Taking the moment to gather himself, he picked himself up slowly, wobbling somewhat as he held his head–the corridor spun around him as if the black-steel walls warped like a spinning cone.

He wiped the blood that had leaked from his nose, looking at his glove. The brightness of the crimson that left his body wasn’t a good sign for the toll he had taken.

‘I’ll need to train with Levin more. I knew using magecraft for the first time would be a pain, but this is something else–my head is killing me. I feel like I’m going to hurl,’ he thought.

The slow walk he took traversing the cold corridor he entered the dungeon through was taken more through him dragging his boots. Part of him wanted to collapse on the ground and take a nap against the bitter corridor, though luckily he was still lucid enough not to do that.

After what felt like an eternity spent within the dungeon, he left through the entrance, greeted by the natural light of the lifeless field of steam.

“...Hah…” He let out a sigh in relief, slumping his shoulders.

It wasn’t for a single second that he was able to relax as he was immediately met with the sound of a boot stomping beside him. Looking up, he found the stoic face of the mercenary looking down at him.

“Did you retrieve it?” Claxous asked.

Bastian was annoyed by the abrasive attitude of the man, seeing as he nearly died obtaining the object, but nodded, “Yeah. Somehow.”

“Where is it?”

Again, he found himself perturbed by his insistence, but complied as he reached down with his burnt hand, untying the dark-blue pouch that was stationed on his belt. Before he could even hand it over properly, it was snatched from his hand by the mannerless mercenary.

“Hey–whatever,” Bastian mumbled.

Claxous opened the pouch, turning it upside down above the palm of his hand as the dazzling crystal dropped down.

While the mercenary inspected the unique jewel, the wounded adventurer leaned against the entrance of the dungeon as his back pressed against the stygian steel. He watched the tall, burly figure turn the crystal every which side, looking at it closely with his almost lifeless, black eyes.

It seemed that the tan-skinned boor was satisfied with the object as he carefully placed it in his own pocket.

“Not a problem, right? That’s the crystal your boss is looking for,” Bastian asked, approaching the mercenary.

“Yeah. It’s the right one,” Claxous said with his monotone voice.

He raised his hand, expecting the crystal to be placed back into it as he stood in front of the much larger man, “You can have it once I’m paid my other half. Just how things wo–”

The words that left his lips were stifled as a rock-solid object struck him in the mouth. It was a square hit, busting his upper lip and cracking against his nose; the sudden blow caused him to wince and stumble back.

“Huh?” He let out in confusion, holding his face as blood gushed from his busted lip and battered nose. It seemed as though a rock had been thrown against him, but he saw what it was as he looked forward.

Claxous’ fist was held forward, being pulled back as the stoic mercenary reached behind his back, grabbing the handle of his stationed greatsword.

“What was that for? If you want to hold onto the crystal that badly, then–” Bastian asked, perplexed by the sudden situation.

The mercenary interrupted him calmly, slipping his oversized weapon from its strap as the wide blade of tanned steel was shown in its daunting glory, “Your assistance is no longer required.”

He was dumbfounded by the response, though quickly caught onto what was happening as he moved his hand away from his bloodied mouth, furrowing his eyebrows as he stepped back, “I get it. Guess I should’ve expected this. Your boss never planned on paying up.”

As he put some space between himself and the hostile mercenary, he couldn’t help but feel like a prey cornered by an apex predator. In the condition his body was, exhausted and worn through continuous spell-casting, it hardly felt as though he had the strength to walk, let alone fight.

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‘I suspected something like this as a possibility, but I kept it in the back of my mind. Didn’t think Frederick was this big of a scumbag,’ he thought.

There were two possibilities in his mind: taking back the crystal he risked his life for, or cutting his losses and fleeing. Rationally, the chance he’d give himself in a fight against the mercenary would be thirty percent, and that’s if he was at his best.

‘I doubt I can run away. My legs can barely carry me as is. He’d catch me–even if I used Levin again on my legs, I wouldn’t make it far enough,’ he rationalized.

Luckily, Claxous didn’t seem impatient to end him, instead keeping his distance and waiting for the exhausted adventurer to make his first move, or rather, his first mistake.

In his mind, he sorted through what tools he had left at his disposal, patting the pouches on his belt to make sure they were still there.

