“Hee hee hee.”
“Ha ha ha…”
Laughter echoed eerily between the trees, while tendrils of mist swayed like skeletal fingers.
The witch, with a chilling smile, slowly rose. An axe was embedded in her head, and she moved as if suspended by invisible strings.
Dalen scratched the back of his head as he faced the witch. Her face was turned towards him, yet it also seemed to be facing away.
This scene reminded him of a horror movie. Such trivial thoughts flitted through his mind as he stood before her half-turned head.
Of course, not everyone could remain as composed as he was.
“Ugh… ugh!”
Bjorn, trembling like a leaf, finally couldn’t take it anymore and hid behind Dalen. Dalen glanced back at him.
In the dwarf’s dark eyes, something misty flickered rapidly. It seemed he had fallen victim to the hallucinations induced by the fog.
“Slapping him won’t wake him up. The trauma from the one-eyed craftsman’s childhood is that severe,” said the fake Sienna. Dalen slowly lowered the hand he had raised to comfort Bjorn.
“In the forest, that trauma is magnified. Don’t worry, his life isn’t in danger.”
“Bullshit.”
Instead of slapping the dwarf, Dalen extended his hand towards the witch. The axe embedded in her head spun back with a swift motion.
“Ugh!”
Naturally, it didn’t return gently. As the deeply embedded axe blade was pulled out, fragments of skull, brain matter, and blood splattered everywhere.
Watching the witch stagger forward, Dalen casually flicked the axe. He spoke, “How can you say his life isn’t in danger when you’re messing with his mind?”
This was the same dwarf who had fired a silver-plated shotgun at a ghost knight and shoved a bomb down a demon’s throat.
Even if he feared the forest and water, not reacting to an enemy right in front of him meant something was seriously wrong.
It wasn’t a difficult problem to solve. No matter how powerful the curse or illusion, killing the caster would end it.
As Dalen adjusted his grip on the axe, the laughter that had been seeping from the mist abruptly ceased. In the chilling silence, the fake Sienna spoke again.
“You arrived much sooner than I expected.”
”…”
“But it’s fortunate. At least I managed to prepare the gift I had in mind…”
A hissing sound followed. The axe, thrown once more, severed the witch’s neck this time.
Her head fell without resistance. Dalen looked down at it impassively before raising his hand.
The bloodied axe returned to his grasp. After a brief flick to clean it, Dalen turned to check on the dwarf.
“Damn it.”
Bjorn was gone.
Looking ahead, the witch’s body had also vanished.
Dalen frowned. The densely packed trees around him were disappearing one by one.
As the trees vanished, the mist dissipated. Rocks, stones, and the crunching earth beneath his feet also faded away.
The background, once muddled like a wash of dull paint, gradually transformed into hues of yellow and white.
[Here, a gift I’ve prepared for you.]
The fake Sienna’s laughter lingered in the air.
[…Dalen, this isn’t just an illusion.]
The voice of the Red Spear was laced with caution. Dalen nodded.
As she said, this wasn’t a mere illusion or trick.
Dalen’s senses and instincts were too sharp to be deceived by a simple spell.
It was likely a skill that took extreme advantage of the environment on the fourth floor of the labyrinth, the Silent Moonlight.
And there was only one being capable of manipulating an ownerless labyrinth at will.
‘The new evil god awakened from the depths.’
The surroundings, once amorphous, shifted constantly. Before he knew it, he was no longer in a forest but a grand hall.
Walls and pillars adorned with gold leaf and jewels. A long stretch of white marble floor, designed for knights to line up on either side.
And overlooking it all, a massive golden throne atop a low staircase.
”…The Audience Chamber of the Knight King.”
The forest had vanished, revealing the audience chamber deep within the palace of the Eastern Knight Kingdom.
Though he hadn’t visited it in this cycle, it was a place he frequented as if it were his own home, beyond the monitor.
Then, he felt a wet sensation beneath his feet. Dalen lowered his gaze slightly.
A middle-aged man lay collapsed at his feet, a gaping hole in his chest. Life had already left him.
[Do you know who this is?]
“The Knight King. His name is Arland.”
[The Knight King? The superhuman king of the Eastern Knight Kingdom?]
“That’s right.”
Even without the blood-soaked fallen crown, recognizing the Knight King’s face wasn’t difficult.
The ruler of the Eastern Knight Kingdom, a transcendent whose abilities reached the fifth rank.
The leader of the seven knight orders and the owner of the royal sword ‘Durandal.’
The 17th Knight King, Arland, was a key NPC in most cycles, holding back the forces of Lapilem crossing the eastern sea.
Though he couldn’t completely stop them, merely delaying them, he was a hero for steadfastly upholding his beliefs amidst the betrayals and conspiracies of the final stages.
Occasionally, he would abandon his homeland to join the defense of the labyrinth city, fighting valiantly against the demon forces on the front lines.
[But if the Knight King is dead here…]
The Red Spear trailed off. Dalen nodded.
The Knight King’s exploits weren’t the issue now.
What mattered was that the king lay dead in the heart of the kingdom, and he was standing in a pool of blood right in front of him.
“Whether it’s an illusion or a vision, I’m screwed.”
It was too late to find an escape. Outside the audience chamber, hundreds of superhumans had already surrounded and trapped him.
