Chapter 39
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 39
While Perga’s party clashed with the monsters, Turan supported them from the shadows, pouring everything he had into the effort.
Remaining hidden, he wove his own strikes into the gaps of their magic, engaged the smaller monsters in lethal close-quarters combat with his dagger, and even activated his Guardian Magic Tool to intercept stray attacks on their behalf.
He had to; otherwise, the nobles would have been overwhelmed in an instant.
Despite his silent intervention, the nobles fell one by one as the battle raged on. Under normal circumstances, they might have fared better, but with their vision choked by darkness and their bodies drained by the long trek underground, they couldn't muster even half their usual strength.
After a grueling struggle, only two remained: Turan and Perga.
With the smaller monsters finally cleared, the pressure eased slightly. Turan watched Perga face off against the giant creature one-on-one, his mind racing for a way to bring the beast down.
[Dieeee!]
The Labyrinth Master had lost an arm, its leg was crushed, and it was riddled with wounds, yet it still pulsed with an overflowing, monstrous vitality.
How can I defeat that thing…
Turan’s gaze swept over the magic tools left behind by the fallen nobles—specifically, their weapons.
A bow, a staff, a dagger, and an axe.
He ruled out the bow immediately. He wasn't familiar with it, making it inefficient, and arrows would be scarce. More importantly, it didn't seem significantly more powerful than his sling.
The staff appeared to be a defensive tool based on how its previous owner had used it, so he passed on that as well.
The dagger was an item that channeled the power of the Pyromaniac Bloodline, but since the owner had died while swinging it manually, its daily usage limit had likely been reached.
Finally, there was the axe. It had already proven its destructive power moments ago, but—
It’s too heavy.
When he secretly approached and tried to lift it, he realized he couldn't wield it properly. Its weight was excessive even for its size, likely due to the heavy enchantments imbued within the metal. A bloodline with an aptitude for physical combat would have swung it with ease.
The moment that thought crossed his mind, the words spoken by the Eye of the Gate flashed through his head.
The ability of the holy relic Turan possessed was "Mimicry."
Combining that knowledge with the mana of the Strength-bearer Bloodline contained within the object, he reached a single conclusion.
I can use this liquid to mimic the power of the Strength-bearer Bloodline.
He had suspected as much from the moment he first saw the liquid. He had simply hesitated because he lacked certainty.
Click.
Turan uncapped the vial and downed the shimmering, light-green liquid in one gulp.
Ugh.
An icy chill slid down his throat, but it didn't stay cold for long. It soon flared up like a wildfire, heating his entire body. A massive surge of power—the likes of which he had never felt before—welled up from his core. It wasn't an increase in his mana pool, but a pure, raw enhancement of his physical capabilities.
So this is the power of the Strength-bearer Bloodline.
As he clenched his fist, he felt a terrifying pressure, as if his own grip might crush his bones.
Just then, his stamina finally flagging, Perga failed to dodge the Labyrinth Master’s attack. The creature's hooked claws tore through his abdomen and chest.
Seeing his opening, Turan snatched up the giant axe and leaped toward the monster.
The shift in his center of gravity caused by the heavy weapon and his newfound leg strength made his trajectory slightly awkward, but the axe was positioned perfectly to strike a vital spot.
[You! Fake Night Hunter—!]
He had suspected it, but like its kin, this monster could see right through Zahar’s stealth. Turan deactivated the skill to save mana and swung the axe with everything he had.
Thwack!
A heavy vibration shuddered through his arms as the giant axe buried itself more than halfway into the creature's neck.
Damn, even this isn't enough for a one-hit kill.
[Die!]
With its left hand still impaling Perga, the Labyrinth Master swung its severed right stump, slamming into Turan while he was still hanging onto the axe. He was sent flying, hitting the labyrinth wall with a bone-jarring thud.
“Cough…”
His whole body ached, but unlike the time he had been struck by a magical beast in the past, the pain was manageable. This was the combined protection of his Guardian Magic Tool and the physical reinforcement of the Strength-bearer Bloodline. Had he been struck by the claws instead of the stump, however, he wouldn't have stood back up.
Seeing Turan rise as if the blow were nothing, the Labyrinth Master flung Perga’s limp body aside and charged.
[Fake—! Die!]
Despite its fierce cry, its limping approach was pathetic. The flame inside its body, visible through the relic, had grown faint. Blood spurted from the deep gash in its neck; if left alone, the creature would eventually collapse from blood loss.
But I can’t let it end like that.
There was no need to fear a creature this crippled, and more importantly, there was the matter of the "slaying the Labyrinth Master" condition set by the Eye of the Gate. If the Master died of blood loss rather than by his hand, the exit might not open.
Turan accelerated his thoughts using the Arabion secret technique, staring down the five hooked claws slowly swinging toward him.
First, dodge…
He executed the tight footwork he had learned from Haram. The claws grazed past his eyes by a hair’s breadth, leaving the creature's left flank completely exposed.
Instead of aiming for the torso, Turan swung the axe upward with a primal roar. With a sickening crunch, the Labyrinth Master’s forearm was half-crushed.
[It hurtsssss!]
One strike isn't enough.
Then he would just have to strike until it stayed down.
Turan wrenched the axe free and, before the creature could retract its arm, brought the blade down from above. Like a woodsman chopping a stubborn tree with alternating strokes, he severed the arm entirely.
[Hurts! Bad! My children! All dead! Night Hunter! Fake!]
