Chapter 20
Chapter 20
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 20
Chapter Title: Gold Solis Party
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Arf-!
“Eek-!”
The man, failing to properly block the Greyhound's leap and losing his balance, tumbled to the ground.
And without missing that chance, before he could even get back up, it pounced again.
He instinctively raised his shortsword to block the path to his throat, but that was it. The Greyhound, fully enraged in its frenzy, didn't care if its muzzle tore open on the blade as it charged straight at the man.
Arf arf arf-! Arf-! Arf-!
“Uwaaah? Uwaaah!?”
As the mad dog, eyes blazing with killing intent, lunged for his throat right in front of him, he desperately blocked with all his might, his face twisted in horror.
‘Totally lost his shit.’
He was reacting purely on instinct.
Well, the guy was genuinely in a life-or-death situation, so for a newbie Crawler experiencing this for the first time, it was only natural.
But pack-hunting canines like these become a real problem when they enter a frenzy. The one right in front is bad enough, but the ones charging in behind are the bigger threat.
Just like a death by a thousand cuts—once they pin you down and start biting at your limbs, it's over.
You can't even stand back up as they slowly tear you apart with their teeth.
That's why, when a frenzy hits, you have to accept the situation, take the hit, and do whatever it takes to shake off the one that's got you down. That's priority one.
Even if it means sacrificing an arm like dog chews to stab for the throat. Gold Solis even demonstrated it, didn't he?
‘Total wipe.’
It wasn't even like they'd thinned out the numbers enough. If the frontline tank collapses right at the opening of the fight, what are you supposed to do?
Especially against pack hunters with high canine intelligence. Once the formation breaks like that, it's impossible to regroup, and the backline gets swept away in seconds.
These things can cover 40 meters in three seconds flat when they really haul ass.
With the frontline gone and no blocking power left, the rear would get washed away like a tsunami.
‘Aaaah—! My arm! My arm—!’
>
‘Fuck! You idiot!’
>
‘Front! Block the front properly!’
>
‘Uwaaah—!’
>
‘You lot! Where do you think you're going, you fucking morons!!!! Agh! Shit! You goddamn mutts!’
Memories from long ago, when I first stepped into a dungeon, came flooding back.
Looking back now, those weren't exactly fond memories...
Back then, I didn't know the industry trends and couldn't properly gauge my own worth.
As a newbie, I felt bad inserting myself into high-level parties, so out of pure conscience, I teamed up with other rookies to challenge the dungeon. Innocent times.
Time has faded the emotions a bit, but thinking back still makes me dizzy.
It was the first time in either my past or current life that I got bit by a dog.
If luck had been just a little worse, I could've ended up as dog food and called it a life. Wouldn't have been surprising.
Dying eaten by dogs? That's as pathetic as it gets.
“Heh.”
A pun-like thought brought a smirk to my lips.
But I quickly wiped it off.
Laughing like this while people are getting mauled by wild dogs doesn't paint a good picture.
It's true my reputation in the dungeon city isn't great, but I don't need a psychopath image on top of that.
At least not until my retirement fund is secure. Gotta keep crawling dungeons till then.
Stab-! Stab-!
Kyaaang-!
“You do understand what kind of disaster strikes a party when the frontline fails its role, right?”
In a real fight, the entire Crawler party would've ended up as Greyhound chow.
But this was combat training... sort of.
With two deep-floor Crawlers assisting as instructors.
A situation that was moments from total ruin got sorted in a flash by a few swings of their blades and spear thrusts.
“You need to remember that you nearly wiped the party just now.”
“Even if the tank screws up, you always have to stay focused and cover for it.”
The tank was getting chewed out by Gold Solis, while the midliners getting reamed by Horsdruk Shieldlove for their pathetic response.
I just watched leisurely, puffing on a mana herb.
Which makes sense—most Crawlers are frontline or mid like them, and nine out of ten backliners are rangers or archers.
So while they're all clustered up, hot and heavy into training, I've got nothing to do.
“Um...”
I turned at the hesitant voice.
“...Is this really okay? They're working so hard over there, and I'm just sitting here doing nothing.”
18? 19? Long black hair down to her waist, a girl with the fresh purity of mint flowers.
Deep brown wool tunic to her knees, black scapular covering chest and back, neat black veil, wooden staff carved from a tree—textbook newbie priestess look, which only amplified the vibe.
Her name was Ellis, I think?
She applied with her village childhood friend, the only priest in this carrier party.
