The Gorgon Grind
Ten days remained until the Knight Tournament.
Remington County had already slipped into festival season. Multicolored banners fluttered from the walls, and the main thoroughfares thronged with twice the usual number of merchants and travelers. That boisterous heat carried all the way into the inner keep of the count’s household.
“Haa…”
I had no leisure to enjoy any of it. Sweat ran down my chin and spattered the floor. This was sparring so close to real combat that even a single blink was forbidden. After more than five hours of unbroken exchange I finally stopped moving, and the sweat I had been holding back poured out of every pore like a flood.
“Haa… You stubborn bastard.”
My older brother shook his head with a look of pure exhaustion.
“You’re used to it, aren’t you?”
Five hours of daily sparring was nothing special for the two of us. The Revan Viscounty had produced Knights and Warriors for generations. A knight had to swing a weapon for hours in the chaos of battle, so stamina was non-negotiable. The family secret for forging that stamina was, quite literally, hell. Having endured that hell together, a session like this was just another ordinary day.
“If it were ordinary sparring, sure. Look at yourself.”
His gaze raked over me. The Barrier had shattered long ago. My half-wrecked breastplate was a map of cuts and bruises. Close-range wrestling for dominance had split my lip and swollen my right eye until it looked like a bee had stung it. To anyone else the injuries would have looked serious.
“This is fine for a tank, isn’t it?”
Tanks were meant to get hit.
“Why do you keep throwing yourself into attacks you could have blocked?”
Sir Kaiden had never noticed, but of course my brother had. We shared the same teacher—our father—so he knew my habits down to the bone. Spotting that I had deliberately taken hits I could have avoided was child’s play for him.
“There are reasons higher than the sky and deeper than the sea, hyung-nim.”
“Is this another secret technique?”
He was sharp.
“In a manner of speaking.”
I shrugged and thumped my chest. Barrier, the core skill of the Guardian class, generated a shield proportional to the user’s vitality. The problem was that this place was not a game. No status window, no health bar. I could not read the exact remaining value of the Barrier, so the only way to learn was with my own body. The force of my brother’s sword, the defense of my gear, the shock transmitted to the Barrier on impact—I calculated every sensation in my head and estimated how much shield remained. Repeat the process enough times and even mid-fight I could roughly sense when the Barrier would break.
“So if you get hit again this time, a new ability appears?”
“…You actually hit the nail on the head.”
“Hm?”
He had meant it half as a jab. When he realized I was genuinely training to unlock a new skill, his eyebrows twitched.
“Right now you know more about Guardians than anyone except me. How does it feel fighting one?”
He thought for a moment, then looked at the five swords scattered across the floor. Every blade was bent or cracked from the impacts.
“It doesn’t feel like the Guardian class is strong so much as that your skill is exceptional. Hard to say.”
“Which part?”
“While the Barrier is up you’re a threat. Just swinging a shield is enough to warp iron swords.”
He sighed, clearly fretting over the repair bill.
“But the moment the Barrier vanishes, both offense and defense collapse. Your shield work is good enough that you could hold a one-on-one, yet the front line never faces just one enemy.”
An accurate assessment. Flesh-Carving Bone-Crushing concentrated the Barrier into a single point, converting defense into attack power—but only while the Barrier existed. Once it shattered, the skill meant nothing. If the shield broke while holding multiple foes, you became nothing more than a slightly tougher meat shield. The Guardian looked strong, yet as my brother said, it was still far from complete.
“That’s why I’m fixing the weakness.”
“How?”
“If the Barrier breaking is the problem, I just make it again.”
Shield of Conviction, third stage. The skill obtainable at level 20 after experiencing a thousand Flesh-Carving Bone-Crushing attacks and a thousand Barrier destructions—Life Conversion. It instantly regenerated a destroyed Barrier at the cost of the user’s HP and MP. Honestly, I still had trouble wrapping my head around it. In a game the health bar would drop; in reality there was no way to display HP decreasing…
I’ve already learned the skill, so I might as well test it.
I laid a hand on my chest, called up Life Conversion, and focused on the new sensation that had bloomed inside me.
Thump!
