Mirror Image
Arrows and spells flew everywhere, flames spread, and the forest burned. Humans and elves tangled together, slashing, stabbing, collapsing, and stealing lives from one another—the scene flashed before my eyes.
It left me utterly unmoved. It was too crude to feel tragic at a glance. The fighters looked like faceless mannequins. The weapons slicing through the air might as well have been movie props. The sky, the trees, the starlight—all of it just tacky footage projected on a screen. It felt like peeking through a half-open door at some shitty low-budget CG flick for kids.
This has to be a dream, I thought. But what the hell's wrong with my imagination to churn out crap like this? No context whatsoever, just dragging on forever. Dreams are like that, sure, but it had been years since my last one, and for it to be this garbage? It soured my mood.
"How long is this gonna keep going?"
I muttered to myself in the dream, where even my body felt numb. Still, the dream dragged on, piling up more crude footage until I was so drained I fell asleep inside the dream. And the moment I slipped into yet another layer of dream...
My eyes snapped open.
"Good morning to you."
It was a bright morning, sunlight pouring down.
Elenoir thanked me, saying it was the first time in ages she'd slept so soundly thanks to me. Her eyes still looked tired, though—the fatigue probably wasn't just from insomnia. Too much had piled up for one good night's sleep to fix it.
Not my problem.
"By the way, you slept like a rock yourself, didn't you? Must've been comfy in my arms after all that fuss."
Surprisingly, it was true. I didn't know if it was Elenoir's influence, but I'd slept deeply for the first time in forever too. Dreaming when I never did before—probably the unfamiliar bed. But I'd never wanted deep sleep anyway, so whatever. Good enough.
"Nah, just had some bullshit dream."
I brushed off Elenoir's words, stretched lightly to loosen up. We'd wasted hours sleeping, so I had to make the most of what was left.
This epic quest's goal: fulfill Elenoir's wish and the queen's command. Sharing a bed one night wouldn't clear it. The key was putting Elenoir at ease. Sleep with her at night, ease her war stress during the day. No different from Floor 8—roam the battlefield daily, mowing down enemies.
"A dream... I had one last night too. First deep sleep in ages—such a strange experience."
Elenoir mumbled drowsily, still half-asleep. I geared up while she did.
The kingdom's forces, organized with monster handlers, were no joke. My specs were sky-high, so nothing felt like a real crisis, but they weren't pushovers either.
They had not just regular mages, but shamans and black mages too. They didn't just sic their tamed monsters on me—they hounded me with spells and tactics. They targeted my solo infiltration style: swarm monsters to pin my feet, then dump AOE spells meant for wiping armies on little old me.
Multiple shamans and black mages stacking binds and debuffs made it tricky to counter. Disrupting my mana sense with tamed monsters let powerful attacks land a few times. But like I said, never a true crisis. My Spell Resistance and Great Magic Resistance, honed taking hits from the Emerald Wyvern, shielded me reliably. Fire, ice, lightning got double damage reduction from resistances.
Shaman poisons weren't just halved—they were nullified outright. And repeating this crap naturally built new resistances I'd lacked.
Passive Skill: Curse Resistance Lv.1 acquired.
The skill's common enough, but I'd never had the chance for curse resistance till now. The curses weren't strong, so it stuck at Lv.1 for a while.
"Hey, keep that up."
"P-pardon?"
"Hit me with more curses."
I captured one black mage alive, made him spam curses on me till I solved it. Drained his mana dry to push Curse Resistance to Lv.3 today—two weeks since entering Floor 9.
The epic quest hadn't budged an inch.
Elenoir slept beside me every night, but she looked worse with each passing day.
"Nngh? What're you talking about? Thanks to you, I've been feeling more alive than ever."
"Doesn't look that way."
"You're just seeing it wrong. I'm worried about you."
She said it, but anyone with eyes could tell otherwise. The stars blazing in Elenoir's eyes were dimming. Hard to explain, but I felt it. Maybe from sharing memories via night elf secret arts, or my senses sharpening. Somehow, I knew her heart was in turmoil.
"Really, it's just... a lot on my mind."
I got it. Despite my rampage, the war wasn't turning. Casualties mounted daily, small numbers but steady. Just NPCs to me, but kin and subjects to her.
"This crown's weight is choking me."
Her weary expression felt alien, yet familiar somehow.
Anyway, without flipping this damn war on its head, this quest won't clear.
So far, I'd only ravaged near dark elf territory. Never pushed deep into enemy heartlands. They weren't some ragtag group—a massive force. No matter how strong I am, I can't solo an entire army. Sheer numbers aside, each faction had elites and Mercedes-level freaks.
But now? No choice. Defending here caps my growth. Time to dive in.
Prime target: high elf lines—I'd probed their strength once. The high elf king's power? Unknown, but even highballing it, weaker than Mercedes. She was leagues beyond norms already. Other elites probably knight-level; I could take Mercedes now. Duel on Floor 7 gauged her skill; specs closing gap with mana reinforcement.
I checked gear, packed up, and marched into high elf turf. Didn't take long to run into enemies in an unexpected spot: outskirts of a great forest straddling dark and high elf borders. Near where I'd first met elves on Floor 7. Spotted a familiar face.
Not the face itself—unmistakable physical trait. High elf woman with one ear lopped short.
Mercedes.
The high elves' top NPC, slouched grimy against a tree stump, resting. What the hell? Why's she here? Planned to clash eventually, but solo, passed out in a place like this? And that getup—not her uniform from the duel, nor the armor before. Century later, circumstances changed? But why was she rolling like this? No clue.
Couldn't even sense my presence properly—exhausted bad.
-Thud, thud.
After a moment's thought, sword in one hand, I approached and spoke.
"What're you doing here?"
"!"
Mercedes jolted awake, snatched sword and shield, battle-ready in a flash. Assumed stance just as I spoke—right on the edge of engagement range. Her insane specs and instincts intact. Good for her, I guess.
"You... you bastard...!"
She clocked my face, face twisting in rage. For me, weeks ago; for her, 120 years. More hatred than when I'd sliced her ear. Even deeper.