Dalen sighed briefly and turned around. At the same time, the grand doors of the hall shattered, and knights poured in.
“Your Majesty!”
“That’s him! He’s the one who killed the king!”
“That barbarian wretch! Cut him to pieces and burn him at the stake!”
Damn it. Dalen silently adjusted his grip on the axe.
There was no time for explanations. With the king dead before their eyes, no words would convince them.
“Die!”
A sword thrust aimed at his throat. A blue aura shimmered along the blade.
Dalen tilted his head to the side, letting the sword pass. The narrowly missed blade sliced a few strands of his hair.
“You…!”
The knight, still in his thrusting stance, swung to slash Dalen’s neck. Dalen caught the blade with his axe.
With a bit of force, the sword was pushed aside. Into the space created, a heavy kick followed.
“Ugh…!”
The knight coughed up blood and tumbled back. Blood spurted from the gaps in his dented armor, his face convulsing and turning purple.
Dalen’s gaze darkened. This was no ordinary illusion.
It went beyond mere physical exchanges, vividly depicting the process of a life extinguishing.
“He’s a transcendent. Approach with caution!”
“Sound the horn! Call for reinforcements from the Lion Knights!”
As the knight who had stepped forward fell, the others grew more cautious. Their faces were tense, but they showed no signs of retreat.
Watching the knights slowly close in, their swords drawn and ready, Dalen kicked up the fallen knight’s sword and caught it.
The sound of a horn calling for reinforcements echoed from outside the hall.
It was time to make his escape.
Gleaming spear tips. Fluttering banners.
The horn’s call echoed between the towering spires, and thousands of hooves pounded the ground with vigor.
Having broken through the siege of the audience chamber, Dalen was met by the charging knights, as if they had been waiting for him.
’…The Lion Knights.’
Known for their golden sword aura and helmets shaped like lion heads.
The Lion Knights were one of the seven knight orders, tasked with protecting the capital.
Knights clad in resplendent golden armor filled the avenue, charging forward. Their lances shimmered with a golden aura.
Thud, thud, thud…!!
Dalen didn’t dodge. In the moment before impact, he reached out.
Time seemed to stretch as he became aware of the fight. He took a step forward, deflecting a lance with his axe.
With a fluid motion, he swung his sword, severing the neck of a warhorse. By the time his foot touched the ground, the knight atop the horse was also cleaved in two.
“Captain!”
A scream from nearby. Another step.
Swish―!
He sidestepped, avoiding a spear thrust. Through the helmet’s slit, he saw the furious eyes of a knight.
The fury quickly turned to shock. Dalen had let go of his sword and seized the knight’s spear.
“What the… Aaargh!”
Crack!
He swung the spear in a wide arc. The invisible force enveloping it tore through horses and knights alike.
With a few more swings, the spear snapped in two. Half of the charging knights lay dead.
Dalen pressed forward. The guards trailing behind the knights unleashed a volley of crossbow bolts. He swung his axe, deflecting them all, and then leaped into the air.
He soared above the street, and a bolt of lightning struck the center of the guards’ formation.
Boom—!!
His axe cleaved through the air. A sword shattered with a clang.
He spun, driving his elbow into a metal shield, crumpling it.
Armor tore like paper, and with a single punch, a helmet exploded, spilling its contents.
No guard could withstand even one of Dalen’s attacks. Likewise, no knight could land a single effective blow on him.
Metal and flesh were torn and crushed together. Blood flowed freely down the street, turning it into a scene from hell.
Despite the carnage, the guards and knights charged relentlessly. Their eyes were wide with fear, yet their bodies moved with the courage of legendary heroes.
Their legs carried them toward the blood-soaked warrior, and their hands thrust and swung their weapons with desperate fervor.
It was as if some unseen force compelled their bodies to move.
Just as he split the head of a senior knight, Dalen snapped his head up. The air shimmered above him, and in the next moment, the scenery shifted once more.
“How dare a rogue like you threaten the Guildmaster!”
“For the Free City!”
“Kill that barbarian who can’t even do simple math!”
The shouts pierced his ears, though the words had changed.
Dalen took a deep breath and surveyed his surroundings.
Towering buildings lined the well-paved street. Signs glowed with the brilliance of luminescent stones and vibrant dyes, reminiscent of neon lights on modern Earth.
‘The capital of the Western Continent Guild Alliance, the Free City of Elmora.’
The streets, usually bustling with wandering mercenaries and eager merchants, felt strangely cold.
Perhaps it was due to the overturned stalls and the hundreds of crossbowmen reloading behind them. The mercenaries and apprentice knights lined up behind them seemed to add to the tension.
Dalen turned his head. Beside him lay a grand carriage, crushed as if by a giant’s foot, adorned with gold and fine wood.
“Please… spare me. I’ll give you all the money you want, just please…”
Inside the carriage, an elderly man, covered in blood, whimpered. Recognizing his face was not difficult.
“The Guildmaster.”
“Y-yes, that’s right. I’m the Merchant Guildmaster! My account overflows with gold. I can give you the code right now. Just please…”
The old man rubbed his mangled hands together in a plea. Dalen rubbed his forehead.
“He’s threatening the Guildmaster! Fire at will!”
Perceiving his gesture as a threat, the crossbowmen pulled their triggers in unison.
And the axe flashed.