Ch.47Dungeon (4)

A faint whooshing sound reaches my ears.

The sound of something falling from the void.

It was so faint that even I wouldn’t have noticed it if the status window hadn’t warned me in advance.

But it wasn’t completely inaudible either.

In that split-second moment, the necromancer and I were the first to look up.

Unlike me, who already knew it was coming from the sky, the necromancer read the hostile intent purely through her own senses.

Right after, Isra perked up her ears and raised her head, followed belatedly by the Mourner who gazed up at the sky.

Something was already falling. At tremendous speed, leaving no time to respond.

Dodge, retreat, duck down—there was no time to say anything.

Without warning, something happened.

SWOOOOOSH—!

The whooshing sound grew louder, and a fierce wind touched my body. Something was falling.

From high up in the sky.

I raised my head, and a faint image formed in my superhuman peripheral vision before disappearing.

No, it didn’t disappear. I felt a violent repulsion pushing against my feet, and I instinctively moved back.

Then a thunderous sound erupted, matching the force of the repulsion.

BOOM—a sound closer to a metallic crash. A crater formed in the cavern’s hollow, pushing away and crushing everything that had occupied that space with tremendous force.

My body was thrown into the air. Unlike before, I flipped in midair and landed on both feet.

But that wasn’t enough to absorb the impact, and I was pushed back considerably. Dust rose and parted along the trail of my dragging legs.

I wasn’t the only one. The middle-aged Mourner demonstrated a natural falling technique, while Isra landed gracefully, having apparently transformed only her legs into those of a snow leopard.

What about the dragon?

In the direction of my gaze, the dragon stood still. As if she had never been pushed back at all, remaining exactly where she had been when she grabbed my neck and snapped her fingers, talking about preparing a feast.

From that spot, she stared blankly at her shattered undead.

Gradually, the dust began to settle.

As the dust settled, someone waved their hand to clear it away.

“…It’s been a while.”

It was a girl.

A girl with a reddish-black gauntlet-like armor on one arm and a massive executioner’s sword at her waist.

She was a familiar face. I couldn’t mistake her.

Voluminous, curly white hair and blood-red gleaming eyes.

Despite her beauty, she had a formal way of speaking and a restrained demeanor. Her left arm, covered in the gauntlet, naturally rested on the sword hilt.

And the uniform she wore. Of all things.

“Blood Knight, Lorian.”

She affirmed with silence. She moved her hand and drew her sword.

Despite drawing it with one hand, the motion was surprisingly smooth. Beyond the naturalness that made it seem like she was drawing a dagger, there was a greatsword as tall as the girl herself.

An executioner’s sword.

From behind the Blood Knight who gripped the drawn sword with both hands, others began to emerge one by one.

“…Ru.”

Isra called out quietly, raising her tail stiffly in tension.

Without hesitation, she loaded a solid steel crossbow bolt into the weapon that had been idly played with by the dead hand resting on her shoulder, and glared sharply at the approaching figures.

“I didn’t expect you to keep your promise so soon…”

Even the Mourner let out a hollow laugh as he took his stance. He was empty-handed, seemingly more accustomed to not using weapons, but a chilling sound of muscles and bones twisting came from his clenched fists.

Strength beyond human limits. Mourning.

I’ll ignore the minor drawback that it only lasts 60 seconds. I need to use it now. If I don’t, I won’t be able to respond to any surprise attacks that might come.

He knew that well.

And the same was true for me.

[Mourning]

Something flashed in my mind. The longsword I drew from my waist burst into flames, and I saw the enemy approaching me.

I never imagined it would come to this.

Blood Knight Lorian alone was a formidable opponent. Even with the Mourner and Isra by my side, there was no guarantee we could completely defeat the Blood Knight who had adapted to her body.

But behind her were soldiers.

A vampire drawing a thin sword with an expressionless face, and a shapeshifter who had transformed both arms into those of a massive beast.

Beyond them, enemies approached us silently, holding various magic or weapons in their hands.

Each one of them was on par with the Owl Bear shapeshifter we had barely defeated earlier.

My body tensed unconsciously, breaking into a cold sweat, and a sweet taste filled my mouth.

My mouth went dry. Was I destined to die here?

Just as the three of us faced off against dozens, it happened.

WHOOOOSH—!

Suddenly, the dust was greatly disturbed as something revealed itself as a shadow.

It was a foreleg.

A massive foreleg with four toes.

The snow-white scales shone brilliantly even in the dust, and the muscles, devoid of life, swelled greatly, gathering tremendous strength.

Space trembled as overwhelming force crossed through it. The approaching Blood Knight and her soldiers involuntarily looked up.

“…Necromancer?”

Along with the Blood Knight’s dazed voice, it fell.

In that moment, erasing all other sounds that had filled the space, crushing many of the soldiers who were about to charge, and breaking through the blood-red barrier created by Blood Knight Lorian.

The fierce pressure pushed me, Isra, and the old man. Barely suppressing my body from flying away, I rolled across the ground before finally stopping.

The violent movement brought back the dust cloud that had been settling. As the smoke rising from the epicenter gradually cleared, a woman appeared.

A woman who had transformed one arm into that of a massive dragon. And in front of her, the Blood Knight who had retreated and was catching her breath.

Bloody masses that seemed crushed to death, and those who had barely escaped with their lives.

In the spreading chill, the Blood Knight widened her eyes.

“Why are you here…?”

“Why are you interrupting Father’s feast?”

It seemed like a casual question, but her expression made it clear it wasn’t.

Her wide eyes showed no emotion.

