Chapter 89

After dispelling the troublesome mob of monsters and enduring the welcome from the upper levels, Worm finally made it to the break room. The room was so quiet that it seemed even the crickets were chirping, but it wasn’t entirely deserted.

A party of five, including Faust, the experienced adventurer with whom Worm had exchanged words recently, was seated against the wall. They hadn’t reached this level by chance; despite their neat appearances, the dirt and wounds from battle were evident.

"Coming alone to the thirtieth floor. I welcome you."

Faust, noticing Worm’s entrance, rose from his rest and approached. This time, he brought his party members, as if a social gathering were about to begin.

"See for yourself, it’s like this."

Worm’s words were genuine, not out of modesty. The journey to this point was not one where he could afford to slack off; he had repeatedly expended his magic without hesitation.

"We are five, and it’s not much different. If Worm had four more, you might conquer the dungeon."

It had been nearly five days since Worm descended into the dungeon. During this time, he hadn’t spoken to anyone, and his mouth, usually tight, now relaxed, even producing a joke.

"Unfortunately, I have brothers, but not quintuplets."

"Good to hear that."

Faust let out a carefree laugh. Just as Worm’s senses were pulled by the sound and movement, a faint whistling sound and a rapid approach of death prompted him to thrust his spear.

A shock that numbed his hand. The longsword and the hilt clashed. One of Faust’s party members, who had positioned himself in a blind spot, had swung at Worm.

"...Too bad, really."

The words slipped out unconsciously, not to convince Worm. The kind smile vanished, and his expression turned mask-like. This kind of gaze was rare, even among the northern countries’ soldiers, who were skilled in the art of killing. They showed no emotion, treated people as if they were weeds, and processed them dispassionately.

To reach this point, countless sacrifices were needed, and Worm realized that the attack was not a coincidence but a well-prepared ambush. He didn’t voice his questions of why and how. Raised in a time of war, where peace was the exception, Worm’s mind quickly switched back to the thoughts and sensations he had in the dungeon.

The attackers’ feigned deception ended, and a full-scale assault began. Faust’s spear aimed for Worm’s throat from below. While dodging and evading, a mace was swung from the side as Worm retreated. Another longsword awaited him as he tried to avoid further.

Assuming a solid defense, the longsword aimed to cripple Worm’s mobility by targeting his legs. The shin guard redirected the blow, avoiding a laceration but not the dull pain and unsteady stance. Despite the numbness, Worm held his ground, but a shield-bearer charged at him.

There was no more room to retreat. As the collision occurred, Worm flew backward to reduce the impact, rolled on the ground, and sprang up, but a burning pain hit his shoulder.

"Ugh..."

In the limited time and space, a ranged attacker, positioned outside the melee, shot an arrow through the gaps of the four front-line fighters. Without time to pull the arrow out, a relentless assault continued. To create an opening, Worm condensed his magic and launched a fireball into the ground.

"Press the attack, Riro, don’t let Haunzen escape."

The five, who had shifted from a charge to a distance, took their next action. Wind and water magic combined to extinguish the flames. A well-prepared party to reach the upper levels, it was natural that they had a mage. With the fire barrier gone, Faust, the mace-wielder, and the longsword adventurer closed in.

Worm, using wind magic to accelerate, aimed for the longsword wielder on the side, but the shield-bearer and the ranged attacker interfered. The shield-bearer, like Worm, was a wind mage, using mid-range spells and a wind-boosted shield bash at close range.

"You’re quite the showman."

At first glance, one or two seemed easy to isolate, but it was a temporary killing ground and a clever lure. Ignoring them would leave Worm open to fatal blows from blind spots.

Even if he chose to retreat, the path to the transfer room or the previous levels was blocked. Forcing a breakthrough would result in a literal stab in the back. To reach the thirtieth floor, Worm had expended a lot of magic, and using his ghost fire would quickly deplete his reserves.

Most importantly, the adventurers’ equipment configuration made him hesitate. All were well-trained with above-average magic reserves and fire-resistant gear. If the ghost fire didn’t break through, it would obstruct his vision and cause severe eye pain. In such a state, he would be a sitting duck.

At the very least, he needed to incapacitate one or two to have a chance of escape. Worm was clearly cornered. Despite the dire situation, the mask on his waist seemed pleased by the bloodshed. This was the kind of opponent the mask found interesting. Regret crossed his mind, wishing he had never met such a normal person.

Worm parried attacks with his halberd, continuing to dodge in a dance-like manner. Even the magic he used to find an opening was wasted to prolong the fight. His limbs were gradually worn down, and blood seeped through his clothes. To stop the bleeding, the magic membrane, his second skin, continued to press on the wounds.

A constant chill ran down his spine, and his organs felt unsteady. The thick aura of death didn’t even allow a blink. Injured and fatigued, surrounded by strong enemies, Worm found himself in a deathtrap. Despite the lack of an audience in the dungeon, he had to continue the dance among seasoned veterans.

"Ah, ha, phew, ha..."

He repeated shallow breaths, pushing his exhausted legs to their limits. He thrust his halberd, turning several near-fatal blows into painful injuries. Despite the injuries, his movements remained precise. The battles in the dungeon, the dullness of a year of alcohol-soaked laziness, were stripped away. Ironically, it was the environment of death and the marking of life that brought Worm back to his former self.

Worm unconsciously smiled. He stepped on the longsword aimed at his feet, embedding it in the ground. Seizing the opening, he twisted his body and struck with his halberd, but the swordsman released his weapon and shielded his neck with both hands.

The gauntlet was cut, bones and flesh shattered, but the blade was stopped. In return, a mace struck Worm’s side, and Faust’s sharp spear deeply wounded his throat, but he ignored the pain, avoiding fatal injuries.

"Back off!!"

Faust gave the order to the swordsman, but it was too late. Despite the broken ribs and blood in his throat, Worm’s movements didn’t slow. He pulled the swordsman close, as if embracing a beloved lover, and switched positions.

Using the swordsman as a meat shield, he tried to grab Worm with his broken arm. Reading the determination in the attackers’ weapons, Worm pushed the swordsman away, burning his throat and pushing him into the path of the spear and mace. The smell of burning flesh and boiling blood filled the large room. The soundless scream of a burned vocal cord brought Worm joy.

"...Four left."

The tough attackers, who were unaffected by psychological pressure, were now slowed by the loss of numbers, the dying comrade as an obstacle, and the overload of information. Worm pulled the arrow from his shoulder through the dead body. It wasn’t enough yet. He spat out the blood accumulating in his mouth.

The blood mist distorted his vision and added more information for the attackers to process. With the setup complete, Worm launched the arrow with compressed air.

"Release."

The arrow, dodging the arm defense, entered the mace-wielder’s eye and reached the brain.

"Three left."

Worm faced the remaining enemies with his halberd. His fatigue, depleted magic, and injuries were at their worst, but his mind was clear, giving clear instructions.

"...Too much time. No, not enough time for a decisive end. Frustrating."

For the first time since the fight began, Faust spoke to Worm. The tightly closed door creaked open, signaling the arrival of a new party. The break room, which had been empty, was about to welcome visitors.