I smiled at this ignorant, innocent lamb.
“Just like they have their roles, we have ours. What did I tell you?”
“...Warriors are just buff launchpads for supporters...?”
“Why can't we waste Blessings of Recovery carelessly?”
“Resource allocation...”
“That's part of it, but what's the core reason?”
“...If we give in to every demand like it's owed, they get spoiled...?”
I snapped my fingers in praise for her spot-on answers and winked at her.
But Ellis still didn't grasp her own value, tilting her head like ‘Is that right?’ despite knowing the answers.
Her pure, foolish innocence reminded me of my past self, drawing a small sigh.
Love for juniors is love for the nation, right?
I felt the senior's duty to guide her away from misguided common sense.
“Miss Ellis. We need to recognize our own value.”
“Unlike those young hot-blooded warriors who can't help multiplying like cockroaches every season even if left alone, we're professionals.”
“Warriors are a breed that traded brains for brawn, so they don't have the smarts to know who's really in charge of the party.”
“They step up front and fight a bit, and suddenly they're epic heroes drunk on their own hype. Single-celled idiots.”
“So...”
“That's why...”
With each of my golden words of advice, the light in Ellis's eyes dimmed a little more.
Ah... it's sad to see the purity fading from this innocent child.
But you can't survive in this cold dungeon city on purity alone.
It hurts, but I have to play the villain.
“When partying with others, what's the most important thing for you to keep in mind, Miss Ellis?”
“...Fair compensation for your role...”
“Why is that important?”
“Just rewards for labor... Making them realize supporters aren't equals...”
“What happens if you don't think that way?”
“...Devaluation of labor worth... And harm to seniors in the same field—”
“...Miss Arjen. What the hell are you teaching the client?”
I turned at the incredulous voice. Squinting eyes furrowed in annoyance, and the clients—dusty, bloody from rolling with the Greyhounds—staring this way.
“What else? Education.”
“...If the word ‘education’ implies any humanity, they'd definitely feel insulted.”
Horsdruk Shieldlove sighed softly at the dazed Ellis.
“I don't know what Miss Arjen taught you, but forget it all. It's guaranteed to be worthless crap.”
“Insulting.”
Basic common sense any dungeon city supporter should know.
“Miss Ellis. Ignore that noise. It's all gaslighting. Can't you tell just by looking at his face? Total schemer vibes, plotting something behind the scenes.”
“Haa...”
Horsdruk rubbed his brow like his head hurt, looking exasperated.
But that self-righteous attitude pissed me off.
Making it seem like I'm the one with wrong knowledge or beliefs.
Dealers, past life or here, are all the same—gaslighting naive supporters to exploit them.
If this senior doesn't snap her out of it!
“Cut the bullshit and treat these people.”
“Hmm.”
I shifted my gaze to the folks behind Horsdruk, looking half-dead.
They'd just been tumbling with Greyhounds.
Some had minor gashes, but others had played tug-of-war too hard—flesh hanging loose, bones visible. Serious wounds.
Before sustaining more combat, the bleeding needed stopping, or they'd be in danger.
Too big for peony thistle emergency hemostatics, and no way these mid-tier Crawlers carried potions even as backups.
In a real fight, these could've been fatal.
But I was here for exactly this.
Unless instant death or brain destruction, I could heal them.
“Ngh.”
Grabbing the arm at the wound site, a groan escaped—he couldn't hold back the pain.
“Hold still.”
With practiced hands, I gathered the torn flesh neatly and cast Blessing of Recovery.
Light from my hand touched the wound, and like a timelapse video, new flesh welled up, filling the holes.
Soon, the gash that had dangled flesh and exposed bone was gone.
A miracle that'd make 21st-century ER docs weep.
Filling empty space with flesh left fine scars like cracks.
I could pour more mana to erase them clean... but why bother?
“...Oh.”
The man's deathly pained face filled with awe.
He flexed his arm, glancing between wound and me, then bowed in thanks.
“Next.”
Maybe from witnessing near-miraculous healing up close.
Even those who knew my bad rep before entering the dungeon came forward meekly for treatment.
And as I continued healing...
“Thief?”
“Y-Yes?”
I eyed the obvious thief Crawler.
The laceration looked like it needed treatment, but...
Shit comes in degrees, and emergencies have red and yellow zones.
Instead of chanting blessing, I handed the groaning thief some ointment and bandages.
“Use this.”
Recovery on a thief?
Waste of resources doesn't get more wasteful.
Dream on—practice your bandaging instead.