Charon curled himself into a tight ball in the muck, the slime and filth coating his body serving as the perfect camouflage.
Plop… plop…
A handful of fishman-like creatures prowled nearby, their webbed feet squelching in the swamp as they shifted about. Round, bulbous eyes darted back and forth, scanning for prey. Dim light glinted along the cold edges of their harpoons.
Charon didn't even dare to breathe. In better days, he could've dispatched these fishmen without breaking a sweat—but that was before he'd lost his weapon. Worse still, the Basilisk's venomous spray had struck his right leg. From the wound, tiny thorn-like growths had begun sprouting, making every movement feel as if needles were grinding against bone.
Earlier, in the chaos, a mage named Ellie had escaped with him. But now, she was gone—vanished into the dungeon's shadows. If she were here, her magic could have drawn the fishmen's attention away.
He wasn't afraid of dying. He was afraid of dying for nothing.
To emerge from a dungeon with nothing to show for it—without a single worthwhile discovery—was humiliation of the highest order.
Worse still, it would tarnish his standing with his father.
His father already favored his third brother, that golden child with a gift for business. If Charon wanted to claim the position of family head, he needed results—something undeniable, something that would overshadow that sibling entirely.
And for that, Charon would risk anything.
Should I use it?
His fists clenched tightly, then loosened.
He stayed as still as a crocodile in dark waters, his gaze locked on the fishmen, waiting for his chance.
Suddenly, in the distance, a column of light flared to life. A signal fire—the second beacon.
Who lit it? Stella and the others? In the middle of this mess, they still find time to light a beacon?
The fishmen noticed it too. Their bulbous eyes widened before they rushed toward the light in a frenzy. So the beacons could lure monsters as well…
Cunning bastards.
Still—this was a rare opportunity.
When the group had gone, only one straggler remained, standing there with vacant confusion.
"Borrowing your weapon for a bit!"
Charon lunged. In a flash, the fishman was on the ground, pinned beneath him. His fists came down in a brutal storm, each blow landing with sickening wet cracks. The creature never even managed a scream before it was reduced to a twitching heap.
Snatching up the harpoon from its limp grasp, Charon turned to leave—
"What a crude weapon. Worthless—huh?"
His scorn faltered.
The moment his fingers wrapped around the shaft, a strange awareness bloomed in his mind—knowledge of a combat skill called [Patience]. He could call upon it at will.
Suddenly, the slime-caked harpoon gleamed in his eyes like a priceless relic.
He had a gut feeling—this weapon might be the key to claiming the family headship.
Boom—!
A sudden explosion rocked the swamp. White smoke curled upward, thin but clinging.
Charon spun, wary. The fishman's corpse had detonated. The haze billowed, obscuring the center.
"Corpse Explosion? No… too weak. That couldn't kill anyone."
And indeed, it wasn't corpse explosion at all.
ROOOAAAR!
The roar shattered the mist. The shockwave punched through his chest, rattling his organs.
From the smoke lumbered a beast the size of a small hill—its fangs bared, eyes locked on him.
Charon froze.
A fishman explodes… and becomes a giant bear? Magic? No—there's no magic like that.
But of course, it wasn't magic.
[Mimic Tear (Common)]
[Mana per unit: 100]
[HP: F– to D+ | Strength: F– to D+ | Intelligence: F– to D+ | Endurance: F– to D+ | Speed: F– to D+]
[Overall Combat Power: F– to D+]
A common Mimic Tear could take the form of monsters up to D+ rank. The ones adventurers prized were the rarest—capable of copying even SSS-ranked creatures—but such luxuries were far beyond Wade's means.
Even the common versions were cost-effective enough to carry restrictions: no more than five could exist at once.
[Giant Bear]
[Mana per unit: 300]
[HP: D+ | Strength: C | Intelligence: F | Endurance: D+ | Speed: D+]
[Overall Combat Power: D+]
A vicious brute—more than enough to ruin an adventurer's day.
Charon looked from the bear's massive paw, big enough to pulp him in one swipe, to the battered harpoon in his hand.
"…Heh."
ROOOAAAR!
The swamp quaked. Ripples shivered across the water's surface… and slowly stilled.
Far away, Stella's gaze snapped toward the sound. The sheer force in that roar sent a shiver down her spine.
"What terrifying pressure…"
"Let's hope no one runs into whatever made that noise," Gibbs muttered.
He was in dire shape—the left side of his body was withered, a halo of black flies orbiting him like heralds of death. The Basilisk's venom still coursed through him, and even amputating his arm hadn't stopped it. His time was short.
"Let's worry about ourselves first," Stella sighed, turning her attention forward.
Ahead loomed a fortress of black stone, its architecture imposing and solemn, radiating an aura that made instinct scream stay away.
But Stella and Gibbs wanted the opposite.
The gates were open.
Above, three beacons burned brightly. The puzzle had been solved; the fortress had yielded. She guessed Charon and Ellie must've lit them.
"Should we go in?" she asked.
Gibbs nodded. "We've come this far. If I turn back now, I'll regret it for the rest of my life."
"Can you still fight? Don't slow me down," Stella teased, the elven "girl" smiling faintly. Both readied their weapons and dashed through the gates.
Gaa! Gaa!
From the ceiling, gargoyles' stone faces split, their blood-red eyes flaring to life.
Gibbs, though half-crippled, fought with a ferocity greater than before. Even with one arm, he held his own against the winged terrors. Healthy, he might have crushed them outright.
Stella's arrows clattered uselessly against their stony hides, so she drew her hammer—a trophy from a skeleton, plain but sturdy, lacking the rare combat enchantments adventurers coveted.
Every archer dreams of going melee at least once.
And without the "formalities" of ranged combat, Stella's hammer strikes were as fierce as Gibbs's blows.
Bang! Clang!
The battle raged until the gargoyles were nothing but rubble.
"Ha! That was great!" Stella said, her face bright with exhilaration.
"They dropped something," Gibbs noted.
Amid the dust lay a single silver-white stone.
"What's this?" Stella murmured.
Gibbs frowned. Since entering the Sein Dungeon, every monster, loot, and material had been unlike anything he'd ever seen before.
"Take it back to the appraiser," Stella decided, pocketing the stone.
Rumble…
The fortress's rear gate creaked open, revealing the path to Blighttown. A cold, fetid wind wafted through, carrying with it the faint wails of lurking monsters.
Stella and Gibbs exchanged a quick, determined smile.
"Let's go."
(*****)
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