Ra'al's Humiliation

"Killing me won't change a single thing! Lord Ra'al will arrive on this soil one day! When that time comes, no one—not even that damn Holy Alliance—will ever be able to stop Him!"

"So that means he's still in the dungeon world. Thanks for the intel."

Startled by the voice speaking right beside him, Umar whipped his head around. Bennett stood there, quietly gazing down at him with a repeating crossbow in hand.

For a brief moment, the agony slipped from Umar's mind, and he thrust an accusatory finger toward Bennett.

"You insolent infidel bastard! You should be groveling on your knees before Lord Ra'al, yet you dare obstruct His grand design?! Do you have any idea how many souls have lost their chance at salvation because of you?!"

Bennett listened in silence, then calmly pulled the trigger.

Thwack! Thwack!

"Aaargh!"

Steel bolts punched clean through Umar's previously uninjured ankle and his right hand. Umar, who had been scrambling desperately to clamber ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to his feet, collapsed back onto the ground with a ragged groan.

Bennett closed the distance.

Just as he had done with Demi earlier, his plan was to drag this man to a quiet, secluded place for a serious conversation. The fact that Demi's corpse was still abandoned at that very spot made it an ideal location to apply psychological pressure.

If he kept picking them off one by one and working his way up the ladder, then eventually—

Bennett's eyes twitched.

Umar was undergoing a grotesque transformation right before his eyes. The body of what had been an ordinary, middle-aged man began swelling outward, expanding with unnatural mass.

The violent physical metamorphosis occurring inside and out was plainly visible to Bennett.

The Umar of a few seconds ago and the creature standing before him now were entirely different beings—a vessel possessing a fundamentally alien caliber of physical capability.

Was he intoxicated by the surging power? A grin spread across Umar's lips, displacing the twisted grimace of pain that had contorted his features moments before.

It was an uncanny, blood-chilling smile. His eyes bulged, abnormally bloodshot and veined with crimson.

Boom!

Bennett reacted instantly, but he couldn't evade the blow entirely. He was sent flying by a crushing impact, tumbling violently across the pavement. A dull, throbbing numbness washed over him, as though he had been slammed by something immensely heavy.

What the hell was that?

He had kept his eyes locked on the target the entire time. And yet...

Bennett snapped his head around. Umar stood upright, wearing that strange, grotesque grin, right where he had plowed through.

I can see him with my eyes, but he's slipping past my Detection?

It wasn't that his skill failed to pick him up entirely, but rather that his sensory perception was being warped and scrambled. Regardless, the outcome was virtually the same.

"You cannot defeat me."

The instant those words left the man's lips, Bennett realized the truth.

Ra'al?

Though he wore the husk of Umar, the entity inside was no longer a mere mortal. It was identical to the phenomenon of 'Descent' he had heard whispered about in rumors. Whether it was the exact same principle, he couldn't be certain, but the threat was unmistakable.

Going beyond mere Detection, Bennett ignited every perceptual ability at his disposal and widened his eyes. Now, the silhouette of Umar, which had been an invisible blur just moments prior, emerged as a faint, discernible trajectory.

The entity leaped into the air, hurtling toward him at blinding speed.

Bennett pulled the trigger of Shooting Star.

Fwip!

The bolt, which rarely ever missed its mark, tore through empty air.

Realizing that single snap-shots were insufficient, he immediately toggled the mechanism to rapid fire. Several bolts still went wide, but an equal number found their target.

Armor-piercing tips suffused with psionic energy sank deep into Umar's unnaturally developed musculature. Thud-thud-thud! Dark blood sprayed in arcs as the otherworldly energy coating the bolt heads aggressively unraveled the sinister aura clinging to Umar's flesh. Some of the bolts didn't just lodge in his flesh; they bored straight through, tearing gaping holes in his torso.

Yet Umar's movement showed almost no sign of slowing down, as if his physical vessel was inconsequential.

