Even for a Main Scenario Quest, This is Too Much

"Even for a main scenario quest, this is overkill."

Vulcan arrived in Regon Village in a hurry, only to fall silent at the horrific sight before him. A massive dome he'd never seen before loomed over the village center, and screams echoing from every corner made it hard to tell if this was hell or the real world. True to form, demonic-looking creatures were rampaging through the village, slaughtering NPCs and newbie players with ruthless brutality.

- Well, well? Hungry Dead this time? Whoever their summoner is, they've got some filthy pets.

"You know these guys?"

- Eh, calling them 'known' would be too generous—they're leagues below. Just mindless gluttons that know nothing but ripping into the living. Not great fighters, but they swarm like beasts. Once you panic and fall back, the weak ones get taken down without a fight. No big deal if you've got any skill, though.

Vulcan eyed the zombie-like creatures that seemed a bit off from the norm, his expression hardening as ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠he nodded. The scene matched Tud's description perfectly.

The Hungry Dead were level 63—lower than the goblin village soldiers, but at least 20 levels above the users stuck in the newbie zone. Most players left by level 30, 40 at the latest. The monsters wore no armor, but newbie weapons and skills wouldn't dent them much. Their feral, instinct-driven charges were enough to rattle beginners.

Thanks to that, newbie players and village NPCs were too terrified to fight back properly, getting slaughtered. A few brave users realized this was a big event and exploited the no-death-penalty newbie zone to respawn and resist repeatedly, but it didn't work. Focusing one down might've been possible, but there were hordes, and they regenerated health by devouring the fallen.

"Can't get inside the dome, so..."

But they were just low-60s with simple patterns—low combat power overall. A handful of high-level users could clear them easily, but expecting reinforcements was unrealistic, even if word had spread online. Vulcan had a special quest to return, but normal users couldn't come back once they left the newbie zone. No carriages ran back, and walking led to disorientation from some force, stranding you elsewhere.

"Looks like these are my prey."

No reinforcements, then. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Only the advance team—who left first—and Vulcan himself could handle them. But the advance team couldn't clean up; they were trapped inside the massive dome, a holy barrier to contain the threat and limit damage. A few Hungry Dead had slipped through—either overlooked or spawned after—or perhaps the knights fighting outside were holding out. Either way, Vulcan figured the quest's "support" meant mopping up these trash mobs.

If the quest gave precise info, fine—but it lumped "support advance team" and "rescue survivors" vaguely, so Vulcan assumed cleanup first. Bigger contributions might yield better rewards, but without him, wiping the Hungry Dead wouldn't be easy.

- Hurry it up. Things inside don't look good.

"...?"

Vulcan planned to methodically clear the alleys, but Tud seemed to disagree. Tud could peer far with magic sight, beyond mere light—seeing inside the dome.

"Got it."

He couldn't see inside yet, but it didn't matter. He'd planned to exterminate them all anyway; entering for bigger feats would be a bonus.

Vulcan charged. His Berserker greatsword's raw power cleaved through Hungry Dead effortlessly. Levels aside, his gear and control made it a one-sided slaughter.

'Too easy?'

Hungry Dead were simple—no regen or heals, easier than goblins. Agile but predictable; dodge and slash. Rotten ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠flesh stuck to the blade, but Vulcan's strength investment shook it free. He pumped stat points into strength on level-ups, attacks growing fiercer.

"Thank you! Thank you!"

"A player?"

"Nah, no way. Who solos these in a newbie zone?"

"NPC? Like those knights earlier—reinforcements?"

"But he's alone."

"More coming soon?"

"Then we can manage! Poke for scraps!!"

Instead of rushing center, Vulcan swept in a wide circle, clearing mobs. Villagers and users noticed, but none pegged him as a player—too strong for the zone, fully armored anyway.

"I'll help!"

"Last hits only, please!"

Some users tagged for scraps but stayed back. Ranged pokes yielded negligible EXP, no drops worth fighting over.

'Almost cleared.'

Boom—

Rumble—!

Shocks rippled from the dome's core—Tiran at work? Vulcan's face hardened. A senior knight leading scouts was one thing, but Tiran was a level 380+ High Temple Knight. She could one-shot these mobs. Failure to end it meant trouble.

'Something that can match Tiran.'

Opponent had a powerhouse forcing her struggle. Expected, or it'd be over. Could Vulcan contribute? No choice—all mobs cleared, no new spawns. Waiting might complete the quest, but unease gnawed—not just Tud's words; instinct screamed enter.

"Can't get in... Huh?"

The barrier blocked entry—until Vulcan touched it, sucked inside like vacuum. Roona priests' holy zone let Roona-blessed Vulcan through.

Gear power, I guess?

Stunned briefly, Vulcan refocused, scanning inside.

"Huh?"

Everyone battled fiercely, but no instant attacks on him. No one—ally or foe—noticed his entry. They trusted the barrier, but foes were tough enough for distraction to kill.

"Mind control?"

But scanning fighters, Vulcan suspected otherwise. They fought former comrades: knights, soldiers, priests. Many advance teamers had red eyes, berserking blindly.

"But Pain Eaters..."

Pain Eaters were holy-weak—should die in Sanctuary, avoid Roona priests. Weird.

- Not Pain Eaters. Mental corruption. Messing with filth, huh—fallen priests. Smelly sticks together, past and present.

Tud clarified: No Pain Eaters—thought pollution from fallen priests eroded minds, stripping reason.

"Fallen priests...!"

Now it clicked: Why they ignored Sanctuary, why advance team (slightly outnumbered) struggled. Killable now, but post-skill, curable. Hesitation to kill comrades—who matched their strength.

"Wait, where's Tiran?"

Vulcan couldn't jump in easily either. Infected were strong; killing didn't solve root.

Sudden thought: Where was Tiran?

- Right there. Form's changed, but.

Tud pointed: Two clashing intensely amid defensive fights.

"Tiran?"

- Roona high priests bulk muscles with holy power. This is the reverse.

Dragon Eye ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠confirmed, but Vulcan couldn't believe it. Not his buffed-muscled Tiran—this was a slender, fragile girl. Toned, but worlds apart.

"Wait, you mean...?"

- That's her true form. The bulk's holy-enhanced.

Tud wouldn't lie, but hard to swallow.

"Uh... anyway, why's she losing? Solid level gap."

Tiran led in levels, fought full-throttle—yet no edge.

Bang!

Crash! Boom!!

Massive clashes—source of outer explosions. Holy blasts poured, but foe unscathed, smiling, charging back.

- Foe's got a fun toy. Check it.

"...?"

What trick? Vulcan activated Dragon Eye again on the suspicious figure.

Info on the encasing full-body armor unfolded before his eyes.