Her downturned lips betrayed her displeasure, and her pupils were dark as an abyss. Meanwhile, the slight tilt of her head was more eerie than cute.

It was an awkward movement. A movement trying to mimic something human. As I helped Isra up and regained my stance, undead rose from all around with clattering sounds.

“Is it wrong for me to care for, love, and cherish Father? Is that it?”

“Nerilmaeus. That’s not it.”

The Blood Knight, who always seemed expressionless and calm, was flustered. With a face mixing shock and confusion, she tried to appease the dragon who had introduced herself as Nerilmaeus.

“I had no intention of interfering with anything you do. Rather, the Prophet has been desperately—”

“I don’t want to hear it. I won’t listen. Just explain why you interfered. Otherwise, you’ll have to vomit out your heart.”

Her eyes flashed brightly. The aura flowing from her was chilling, and her continuous speech had no inflection whatsoever.

Words that were closer to being spewed out. Blood Knight Lorian glanced at me and bit her lip.

“We… we were looking for you. The clan desperately needs a strong one like you—”

“Why are you looking for me? After kicking me away so coldly, ignoring me, slandering me, and driving a wedge between Father and me, why? It’s outrageous, outrageous!”

Riiiiip—her dress tears. Unable to control her emotions, she rips off the front of her dress. The torn piece shrivels rapidly and turns to dust.

She continued to rant with monotone, disorganized speech, then took a deep breath.

I thought as I listened and watched all this.

The enemy before me was not something I could handle.

The Blood Knight alone was too much, and there were still many soldiers on par with the Owl Bear shapeshifter.

Many died from the necromancer’s first strike, but there were still plenty left.

So what should I do? I looked at Nerilmaeus.

“Nel. My beloved daughter.”

If there’s no chance of winning, create one. Fortunately, I had the materials. I put on a benevolent expression.

Nerilmaeus turned to me with a creaking motion. The nickname was correct. If I had been wrong, I would have died. But it was a gamble worth taking.

“Those children punished me. Saying I was worthless, they banished me to the surface when I came looking. I am an exile and a sinner, so do not shield me.”

Father.

I knew nothing about him. But I could make guesses.

The three clans wanted to meet him again somehow.

But Nerilmaeus thought they viewed him unfavorably.

And driving wedges was something I was confident in.

Especially if the other party was furious with my teammates, or insane.

I smiled with an affectionate expression.

“Let me receive the punishment I deserve.”

“No.”

Before the Blood Knight Lorian could say anything, or before I could finish speaking.

Nerilmaeus turned her creaking head back forward.

While stretching her lips into a smile.

“No, no, no, nooo!”

A smile mixing anger and joy. A roar. Pressure that filled the hollow and made it tremble.

In that pressure, she glared at Lorian.

At Lorian who was staring at me blankly, her mouth agape.

She seemed to come to her senses belatedly and pointed her sword at Nerilmaeus.

It was a strange reaction. What was that about? But there was no time to ask.

She spread a blood-red barrier in front of her, and Nerilmaeus burst into laughter.

CRACK—!

After that, I could only identify two things.

Blood Knight Lorian disappearing along with the barrier she had created.

And a massive tail crossing the space with a thunderous sound.

“Father needs me! He said he needs me!”

He never did. But exaggeration is a basic skill when dealing with angry or insane people.

“You were wrong! I was right! I was right from the beginning! Because I’m a good child!”

Ahahah! Her flowing laughter was not of human volume and was somehow chilling.

It was mixed with the sound of a non-human being straining its vocal cords trying to imitate a human voice. A sound that was utterly creepy.

As the human voice created by a dragon’s vocal cords filled the hollow, she shouted between laughs:

“I was right to wait for Father! You who try to summon him, or pull him down, or tear him apart, or devour him, or try to become Father—you were wrong! I who wait until the bones rot and nothing remains—I was right!”

Her laughter turned maniacal. Goosebumps rose on my skin as I read the deep hatred embedded in that voice.

Nerilmaeus. She hated her father.

At the same time, she longed for him, loved him, lusted after him, and hungered for him.

Like negative and positive emotions boiled in the same pot, the woman rose, spreading her madness and pressure in all directions.

Even I, unable to sense magical power, could tell what it was.

It was the necromancer’s magic.

The twisted aura of death that steals the life of living beings.

Eventually, as such energy surged, the woman completely transformed into a dragon.

It was a massive dragon. Its scales shone white like a dress but gave off a somewhat putrid corpse smell, and its torn-open chest revealed moving lungs with no heart, completely hollow.

Those lungs expanded greatly. What could be called the energy of death concentrated toward her maw.

A breath attack. It was obvious to anyone.

Blood Knight Lorian was gathering blood-red energy and giving orders to the soldiers who had come with her, extending layers of barriers.

The barriers piled up in two layers, three layers, layer upon layer. A shelter created to survive the breath attack. I didn’t think it would completely block it.

They seemed to know this too but continued to build the barrier. Because there was nothing else they could do.

An overwhelming difference in capability. Just as I was wondering why all this was happening, something appeared before my eyes.

[Mourning Dragon, Nerilmaeus]

What suddenly appeared was familiar. The bold letters only appeared for one type of enemy.

It was a presentation reserved for bosses.

And this new continent was content for protagonists who had completed all the main quests of Grim Darker 3.

On average, the protagonist’s level at the completion of Grim Darker 3 is 15.

So what was this dragon’s level?

[Level: 15]

As if affirming the anxiety wrapping around my mind, the status window shone brightly.