There Is No Paradise for the Fleeing

That was the broad outline of the event.

A wicked host had tampered with the barrier, exposing a paradise that had never before been found. Fleeing in a panic without any real plan of escape would only mean dancing to the enemy’s tune. Better, then, to make every possible preparation here, crush the invaders, and seek to restore and strengthen the barrier—that was the judgment that offered even a slim chance of survival.

Not a bad strategy. From ancient times, the defender has always held the easier hand than the attacker. But that holds true only when the forces are roughly equal.

This event dungeon was, at its core, a wave-based defense game. The premise was stacked against you from the start: the enemy’s numbers would always exceed those of the paradise’s defenders, and they would keep coming without end. An unfair game from the first move.

Unlike other defense games, there were no friendly features here—no towers to build, no allies to upgrade. Fatigue brought exhaustion, as it should. Every shot fired consumed supplies. This was a real war, fought with brutally limited resources, and under that crushing pressure the challenger had to choose: flee for the future, or stay and fight to the last.

Whether you chose battle or flight, this peaceful place would be overrun either way. The beautiful greenery would be trampled and burned until nothing of its original form remained.

The truly vicious—and realistic—part of the event was that “protecting the paradise” was not the clear condition. Could you, by any means, ensure ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the paradise’s continued existence? That result alone decided success or failure.

Every review left by those who had entered this dungeon was uniformly drained and broken, and that grim backdrop was why. As an event-type dungeon, success brought fitting rewards—but failure slapped you with a massive penalty and a chance to try again to lift it.

The penalty was the Brand of Distrust.

Unlike the Brand of the Defeated from the Gladiator’s Arena, which sealed level-ups, this one imposed no functional restrictions. Yet that did not mean its effects could be ignored. In some ways, it was even more troublesome than the Brand of the Defeated.

As the name suggested, the Brand of Distrust forced any being who first encountered the branded to distrust them on sight. It went beyond reason or concept—simply made others feel that atmosphere and then believe it with absolute certainty. The effect was limited to first impressions, so spending enough time together would eventually wear it off. But who in the world had the leisure to invest that kind of time in every single person they met?

For people, first impressions decide almost everything. The brand would be a clear demerit in every future relationship. Worse, it applied not only to humans but to every living creature. A bird flying past, a stray dog met for the first time—all would distrust the branded and instinctively keep their distance. The result was a slow, grinding accumulation of trouble that wore the spirit down.

A penalty perfectly suited to this nasty dungeon. For someone like me who wanted nothing to do with bothersome affairs, it was pure irritation.

I had never intended to fail, but now I had one more solid reason to take this seriously.

That’s the end of the intel I gathered beforehand.

Unlike the protagonists of other novels, I had no hidden secrets to unravel here, no clever new strategy to clear the dungeon in spectacular fashion. I would simply play my own way, making the best moves I could.

I still didn’t know what this world had been modeled after. Even after coming this far, nothing stirred in my memory—proof enough that it was a world I simply didn’t know. Maybe it was becoming the original in real time. Relativity of time, the concept of observation… just thinking about them made my head ache.

Just do what I’ve always done.

I glanced toward the something watching us from deeper in the forest, then poured mana into my fingers. I didn’t call any name. I simply gathered the will to bring every summon I possessed into this place and gave the command.

“Come forth.”

Snap!

The moment the words left my mouth I flicked my fingers. My shadow stretched long across the ground, and from it, as though climbing a staircase from the underworld, they emerged one by one—Echidna at the lead.

In an instant they formed a perimeter around me. I swept my gaze over them and gave the order I always did.

“Kill everything you see. Leave not a single one alive.”

“I receive your command, Master.”

Only Echidna answered in human speech. The others voiced their fighting spirit in their own ways—cries that revealed their natures, or quiet nods.

“Kaaak!!”

Bwoooom!!

Hive and Bihos took to the air first. Hive’s majesty, swelling from one into hundreds, was impressive enough, but Bihos moving as a single great army was a sight of its own.

Wary gazes locked onto me from every direction, but I paid ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠them no mind. What I wanted was the annihilation of the enemy and the level-ups—and evolutions—of Bihos and Haze. And, while I was at it, one new summon.

My level had suddenly spiked to thirty, throwing off the usual cycle, but if things went as planned this evolution would let me add another summon to the roster.