My heart hammered once. Vision swam; something scorching drained from deep within my body.
Woooom!
Crimson light wrapped my skin and the shattered Barrier reformed, once more enveloping me.
“Come at me again.”
I needed to understand the mechanism of HP consumption if I was going to use the skill without hesitation in the real world. We resumed the spar, and I activated Life Conversion a third time.
“Hah… hah… hah…”
Until proficiency improved its efficiency, Life Conversion could be used only three times at most. Each cast drained thirty percent of maximum HP.
So this is what losing HP feels like…
The power of the blessing was leaving my body. That was a real problem. With the blessing intact I could survive being hit by a truck; without it I would become minced meat on impact. When HP hit zero the blessing vanished, and any attack in that state counted as death…
“A skill that costs life force?”
“Yeah… this one’s pretty rough…”
Because it also burned MP, my head rang like a bell.
“A weakness that size is only fair.”
He was right. A skill learned at a mere level 20 could not be allowed to be any stronger.
Still, this will make a fine variable.
When the Barrier broke, both offense and defense suffered. A seasoned opponent would notice and prepare a finishing blow. If I restored the Barrier with Life Conversion at that exact moment, I could catch a careless foe with a devastating counter.
“The tournament should be no problem even as you are now.”
My brother was correct. Entry required having received a blessing no more than two years earlier. Most participants would be in the late Novice range—levels 10 to 19. I was already level 25; under ordinary circumstances I had no reason to lose. But this was not a game.
Reality is where the impossible happens.
I had to assume the worst and do everything currently within my power.
“Sweat’s cooled, hasn’t it?”
“…How much longer are you planning to go?”
He rummaged through the bag of spare swords.
“Just until dinner?”
My level had jumped ten points in a short time. My body was far faster and stronger, yet my mind had not fully caught up to the new speed. It felt like I had worn sandbags for months and then suddenly cut them all free. Moving with my usual force sent me farther than expected; the shield swung faster than my instincts anticipated. Those tiny discrepancies could become fatal accidents in real combat.
“You’re probably the only one. No one else gets this strong this fast.”
“Probably.”
Normal people raised their levels gradually over months. No one else would spike ten levels in a week and suffer the resulting sensory lag.
“Come.”
He drew a fresh sword.
“I’ll keep you company as long as you want. I deserve some return on all this trouble.”
A mischievous grin I had not seen in a long time spread across his face.
“Don’t you dare lose even if it kills you. I’ve bet everything on you!”
“…How much?”
“Ninety percent.”
“Are you insane?”
He had put ninety percent of his savings on my victory just so he could buy a gift for my sister-in-law. Hard to believe this was the future head of a house.
“You think I’ll lose? I bet on myself too!”
I had already lost the family seal, and as a second son I was never going to inherit anyway. No problem at all.
Yep.
After finishing the spar with my brother I rested for a full day. I confirmed the consumption of Life Conversion and grew reasonably accustomed to my suddenly stronger body. All that remained was to put a decisive period on my tournament victory.
I left the Remington inner keep and boarded a carriage bound for the dungeon. The target was the level-30 dungeon the count’s house had opened to the public.
🏛 Type: Petrification-themed dungeon
⚔ Difficulty: Level 30
📍 Management: Open to the public by Remington County
💀 Boss: Pygmalion
It was a high recommended-level dungeon, yet the count’s house did not monopolize it. The reason was simple: the numbers did not add up. Pygmalion’s Cloister carried a clear theme of petrification. Nearly every monster inflicted a status that turned flesh or equipment to stone. For front-liners who had to clash body-to-body, the matchup was the worst possible. So the count’s house opened the place to the public and collected entrance fees instead.
We should be almost there.
Outside the carriage window I saw a long line of armed mercenaries. Six Remington soldiers controlled the entrance. I stepped down and took my place at the end of the queue.
“Halt.”
While waiting I watched their procedure. Helmets off to check faces, right-hand gloves removed to inspect blessings, then the fee collected. It kept the completely unprepared from dying inside and screened out those blessed as Assassins or other criminal classes. As expected of a dungeon managed by the count’s house, the system was orderly.