‘I still have a few gemstones left. Good. I might be able to use Levin…one or two times more, max. It won’t be pretty if it comes to that, but I doubt any of this will. The problem is that massive sword of his…It’s bad enough if it reaches me, but the damn thing is like a shield,’ he thought.

Observing the mercenary who stood roughly ten meters across from him on the black soil, his eyes lingered on the hulking steel wielded by Claxous.

There wasn’t a single word from the dead-eyed mercenary, who stood there like a statue with his greatsword held in front of him, pointed towards the ground. A total lack of emotion on the man’s face made it impossible to read the thoughts in his mind, and his intent in battle.

‘I’ve gotten into skirmishes before with other adventurers–usually over loot disputes, but this is different. He’s here to kill me–there’s no talking my way out of this,’ he realized.

From his belt, he retrieved an amber gemstone, marked with a triangle seal on both sides. This time, he didn’t amplify it with Levin, instead opting to conserve his strength.

“Protect,” he whispered in a quiet invocation.

Crushing the imbued stone caused a golden light to swirl around his body before implanting a subtle veil of radiance around him that faded. Surprisingly, the mercenary didn’t make a move whilst he reinforced his body with the gemstone’s power.

‘A Goldtskin enchantment will save me from being killed in a single hit, hopefully,’ he thought.

Following up, another stone was retrieved, this time one of a light, pink glisten that he crushed with his teeth. It hurt his teeth, but the effect was more than worth the pain as it shattered into a gentle aura. The light flowed over his body, touching upon his wounds, seen and unseen, mending his aching bones and rattled brain.

“Phew,” Bastian breathed out, feeling renewed and energized.

“Protection and Recovery gemstones. I see. You did come prepared, as expected. I hoped you would have used those up in that dungeon, but it doesn’t make a difference,” Claxous casually remarked, “I’ll eliminate you right here.”

‘I don’t have any more of those. The usefulness of Protection and Recovery gemstones means their price isn’t kind. He knows that–annoying,’ he thought.

Drawing his dagger from his sheath, he found himself taken aback as the burly figure closed the space between them swiftly. It took him by surprise, not expecting such quickness from the musclebound figure, especially when wielding a weapon of such mass.

All he could hear was ringing against his ears as he looked forward, watching as the famed mercenary spun around before crushing his boot down into the soil. His vision became consumed by the mass of steel rapidly approaching him, causing the air to howl against his eardrums.

‘--Down!’ The only thought in his mind.

He managed to duck down just as the colossal greatsword swung over his head, cutting through the wind with mighty force. In that split-second, stationed between fractions of moments, time seemed to slow, perhaps by the factor of him barely maintaining his life.

Just as quickly as the greatsword missed though, it was swung again with frightening dexterity. The dead-eyed man used the momentum to spin around, this time carving his weapon downward upon the crouched adventurer’s head.

“--Ngh!”

Without much grace, he rolled himself to the side, feeling the pressure of the heavy blade carving into the soil beside him. He was forced to roll again as the mercenary carved his grounded sword upward, attempting to cleave the young man through the soil.

‘I can’t let up my guard for a second–he’s aggressive!’ He realized.

Jumping to his feet, he stumbled, leaning as far back as he could as he witnessed the tip of the scratched greatsword narrowly pass by the front of his nose. Every second required his maximum effort just to avoid the lethal edge of the giant blade.

There wasn’t any opening he could find for a counterattack of his own as he continued stumbling back through the field of black soil, having to dance around the continuous attacks from the quiet mercenary. The geysers of steam spewed out still, serving as a constant reminder of the boundaries he could evade within.

Through the continuous evading he had to endure, spinning his body around and flipping with the nimbleness he thanked he was born with, he glanced back, realizing the geysers of steam were only a few steps behind him.

‘He’s pushing me back–he’s forcing me back into that field of steam. Shit–I have to fight back,’ he thought.

After playing cat-and-mouse with the mercenary, he had begun to adjust to the speed of the sword swings, formulating his counterattack. It was a risky plan in his mind, though one he felt was necessary.

He watched as the black-haired man approached with swift steps, maintaining the statuesque expression on his face the entire time.

‘Come on–I’m ready,’ he thought.