The Girls of the Swamp (1)
“Did you say a guardian dragon?”
Dalen feigned ignorance, asking again.
At this point, it was only natural that Sienna didn’t know Bourbon was a dragon. The dragon god, Kylebercus Arburn, had never revealed his true identity to her.
‘It’s because of the promise he made to Sienna’s mother.’
The Feather Witch, who had been exiled from the Golden Palace and lost everything, had asked Bourbon to watch over her daughter from afar, ensuring she could survive on her own. Why the ancient dragon agreed to her request remains a mystery.
Regardless, Bourbon had been helping Sienna from a distance since she was a child, keeping his existence a secret.
“Yes, a guardian dragon. They say the first Feather Witch fell in love with a true dragon. That dragon could turn a desert into a forest or carve a mountain into a lake with just a word.”
Sienna spoke slowly, blinking as she served Dalen some eggs, bacon, and a piece of bread.
“A witch and a dragon in love. Sounds like a fairy tale.”
“Doesn’t it? But unfortunately, the dragon’s lifespan far exceeded that of the witch. When the Feather Witch lay on her deathbed after many years, the dragon made a pact with her. He promised to save her descendants from danger, just once.”
Sienna wiped the oil from her hands and tidied up, then took the teacup she had set aside onto her lap.
“My mother told me this story. After she passed away, I dismissed it as nothing more than a bedtime tale.”
“I see.”
“But lately, I’ve been wondering if I was wrong.”
Dalen paused, mid-chew, and turned his head. Sienna was already looking at him.
Their eyes met—hers, the bright eyes of a witch, and his, the brooding eyes of a warrior.
‘Has she figured out Bourbon’s identity?’
In countless iterations, she had never once guessed Bourbon’s true nature on her own. If that premise were to change, what new variables would arise, and what outcomes would they lead to…?
“If there really is a guardian dragon, it must be you.”
…So much for variables.
“You must be tired. Get some rest.”
“Haha, I’m just joking. As if you could really be a dragon. If you were, old Bjorn wouldn’t be able to hang around with you.”
”…”
Come to think of it, he had never used his dragon powers in front of Bjorn. During their first meeting, he had suppressed his dragon power with a holy sword, and since meeting Bourbon, the abilities of the Azure Dragon had taken over that role.
There were times when his presence slipped through, but only briefly.
“A guardian dragon, indeed. It’s all just a fairy tale.”
Sienna murmured as she poured the remaining tea onto the ground beside the campfire.
“I’m feeling a bit tired. I should rest, as you suggested. When will you sleep?”
“I’ll sleep after I finish eating. You go ahead.”
Dalen showed her the plate piled high with eggs, meat, bread, and fried rice.
Sienna nodded and retreated into the tent, leaving him alone by the fire.
Clatter.
Dalen mixed the food on his plate and began eating, lost in thought. Occasionally, his mind wandered to the golden-haired paladin.
On the first floor, there were crab-wolf taxis. On the second, sandworm buses. But on the third floor of the labyrinth, there was no such transportation.
The sticky swamp moved at a snail’s pace, and so did most of the creatures living there. Predators fiercely guarded their territories, waiting for prey to wander in.
There were some active monsters, but none suitable for riding.
Thus, the group had to traverse the swamp on foot, passing through the territories of countless monsters.
Aruluk! Ugrrr!
“Frogmen!”
A four-eyed frogman lunged with its claws.
These frog-headed creatures would suddenly leap from the shallow swamp, aiming to land on their prey’s head.
But thanks to Dalen’s sharp eyes spotting the blinking eyes among the moss, the special unit wasn’t caught off guard.
“Fire!”
Ratatatat!
Ugrrr! Orrr!
Instead, the aimed barrels unleashed a hail of lead, turning the squishy creatures into shredded rags.
Krrraaa! Urrrak!
A shriek echoed from deeper within the swamp, higher and sharper than a typical frogman’s cry.
“A shaman!”
Ziiing―!
Primitive magic gathered at the tip of a staff, manifesting as three thick beams aimed at the special unit.
There was no need to worry. Among them was a mage far superior to any shaman.
“Nox, Pellirem!”
Crackle!