“…You there.”
My turn finally arrived. Unlike the mercenaries before me, the soldier addressed me in a high-handed tone. Fair enough. The others had removed helmet and gloves of their own accord; I simply stood there doing nothing.
“Companions?”
“None.”
“What? You little—”
His hand moved toward his sword hilt. I stared at him calmly and drew a single sheet of paper from my coat. It was an entry permit stamped with the clear seal of House Remington, granting free access to every dungeon within the county. The soldier’s pupils shook violently.
“Wel—welcome to the golden lands of Remington, where the wheat fields shine and a new journey begins!”
The man who had been about to draw steel suddenly flung both arms wide and belted out a welcome song that had neither pitch nor rhythm. A second soldier scowled and started forward, then saw the seal on the document and smoothly turned away.
“What’s going on?”
“Shut it, Kane.”
“Is he a noble…?”
“We saw nothing.”
The mercenaries behind me also spun their heads around with impressive speed. Crossing a noble never ended well; experience had taught them that much.
If only everyone were this sensible.
In the game, entering a dungeon with a party of three or fewer triggered a random event in which five or more mercenaries ambushed you. I could only hope that particular event stayed inside the game.
I reclaimed the permit and walked into the dungeon. Pygmalion’s Cloister felt different from any dungeon I had visited before. True to its name, it took the shape of a city and colonnade shaped by human hands. Cracked stone buildings, vine-wrapped lampposts, a ruined fountain, and long corridors. Lifelike statues littered every street—soldiers mid-flight with spears raised, a woman curled protectively around a child, a merchant frozen in terror looking over his shoulder. According to the lore, every one of them had been living people turned to stone.
As I studied them—
Sssss!
A snake’s hiss scraped across my ears. Looking down, I saw black scales writhing in a gap in the broken wall. A Gorgon, recommended level 26. Its fangs carried the petrifying status.
Sssss!
It launched itself. Faster than any ordinary snake.
Clang!
Fangs sank into my greave. Quality iron, yet the metal immediately began to rust and discolor. Bite a person and they petrify; bite equipment and it weathers. An all-around nuisance.
Thud!
I kicked hard and slammed the Gorgon into the wall. The impact should have broken bones, yet it twisted upright at once. Durability befitting its level.
Sssss!
This time it aimed for my face. I twisted my head aside, snatched the snake by the throat, and squeezed. Muscle writhed between my fingers. The Gorgon coiled its tail around my arm and tried to twist free to bite the back of my hand.
“You little—?”
I smashed its head against my shield twice.
Thud! Thud!
Its movements slowed noticeably. I did not kill it, of course. I needed live ones for the petrification grind.
They say live captures sell for a high price.
Mages researching petrification paid well for Gorgons. To me, however, the creature was a training tool more valuable than gold. I opened the front of my armor and stuffed the thrashing snake against my bare chest. Cold, slick reptile skin slid across my skin.
“Come on in.”
Crunch!
A sharp, unpleasant sensation near my ribs. The Barrier blocked physical force but not status effects.
Crack.
From the bite site my skin began turning gray and stony. My status resistance was absurdly high for my level, so a single Gorgon was still manageable.
One feels a little light.
Thanks to the elixir, my body could handle status effects up to level 30 without trouble. A level-26 Gorgon alone was not quite enough. Holding the wriggling head inside my armor, I scanned the surroundings. Leaving the colonnade for the forest, I easily found the snake trails Bern had taught me to read—small holes, shed skins, rats and rabbits already turned to stone. I followed the signs deeper into the woods.
Sssss!
A second Gorgon lunged. I pinned its head with the shield and stuffed it into a prepared leather sack. A third had been waiting underground and sank its fangs into my ankle. When I yanked, two more came out with it.
“Bumper crop.”
I collected Gorgons one by one. Then, to avoid any chance meeting, I found a secluded corner of the forest and took out a shovel.
Thunk!
I dug a pit large enough for a grown man with room to spare. What began as a simple hole gradually became a proper burrow as I carved sideways. Having practiced for Ariella, the work did not take long.
All right, time to get ready.
