Chapter 99

Rogg, an employee of the Bergana branch of the Adventurers' Guild, was an excellent scout specializing in dungeons. His innate sense of smell remained unchanged even after becoming a guild employee, and he excelled in the political sensibilities within the guild, adept at sensing danger. That's why he belonged to the faction of the twisted deputy branch manager and acted obediently alongside him. His intuition, which had never been more acute, was now ringing alarm bells louder than ever. The moment he saw the exploded deputy branch manager, it was clear what had happened.

"No way. Why are there ghosts now?"

That night, Raffaele, the deputy branch manager, had been implanted with a human bomb, a technique widely used during the Unification War, leaving only a few organs necessary for short-term survival. The materials included the organs of fire-breathing lizards, black water, and either poison or metal fragments. In the ceremony, the venomous fangs of a hydra, which the Republic had buried, were used. Rogg, who knew the history of the dungeon city, realized that this method matched the tactics used at the end of the Unification War.

A place where powerful dragon veins flowed, and negative factors accumulated, easily became a cursed land prone to demonization. It was undoubtedly a conspiracy between the ghosts of the Gundor family, a noble house of necromancers who once ruled the dungeon city, and the Republic. Considering the monsters that had flooded the city walls, the plan must have been in the works for decades, possibly since the end of the Unification War. There was no way a man who had unwittingly participated in it would be spared. He needed to escape the country as soon as possible. The Republic, with its tenacious lineage of giants, would not let this go so easily. As Rogg ran, out of breath, he felt a dull pain in his chest and looked down.

"What is this?"

A seal had appeared on his body. Although it was a pattern he had never seen before, it must have been related to the current turmoil. Rogg tried to determine its effect, but there was no longer a need. The ghouls that had been feasting on the citizens turned their hollow eyes toward him. It wasn't just one or two. Rogg realized why he hadn't functioned as a human bomb in the grand square. He had been chosen as a lure for the monsters.

"Damn it, they used me as bait to attract the undead!"

Among those involved in the guild's operations, there were many former adventurers. Rogg had served as a scout both inside and outside the dungeon. He had faced such monsters many times. He drew his machete from his waist and accelerated. The thick blade decapitated an undead, severing its neck. Rogg swung the blade overhead and shattered the skull of another approaching ghoul.

"Damn, the dead citizens are turning into undead. There's no end to this!"

If surrounded, he would be overwhelmed by numbers. Rogg shattered the knees of the undead that sought to embrace him with his machete and slipped past. Lowering his stance, he rammed into the chest of another undead blocking his path. The fallen ghoul clung to his clothes, but Rogg brought down the machete vertically, severing the thumb from the base, freeing himself.

Rogg dashed into a narrow alley to avoid a large-scale confrontation and deal with them one by one. It didn't take long for the alley to be filled with blood. The accumulated blood on the ground worsened his footing, almost like a curse. If the number of undead had been within his reach, Rogg's judgment would have been correct. However, with more than ten undead approaching from both sides of the narrow alley, the situation changed.

Even as he severed hands, shattered knees, and crushed eyes, the horde of the dead did not stop. Sweat poured from his forehead, and his breathing became erratic. After stepping back from the dungeon's front lines, he had become accustomed to schemes and strategies, making the situation feel unbearably heavy. If he had continued to delve into the dungeon, he might have remained calm, but his current physical and mental state could not endure it. With no place to run and no space to escape, the cornered man shouted.

"Damn it, don't come, don't come, ahhh!"

In a state of near madness, Rogg discarded his stance and experience, swinging his machete wildly. He managed to cut off fingers, skin, and flesh, but the wave of the dead did not stop. His blade, dulled by fat and blood, stuck in the muscle and sinew, unable to be pulled back. Countless arms and teeth approached.

"Let go, ahhh, ahhh!"

The outstretched arms tore his clothes, and the claws dug into his skin. The open jaws dripped with decay and saliva. Rogg flailed his limbs wildly, but it only prolonged his life for a short time. The vision of death filled his eyes, and the words that twisted out of his throat were meaningless. As he was about to be torn limb from limb, a wind blew through the alley. The heat struck his cheeks and scorched his body.

"...Gah, what's happening?"

The overwhelming heat was burning away the dead. The aftereffects made Rogg choke, and the exposed skin on his body was burned. In the sea of blue flames where the horde of the dead sank, a man stood coolly.

"You, you are—"

Rogg recognized the man. He was a mercenary who served as a porter in the Conqueror Party, named Worm. Immediately after this mercenary joined, the stalled third magic strike successfully conquered the dungeon. Despite suspicions about his mysterious background and lack of information, no one could criticize the scene before them.

"Sorry, I—"

His breath caught, and he stopped mid-sentence. The golden eyes, now narrowed vertically, were not human. Before Rogg could instinctively sense the danger and run, a heat wave swept through the alley. His path was burned, and he was slammed against the wall, expelling air from his lungs. A hand gripped his neck, choking him.

"Don't move."

Sensing the intent behind the heat from the fingers, Rogg resisted all resistance.

"Answer me. Who did this? You were the only one cowering amidst the chaos, weren't you? And the deputy branch manager, whom you adored, exploded. What's the seal on your chest? You seem to be quite popular with the undead. There's no way you're not involved."

"I, I—"

"Answer what I want to know. Then I'll help you. Refuse, and I'll burn your limbs and let the monsters eat you. Your life will end when the flames in the alley die out. Choose."

The golden eyes, clouded and irregular, fixed on Rogg. This was not a threat. The mercenary would act on his words. Rogg, discarding his pride and schemes, spilled out all the information he had. The events of that night, who had summoned them, and where their base was located. He left nothing to speculation. As the flames began to fade, the mercenary, seemingly satisfied, released his grip.

"So, what now?"

The answer came immediately. Fire overflowed from his chest, and his skin burned instantly. The pain, which directly agitated his nerves, made the man curl up and scream like a child.

"Ahh, ahh, ahhh! Damn it, why, I answered!"

"I burned the seal for you."

Shaking with intense pain, the smell of burning skin stuck to his nostrils. Rogg looked down at his chest. The seal that attracted the undead had been burned away. There was no room for protest against this drastic measure.

"Leave the alley. Do as you please."

"What do you intend to do?"

While suppressing the intense pain, Rogg asked the mercenary.

"I'll wipe out the attackers."

The mercenary spat out the words as if it were the most obvious thing. It was not a boast or a joke. He was serious. With a mercenary of unknown depth, it might be possible. Rogg, who had escaped death but could not move his body, watched as the approaching undead were reduced to dust by axes and blue flames. Rogg was profoundly grateful to be excluded from the massacre.