Three protective shields materialized, accurately predicting and deflecting the beams’ paths.
The deflected beams slowly dissipated, churning the swamp’s sticky muck. Dalen casually tossed his axe.
Thwack— Thud!
There was no need to use his domain’s power.
The hand axe flew through the air, embedding itself in the frogman shaman’s forehead before it could utter another spell.
Its three pairs of eyes split perfectly in half. Dalen extended his hand, calling the axe back.
“Fire!”
Meanwhile, the special unit, having re-aimed, unleashed another volley of bullets.
“Hahaha! Take this bomb!”
Boom! Boom-boom-boom!
The dwarf’s grenades filled any gaps in their firepower.
The battle concluded smoothly. The group navigated the third floor of the labyrinth with relative ease.
The firepower generated by the 60 special unit members and the one-eyed master craftsman far surpassed that of a typical Tsarist rifle company.
Thanks to prototype rifles capable of loading multiple rounds simultaneously and Bjorn’s special explosives, they formed a perfect combination.
Of course, it was fundamentally possible because Dalen, who knew the labyrinth’s geography inside out, led them along the right paths.
Sienna’s spells also played a crucial role, supporting the group at the right moments.
Three days passed in this manner.
‘About two days left.’
Inside his personal tent.
After the evening meeting, Dalen loosened his armor straps and lay down on his blanket.
If the advance party’s interrogation of the rebel prisoners on the first floor was accurate, they were close to the sanctuary the demon had directed them to.
‘Are we on the right path? We haven’t found any bodies of the rebels who went ahead, not even bones or torn armor. Even with the demon’s guidance, it’s impossible for there to be no casualties.’
During the meeting, Executor Sasha had privately voiced her concerns. Dalen shook his head at the memory of her question.
‘Finding a body in the labyrinth is one of the hardest things to do.’
He had reassured her, seeing the worry on her face.
In the labyrinth, where every day was a struggle for survival, any abandoned body was a feast for the monsters.
Typically, a discarded explorer’s body would disappear within a day or two.
On the third floor, the process was even faster.
The swamp creatures, guarding their territories, would drag any uneaten remains deep into the swamp to bury them, preserving them from scavengers and decay for future consumption.
Clearing his mind of the meeting’s discussions, Dalen sat up. He called out to the demon within.
‘Hey.’
[Yes, master.]
‘Bring it out.’
[Here it is.]
The demon, now adept at understanding even the vaguest commands, opened a spatial rift.
Dalen carefully grasped the handle of the dagger that emerged.
It was an item he had acquired from the corpse of a dark sorcerer not long ago.
Sss…
Just drawing it from its sheath filled the tent with an ominous sound.
Faint screams and moans seemed to echo, and ghostly apparitions flickered at the edge of his vision.
Even Dalen’s heightened senses, far beyond those of an ordinary human, found their range limited to the campsite once the dagger was drawn.
‘So this is what it feels like.’
It wasn’t a curse; the mark on his shoulder didn’t react.
This was one of the debuff options attached to the item itself.
Experiencing firsthand the hallucinations and auditory effects he had only read about in text, Dalen examined the dagger more closely.
The handle was textured to prevent slipping, and the blade, a pale crimson, was elegantly curved.
The smooth edge and serrated back, with dark red spots dotting the blade, resembled splattered blood.
‘The Blood Ritual Dagger.’
This was a must-have item for any dark sorcerer character by mid-game.
At the same time, if an enemy dark sorcerer possessed it, it signaled a challenging battle ahead.
‘It skips all the steps of a soul sacrifice.’
Stepping onto the battlefield as a dark sorcerer is no easy feat.
Even among the few genuine dark sorcerers, nine out of ten are mere pretenders.
At its core, dark sorcery involves offering up a body and soul as a sacrifice to demons or dark gods in exchange for special powers and abilities.
The problem is that the ritual is not only incredibly complex, but demons often have very particular tastes and preferences.
It’s no wonder there are so many self-proclaimed dark sorcerers who are nothing but failures. Most of them have botched a few rituals and ended up as rejects.
Despite wading through the blood of kidnappings, torture, and murder, those who fail to gain a demon’s favor end up as the majority of back-alley sorcerers.