Equipment would corrode, so it went into the bag. Head and “that place” still needed protection, so I layered extra armor there. Preparations finished, I dumped the Gorgons into the burrow.
Ssssssss!
They tangled together inside, searching for an exit. Quick little things; once they oriented themselves they would scatter into the forest. I hurriedly blocked the entrance with my own body.
Sssss!
Time for the concrete grind.
………
……
…
Pygmalion’s Cloister was a dangerous dungeon. Even mercenaries past level 30 could turn to stone and die from a single mistake. That was why anyone who came here arrived fully prepared. Rangers located the petrifying monsters. Summoners used their beasts to draw aggro. If taming failed or a party member was petrified, the cleric cleansed the status. A textbook strategy forged through long sacrifice.
“Come to think of it, what happened to that noble?”
One mercenary’s question made Robert, the party leader, furrow his brow.
“The one we saw at the entrance earlier. The noble who went in alone.”
“There might be ears listening. Don’t talk about it.”
A commoner never benefited from getting mixed up with nobles.
“Maybe a fallen house?”
“If he were fallen, how would he have a permit stamped with the count’s seal?”
“Could there be some treasure in here we don’t know about?”
“Possible, but none of our business. Conversation over.”
The mercenaries who lived longest were not the strongest but the wisest. Robert’s party followed the familiar path out of the colonnade and into the forest. The colonnade held dangerous monsters with high physical stats and petrification; the forest held Gorgons that were relatively easy once you watched for the status. For profit per hour, the forest was the correct choice.
“Hold.”
Robert, walking point, stopped.
“Something feels off around here.”
This was a route they used regularly. He knew the dungeon’s reset cycle and the movement patterns of other parties. Yet today an unfamiliar presence lingered in the familiar woods.
A variable?
Abandoning the path would hurt their earnings. Entrance fees and living costs meant variables had to be checked quickly.
“Follow carefully. I’ll scout first.”
Robert silenced his footsteps and moved deeper. Gorgon signs appeared everywhere.
Did Gorgons dig a burrow here?
It made no sense. Gorgons had no burrowing habit. If dozens had somehow gathered in one place, they would have to abandon the route until the dungeon reset. One or two were manageable; a narrow burrow packed with them was a nightmare beyond imagination.
Why would they suddenly gather?
Hiding from a stronger predator? New prey? Even a ranger’s knowledge offered no explanation. Robert held his breath and searched. Before long he found a large burrow in a corner of the forest.
Big.
Large enough for a grown man to enter with room left over. Scratch marks and snake trails littered the entrance. What on earth could have drawn so many Gorgons? Robert slowly lowered himself and carefully peered inside.
A human shape.
Damn…
Already dead. A man nearly naked except for protection over the vital head and groin lay half-buried in the burrow, arms crossed, tangled among the Gorgon swarm, turned completely to stone as though enjoying a warm bath. The face visible through the helmet slits was peaceful, even wearing a satisfied smile.
A pity. Probably ambushed while joking with companions. Why he was inside a burrow remained a mystery, but Robert prepared to offer a brief silent prayer for the dead man.
That was the moment.
Flash!
The stone man’s eyes moved and locked with Robert’s.
“….”
“U-uwaaaaaaah—!!!”
Robert forgot every rule about a ranger keeping his cool and bolted through the forest screaming.
“Robert?!”
“What was it?!”
“Run! Get out of the dungeon right now!”
The master of the cloister known only through rumor—the monster that turned every living thing into statues and collected the stone humans—Pygmalion. It had to be him. Nothing else could explain a human statue smiling with arms crossed amid a swarm of Gorgons. Robert’s face was bloodless as he fled; his companions asked no questions and simply followed. Mercenaries who lived long were wise mercenaries. They never once looked back as they fled the dungeon.
One hour later.
Crack.
“Oof…”
Edwin slowly dragged himself out of the burrow. Every joint ached, yet the petrification’s hold had lessened dramatically; even while afflicted he could move without trouble. Status resistance had risen.
I can head for the boss now.
Nothing was easier than a boss that used petrification against a target already resistant to it. A smile curved Edwin’s lips.