the despair ahead, this is barely a taste! You'll die and crumble like any pathetic human!']
That's what I thought.
But the man didn't spam sealing spells.
He clung steadfastly to the role of the utter weakling, shoving his head into the jaws of death and scraping by with razor-thin survival.
"Gaaahhh!!!"
He'd get wounded by hidden traps,
"You fucking bitch! Don't lift those hairy-ass legs to flash me!!!"
hurt by twisted lifeforms pulsing with mana,
"Ah—thirsty. Water all around, but can't drink a drop."
lament his mounting fatigue,
"No, fu—ck. Urk, blaaargh— I just ate...!"
and puke like a wimp at nauseating sights, yet he never stopped.
Because he saw through every obstacle in his path—dodging, exploiting, smashing, overcoming them all.
Seasoned handling.
Not overwhelming power, but always the best response and choice for the moment, pressing forward. Watching him, I had to revise my assessment just a bit.
['Maybe he's got some potential after all?']
From a clueless fool to someone with real survival savvy.
The man was certainly a capable explorer, but it was just one human's power. And I knew human limits all too well.
He'd crumble soon enough. No exceptions.
Until then, I'd simply observe this sealer.
['Ugh...?']
While I huddled in the darkness of my prison, silently stewing in infinite despair, something poured into me, filling me up.
A scorching vital energy touched my soul, blazing as if to burn me away.
Some purification rite? Well, at this point, calling my soul a specter fits— if it wasn't incinerated, it'd never find true death.
Sound judgment, but was purification supposed to feel like this?
A relentless pressure stabbing at my core, as if to force submission.
And a heat I'd never felt since becoming like this invaded me, ravaging without mercy.
['Wh-what the he...! What...']
I was being violated. Being defiled.
The man had returned to the tomb where we'd slumbered, thrusting his manhood into my sealed form while spewing profane words.
As if demanding my submission.
And then I felt it—a surging vital mana and power.
At the same time, an instinct to serve the man before me overlaid my being.
['No. Not to a filthy bastard like...!']
Only then did I realize.
This binding wasn't a seal to purify a sin-ridden specter. It was a process to force submission, turning me into a familiar.
I forcibly suppressed the rising power along with the budding instincts of love and obedience.
Reason is a mage's virtue.
A feat I'd honed my entire life.
['I'll kill you... The moment you let your guard down, I'll take your life and curse you to eternal torment even in death..!']
And the instant the seal broke, I tried to kill him.
But somehow, he didn't die—revived, utterly shattered my pride, and forced my submission.
Because the slave's brand demanding obedience to his words had seared deep into my soul, as much as the overflowing power.
After that, he began actively deploying me for dungeon conquest.
He toyed with me, trampling the pride of a hero from life, but setting aside the mockery, his decisions were impeccably sound.
To the point I wondered if he had some omniscient ability to know everything about his foes.
Even as he handled me roughly, he treated me preciously—investing resources, gear, time, and protecting me.
The same for that lowly slime blob he'd tamed before me.
Barring his baffling antics and girlish shrieks at surprises, the man was undeniably a good person.
'Though his flaw is getting too rough during intercourse for mana recharge. And... his sex drive is way too strong..!'
Though I'd never dated or married in life, I could tell his lust was abnormal.
Because going all night and still having stamina left defied everything I knew!
My body felt a bit warm for some reason, but it had to be my imagination.
He was an eccentric, but unmistakably a good soul.
I knew it from his encounter with Dave, the criminal exiled to the sewers.
He hesitated to kill Dave, who ambushed to murder him.
As if killing that criminal would shatter his own humanity. He feared it, even though a slight push would've gotten him killed instead.
Honestly, by then, my aversion to my master—going by that weird alias "Aaaah"—had nearly vanished.
And maybe I even held some hope.
['No. Even the heroes I'd seen did this much. In the end, they'll meet that doom...']
Perhaps I'd grown attached. I didn't want my master to meet that fated end.
I'd rather he lived a normal life, delaying the soul-shattering agony as long as possible.
But as if he had no such intentions, now he showed me a black gem with a sinister red line glowing ominously.
That profane clump harboring the cursed mana of inevitable doom.
The nucleus—brilliant irregular polyhedron—responsible for every anomaly and monster in Whitechamber.
Watching my master declare he'd become a hero, face cool as if it were no big deal, even facing mana no human could endure, left me stunned like I'd been clubbed upside the head.
'Maybe I'd been fooling myself all along, waiting for this.'
A human like my master.
"Kyaaaaaaaahhh—!!! Flying spider!!!"
Keeeeeek!!!
The moment that thought crossed my mind, my master spotted a spider dangling from the ceiling and started shrieking like a little girl, flailing about.
"...Never mind?"
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ "Phew! Spiderman wouldn't even fly around like that. If you're a spider, act like one and crawl on the floor. Get cocky with me."
I'd bisected the spider that tried to strong-arm me into buying that less-than-one-mat-sized cocoon with my precious life as payment, then smugly wiped the sweat from my brow.
The saying "better a landlord than a creator" assumes a decent building at least—even trash like that, I wouldn't take if offered.
"Ugh... so sticky. Hate how bug fluids don't come off easy..."
"The fluids from spiders in these sewers corrode leather and cling stubbornly, but acidic potions wash them right off. Annoying when stuck to your body, but scrub hard."
Her usual gruff tone, but the content felt oddly gentle.
Looking closer, Severa's gaze toward me had warmed—maybe some change of heart?
What could she be thinking?
And the answer was simple enough for me to guess.
"You've fallen for me, huh? Gotta admit, I do look pretty good."
Sure, I got some nasty scratches shaving my beard like that Viking dude from the video, but the original was badass anyway—no biggie.
If anything, didn't it add some rugged masculinity?
Even a soul—if it's a woman—can't help but feel her womb quiver at my clean look.
"Really troublesome. I'm too busy for romance right now. Unless it's with my perfectly lewd 24/7 sticky onahole, that is."
"...Trash."
That strangely soft gaze filled with contempt like she was staring at garbage, then—poof—she reverted to onahole form.
She likes it but won't admit it.
Truly dishonest, I thought, as I headed toward the 5th-floor stairs with a lighter heart and step, where the knight-turned-criminal and the Wanderer awaited.