“Even if you manage to succeed in a ritual and form a contract, the real issue is not being able to offer souls whenever needed.”
Souls aren’t like magic that you can store and use at will. Moreover, demons demand fresh souls.
Thus, most dark sorcerers use their own souls as vessels to trap and preserve the thoughts and souls of the deceased.
The best vessel for keeping a soul fresh is, after all, another soul.
[With this dagger, you’re free from all those constraints.]
The demon muttered, its voice dripping with barely concealed greed.
[Heh, if I had this item in my possession, I could have created my own hell in that cave and conquered the human world by now… Ugh!]
It had been a while since this demon had been put in its place. Dalen chuckled, reaching into the pocket dimension.
A few touches later, the greedy mutterings were replaced by screams echoing from the void.
[Sniff… Can’t even speak…]
“That’s what you get for running your mouth.”
[Ah, human rights, no, demon rights…]
“You’re asking for another beating.”
[…]
The demon fell silent. Ignoring its sulky expression, Dalen tapped the blood-red blade a few times.
Hissss…
A faint, eerie wail accompanied each touch. Dalen didn’t know how this dagger was made, only that it was forged from metal tempered in the depths of hell. The item description offered no further details.
But its abilities were clear.
It condensed the entire complex ritual process into a simple act of stabbing and slashing.
Moreover, it could preserve the captured souls and thoughts as if time had frozen, keeping them fresh.
In essence, it allowed a sorcerer to carry the entire ritual—sacrifice, altar, and all—in their hand.
With just this dagger, a dark sorcerer’s combat power could increase exponentially.
Swish.
Dalen sheathed the dagger.
He didn’t need it right now, but who knew what the future held?
It also paired well with the skill he had recently acquired from a corpse, “Key to the Gates of Hell.”
As he returned the dagger to the pocket dimension, the eerie wind subsided, and the hallucinations and whispers that had clouded his senses faded away.
Dalen suddenly looked up. Something suspicious had entered his sensory range.
“Damn it.”
Flap!
He dashed out of the tent without even tightening his armor straps. The camp was still quiet.
By the crackling campfire, the sentries looked over, curious about the commotion.
One of them spoke up.
“What’s going on?”
“Enemy attack.”
Shing—
He drew his sword immediately after the terse reply. The agents looked startled, but their bodies instinctively reached for their guns, shouldering them.
The squad leader asked again.
“Enemy? Where?”
“They’re coming.”
Dalen nodded toward the forest.
The sentries turned their gaze toward the woods.
Amidst the low shrubs, barely three meters high, a shadowy figure emerged from the darkness.
“Luther?”
One of the agents spoke. Upon closer inspection, it was a fellow sentry who had gone into the woods earlier, claiming he needed to relieve himself.
“Hey, Luther! You scared us! You said you were about to burst!”
“Quiet.”
The squad leader hushed the clueless agent.
Though still some distance away, the leader could see it.
The man called Luther was not himself.
“Ah, ugh…”
His steps were unsteady. His eyes and fingertips trembled.
His slumped shoulders and the veins bulging on his neck suggested he was carrying an invisible, heavy burden.
The squad leader slowly raised his gun. He spoke with a voice laced with caution.
“If you’re the Luther I know, stop right there.”
Thud. The footsteps halted.
“R-run…”
Blood trickled down his lips. For a moment, the agent’s eyes returned to normal.
“Run away.”
The squad leader instinctively moved to save his subordinate, but Dalen blocked him with his sword.
“It’s too late.”
That was the turning point.
Crack!
“Argh!”
A chunk of flesh from the neck was torn away. Blood spurted like a fountain.
Snap!
The shoulders and waist twisted grotesquely, and the agent’s face turned a ghastly purple as he collapsed.
“Luther!”
There was no response.
Four holes gaped open on his back, blood gushing out, and above them, something slowly raised its head.
“What the…?”
The squad leader murmured. It was only natural.
All he could see were red marks floating in the air.
In the transparent space, only the vivid bloodstains outlined eyes, eyelashes, a nose, and thin lips.
“An invisible monster?”
Then.
The bloodstained lips parted.
Heh.
Red teeth grinned.