Rrrumble…

As if timed to the completion of the summons, cracks began to spiderweb across the space ahead. The sign that the waves were about to begin.

I cloaked myself in shadow and walked toward the fissure. Beyond it, all manner of single-horned beasts waited, weapons and gear already strapped to their bodies. If I didn’t take the enemies myself, those creatures would fight and fall in my place.

I didn’t particularly care whether they fell or not, but anything that might affect the quest was best avoided. Them stepping forward was not what I wanted.

“Kallion.”

“Grrrrngh!”

At my call the white dragon soared skyward, eyes fixed on the earth. More than half my mana was ripped away in an instant, but I didn’t care. Once the enemies appeared, Subjugator would raise my stats and let me recover what I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠needed.

“Guooooong!!”

Boom! Thud!!

Kallion’s roar shook the air. Around him, massive sword-shapes of Magic Armor formed, then smaller spears layered over them. One after another they fell before the herd, becoming a solid wall with not a single gap.

Startled cries rose from behind the barrier, but the moment they realized Kallion meant no attack, the unicorns overlapped their own cries in gratitude.

Crash!

“Kieeeek!!”

“Prrrrrk! Pfuh!!”

The crack in the air shattered. Creatures wreathed in pitch-black aura began pouring through—walking advertisements that screamed “I am the villain.”

“Feed as many as you can to Bihos and Haze.”

All the hunting since the island had paid off; they were on the verge of level ten. Two waves at most—maybe less if luck held—and they would hit it.

As for me, I would move on my own and pick up a new weapon skill. The title Versatile Transformer granted bonus damage equal to the number of weapon skills I held whenever I transformed a weapon. The more I could collect, the better.

So far I had the six basic weapon skills: Staff, Sword, Spear, Blunt, Bow, and Shield. That was essentially the complete set of fundamentals. Anything further required fulfilling conditions for the advanced weapon skills.

That was why I had been using gauntlets so often lately. People tended to lump them with gloves or armor, but a gauntlet was firmly in the Blunt category—because it was, after all, a glove made of iron. If swinging that didn’t count as blunt, what did?

The knuckle had been inspired by the same idea: iron layered over a glove for extra striking power, or shaped sharp for offense, trading some defense for ease of wear and raw damage. Whether that was folklore or fact elsewhere, in this world it was true.

“Level five in Unarmed plus level five in Blunt unlocks the Knuckle skill, right?”

One of the bits of information I had pried out of Hong Su-ah while resting on the ship. She fought primarily with her fists, so I had asked on a whim, never expecting a real answer—yet she had given me one.

Right now both my Unarmed and Blunt sat at level four. Keep smashing enemies with gauntlets and the levels would rise on their own, unlocking Knuckle.

Worried the system might register only Unarmed, I wrapped both arms in even thicker layers of shadow this time. The resulting gauntlets were so bulky no one could mistake them for anything but weapons. I clenched my fists once, felt no discomfort, and charged the oncoming horde.

Hive and Bihos had already crashed into the front line before I even closed the distance. Stacks of Subjugator piled up at once. With every step, power flooded my body.

The skill Combat Focus activated. The enemies rushing toward me with blood-red, frenzy-lit eyes began to slow.

“Haze.”

Whoooosh!!

Wind coiled around both fists and legs. My body lightened. I bounced lightly in place, shaking out the tension.

“Keres.”

Hoyooyooyoo~

Blue flames drifted close and wrapped my entire body, burning like living armor. Preparation complete.

I would have liked to add Bihos’s poison as well, but one wrong move and I would be the one poisoned. I held back.

Thud.

“Huu…”

A deep breath. Shadow covered my face as I settled into stance.

The target was the enemy right in front of me—a creature that had abandoned even the basic instinct to survive, driven only by the pure will to smash everything in its path. I poured mana into my fist and drove it forward.

Bwoom!

Blessed by the wind, the punch flew straight and true. Blue flame rode the fist. The moment it connected, the creature’s face crumpled; the fire slipped into the gap and consumed it from within.

I didn’t even need to put my full strength into it. That one ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was dead for certain.

BOOM!!!

The burning body was launched into the air like a kicked ball and crashed far away. In the brief flight I saw the face cave in so completely that the neck had been driven into the torso. If that thing was still alive, I would tip my hat—but from where I stood, living or dead no longer mattered.

Next.

The assault had only just begun. I kept throwing fists into the endless tide of enemies pouring toward me.