In that split second, Bennett grasped exactly how to deal with the monster.

Just like last time.

He had to pour every ounce of his power into a single, devastating strike, just as he had when he annihilated that Outsider, the Curse Hand. Whether the Outsiders or Ra'al held supremacy over one another was irrelevant; if he could ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠destroy an Outsider, he could certainly drive back Ra'al wearing the flesh of a puppet.

Click!

Emptying the magazine, Bennett let go of the crossbow and drew his tactical baton.

His legs still ached from the brutal grazing blow he had taken earlier, but regardless of the pain, Flash Sprint collapsed the distance between them in an instant.

Caught off guard by the abrupt burst of speed, the monster's reaction lagged by a fraction of a heartbeat. Bennett seized that opening, swinging the psionic-coated baton with everything he had straight into the creature's skull.

CRACK!

The heavy baton snapped cleanly in half, and Umar's head detonated in a violent concussion of force.

Yet despite the skull being blown apart, there was no spray of brain matter or shattered bone. Instead—

Hissssss—

A thick plume of pitch-black smoke erupted from the severed neck.

Drifting aimlessly through the air for a fleeting instant, the dark vapor suddenly coalesced into a familiar visage—the face of Ra'al that Bennett had glimpsed before.

—You had best remember that this is far from over.

Before the phantom could finish its utterance, the smoke dispersed into nothingness, leaving no trace behind. Umar's headless corpse collapsed onto the pavement like an empty sack.

The same hollow exhaustion and bone-deep weariness he had experienced during his encounter with the Outsider washed over him in waves. Bennett forced his trembling legs to move, prioritizing putting distance between himself and the scene. Even in a desolate, sparsely populated district, the commotion from the battle had undoubtedly drawn unwanted attention.

After vanishing from the alleyways, Bennett headed straight for his evening appointment.

The venue was Advisor.

The private establishment Violet had designated carried an atmosphere strikingly similar to the tavern where he had once met Sasha. The singular distinction was the presence of armed guards bearing the insignia of Whisper, stationed methodically at both the entrance and throughout the interior.

Recognizing Bennett immediately, one of the guards stepped forward and guided him inside.

They led him past the main seating area to a secluded private chamber, far removed from regular clientele. It was comfortably furnished, yet constructed with heavy reinforcement—plainly engineered so that not a whisper of conversation could leak into the hallway.

"You made it?"

The moment he stepped across the threshold, a pungent aroma assaulted his nostrils.

Bennett involuntarily knitted his brows. The smell carried notes of dried herbs and acrid poison, but above all else, it was suffocatingly thick.

"It's an artifact from the dungeon world," Violet said, noticing his reaction. "They call it tobacco. A sort of personal luxury, you could say."

"And it's not poison?"

"Well, there are warning labels stating that excessive use causes harm. But according to dungeon scholars, countless people back then smoked it anyway."

Violet, who had been lazily puffing on the slender cylinder, adjusted her posture. Her languid, half-lidded eyes instantly snapped into sharp focus, reclaiming the professional edge of an executive belonging to one of the city's greatest brokerages. She retrieved a sheaf of documents from a drawer and laid it on the table.

"To cut straight to the point, the commission I'd like to entrust to you involves the Drake Family."

"...The Drake Family?"

Bennett tightened inwardly. Could she be asking him to do something that benefited those bastards—

"There are certain individuals who harbor quite a lot of grievances against the Drake Family. It seems they want to keep them in check."

Bennett swallowed the spark of fury that had threatened to show on his face, rapidly steadying his composure. The abrupt surge of emotion had flushed his skin slightly, but cloaked by the dense haze of smoke drifting across the room, Violet failed to notice.

"What are the specifics?"

"Have you heard rumors about the Drake Family preparing a new enterprise?"

Bennett shook his head. It was completely news to him. Which was only natural—the Drake Family hardly went around broadcasting their internal corporate ventures to common mercenaries.