Whether it had lost its mind or was simply driven by agony, the Labyrinth Master babbled nonsense as it lunged with its last remaining weapon: its saw-like teeth.
Biting was a desperate act that exposed the head—the ultimate weakness. Turan threw himself to the side, and the Labyrinth Master slammed its head into the stone floor.
It was the perfect position for a decapitation.
Crunch!
A single axe blow landed on the neck shimmering with viscous fluid. The body went limp as the nerves were severed, but the creature's heart still beat. Turan brought the axe down a second, third, and fourth time in rapid succession.
[Fa…ke…my…children…]
The creature was incredibly resilient, its voice echoing mentally even as its neck hung by a thread. But the moment the final blow completely severed the head, the flow of mana through the Labyrinth Master’s body ceased.
Only then was Turan certain the monster was truly dead.
“Phew…”
Turan let out a long, ragged sigh and tossed the heavy axe aside. As the tension snapped, he felt the strength draining from his limbs. It wasn't just exhaustion; the Strength-bearer mana was fading. Judging by the rate of decay, the power would be gone within thirty minutes.
It made sense. Even for a holy relic, gaining permanent bloodline abilities this easily would be nonsensical. Being able to store and use the power at all was already a miracle.
Swallowing his disappointment, Turan approached the final survivor.
Perga Zahar lay some distance away, coughing up blood and staring blankly at the ceiling.
One lung collapsed… and a puncture near the heart. He’s finished.
Even with a mage’s superior vitality, these were fatal wounds. Turan could have potentially saved him by absorbing mana from a Purifier Bloodline noble to treat him, but he saw no reason to waste the resources.
“You… you are…?”
Perga’s gaze shifted toward Turan, but his eyes were clouded and unfocused. He couldn't see Turan’s face, let alone recognize him.
“Should I put you out of your misery?” Turan asked.
Despite Perga being a much older relative, Turan felt no need for honorifics. He had seen the corpses of knights and vagrants who had died miserably in this labyrinth over the last few days. They had wanted to live just as much as Perga—perhaps more.
“Save… me…”
“That’s a request I can’t grant.”
Turan shook his head. Perga didn't seem to hear him, continuing to mutter pleas for a life that was already forfeit. A moment later, through the relic, Turan felt the remaining flickers of life in Perga’s body finally go dark.
He’s dead.
Turan stood up and looked back at the carnage. Over a hundred small monsters, a dozen nobles, and the Labyrinth Master lay dead. If he wanted to prevent them from rising as undead—and if he wanted to claim his prize—it was time to harvest.
*
Turan began by absorbing the mana of the smaller monsters.
Since the stronger a mage became, the less impact weak mana had, it was most efficient to start from the bottom. As expected, despite absorbing one hundred and forty-five creatures, his power barely budged. Their mana was negligible, sitting somewhere between a common knight and a low noble.
Next were the fallen nobles.
Using the relic’s detection, he could see the lingering mana of the dead, allowing him to absorb them in order of strength. As he drew in their power, the relic began to categorize and store the mana separately.
Barrier Master, Illusion, Berserker, Healer, Hunter…
The mana, infused with the essence of each bloodline, settled into distinct layers within the relic. By manipulating it with his own magic, he could isolate and draw upon specific powers.
What would happen if I swallowed multiple bloodlines at once?
He was curious, but he suppressed the urge. In a real emergency, he might need these specific essences; he couldn't afford to experiment recklessly.
With every bit of mana he absorbed, Turan’s body and soul felt forged anew, growing stronger and denser. Five of the nobles were weaker than him and offered little, but four were at his level or slightly below, providing a significant boost.
The true prizes, however, were the Labyrinth Master and Perga Zahar.
The moment he absorbed their mana—each possessing nearly twice his original strength—a surge of pure, intoxicating pleasure struck his mind. This was a sensation on a completely different level from the temporary Strength-bearer boost.
Focusing inward, he realized his mana pool had nearly doubled since he first entered the labyrinth. This was a level of power ordinary nobles would take decades or even a century to accumulate, assuming they didn't hit their natural limits first.
Come to think of it, I might be reaching my own growth limit soon.
Typically, a mage could only expand their mana capacity to a certain multiple of their birthright. He couldn't remember his exact capacity from his days on Hisaril Hill, but he estimated his current power was nearly ten times what it had been then.
At this rate, his locked bloodline should be opening soon. Did he really have to become as strong as a Great Family Head to trigger it?
After a brief thought, Turan shook his head and stood up. It was time to leave.
I’ll have to leave the magic tools behind.
The Zahar specialized in tracking. He knew from experience that while finding a random object was hard, tracking a specific magical signature was child's play for them. If dozens of Zahar nobles scoured the desert for these tools, he would be caught within days. Unless he wanted to spend the rest of his life as a fugitive, the loot wasn't worth the risk.
Turan spent a final hour roaming the labyrinth, using tracking magic to find and incinerate every hair, drop of blood, or trace of his presence. Finally, he headed toward the door with the eye.
“I killed the Master,” he said.
The eye did not respond. Its function had likely ceased once the door was opened. Turan stepped inside.
The inner chamber was a vast hall. In its center, a pitch-black vortex—identical to the one he had entered through—swirled slowly. The exit.
Instead of leaving immediately, Turan scanned the room.
Mostly useless decorations… No, wait.
Beside a chair that resembled a throne sat a small book. It looked more like a collection of parchment sheets sewn together with rough thread than a formal tome. The title, written in jagged, hurried handwriting, caught his eye.
[Reproduction Experiment: The Night Hunter Class Advancement Process]