"Hmm, how should I put this... In the terminology of the dungeon world, they call it a 'food and beverage corporation'? Something along those lines."

"A food corporation?"

"Simply put, they intend to manufacture and mass-produce food and drinks derived from the dungeon world to sell to the public."

Bennett gave a slow nod as he recalled the carbonated beverages he had scavenged inside the Sealed Prison. It was a peculiar drink, sharp and effervescent with an addictive, stimulating sweetness. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠He had no idea how they planned to analyze and mass-produce such concoctions, but as long as the taste held up, there was no question it would be a lucrative goldmine.

"So your client wants to ruin that business?"

"Yes, precisely. More specifically, they want it strangled in the cradle before it ever gets off the ground."

From Bennett's perspective, there was zero reason to decline. Beyond securing spare doses of GS-P27, severing the Drake Family's financial arteries was an opportunity he would gladly seize.

"What do you think? Interested?"

"Sabotaging the Drake Family is clear enough," Bennett replied evenly. "I'd like to know what specifically needs to be done."

"Mmm, normally I can only disclose operational details once you've formally agreed..." Violet paused, feigning contemplation before flashing a coy smile. "I'll make an exception for you. The objective is straightforward: either steal the manufacturing recipes for their food and beverages, or destroy them entirely."

Bennett tilted his head, an obvious question coming to mind.

"Even if the physical recipes are destroyed, wouldn't the researchers who formulated them still be around to recreate the data?"

"Astonishingly ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠enough, there are none."

"...A cleanup?"

"Only the high-ranking members of the Drake Family know the exact truth, but the research personnel started disappearing one after another at a certain point. It's safe to assume that's what happened."

Discarding them the moment they've outlived their usefulness.

It was classic Drake Family methodology. Bennett wasn't surprised in the slightest.

"Do you have any other questions? I'll answer whatever I can within reason."

"Does the client provide any logistical or field support?"

"Mmm... I'd have to check, but it's safe to assume there will be next to none. They are desperate to keep their involvement completely hidden."

That meant Bennett would be entirely on his own. Under ordinary circumstances, he would have reconsidered taking such a hazardous mercenary contract. But this targeted the Drake Family. He had no intention of walking away.

"However, we can leverage that lack of support to negotiate a higher payout. Additional gold, for instance. And Whisper will assist you wherever we can."

"I'll take it."

Violet, who had been waiting for his response, curled the corners of her lips upward into a satisfied grin.

"Oh? That was much faster than I expected. Let me confirm one last time—no taking it back once you commit, understood?"

"Understood."

Clap!

Springing up from her seat, Violet turned to the shelf behind her and retrieved a bottle of liquor.

"Crystal Five-Year, right?"

"...Yes."

"Well, I naturally did my research beforehand," Violet said with a playful wink. "It happens to be my personal favorite as well. Looks like our tastes align, don't they?"

Filling two glasses to the brim, Violet raised hers toward him.

"To a flawless mission."

Clink!

Draining the amber liquid down her throat in one smooth motion, Violet pulled a fresh document from the desk.

"We'll draft the contract right now. It's inscribed with binding enforcement magic. Think of it as a little magical encouragement to ensure both parties honor their terms faithfully."

Such parchment was hardly foreign to Bennett. While far too exorbitant for standard mercenary work, neither this assignment nor Bennett himself belonged to the ordinary tier.

The terms outlined were concise: Bennett's contractual objectives, the payout disbursed upon success, the penalties incurred upon breach or failure, and standard confidentiality stipulations.

"Is there anything you'd like revised?"

Bennett scanned the clauses thoroughly and shook his head.

"Excellent. A drop of blood for the fingerprint seal, then."

As both pressed their blood-stained thumbs against the parchment, the latent magical circle carved into the fibers flared with a soft, iridescent glow, locking the pact into place.

"So," Violet said, making no effort to disguise her curiosity as she leaned across the table. "What's your plan now?"

...Might as well just say I'll drop dead.