When it came to handling the dangers of the Tower, he knew better than to try and argue with the person who outranked him vastly, though it wasn’t as if he took any issue with Claxous handling combat.
He followed the ruby-ranked mercenary into the following room, entering a vast chamber of pitch-black, ashen stone as if burnt by flames. It resembled fallen ruins, with charred pillars that held the ceiling above and corridors that led to different paths. Along the walls, torches that gave life to azure flames spread light to the quiet chamber.
‘I’ve never been here myself. “The Onyx Graveyard”—that’s what they call the eleventh floor. Not excited to find out why it’s called that,’ he thought.
Claxous walked without any sense of fear, though the same couldn’t be said for the adventurer who followed behind him; Bastian found himself constantly looking side-to-side and over his shoulder at the smallest noises.
“You’ve been to the eleventh floor before?” Bastian asked, checking over his shoulder at the sound of sediment sprinkling onto the floor from above.
Claxous responded in his stone-like voice, “Yes.”
“I’ve read about the Steel Cyclops that inhabit this floor—“ Bastian mentioned.
“Don’t worry about them. I’ve got combat handled,” Claxous interrupted him sternly.
“Right. Yeah.”
Though he had done some studying of his own on the eleventh floor in the past, it felt as though all of the research in the world couldn’t prepare him for how suffocating of an environment it was; the air was thin and cold, and the presence of powerful entities on the floor made him almost feel entrapped.
‘I don’t like this. If worse comes to worst, I can use the cowl and make a quick run for an exit–but I have a feeling even that might not be so safe,’ he thought.
Beyond the initial chamber was a long room of pitch-black, smooth stone, with tall pillars on both sides and odd, circular holes in the ground that held silver water. There were thin lines of the oddly-colored liquid that streamed from different points in the ceiling, though not overflowing onto the ground.
“Don’t touch that liquid. It’ll melt your flesh from your bone instantly,” Claxous warned casually as he kept walking.
The information made Bastian jump back as one of the ever flowing streams was just beside him, taking himself away from its lethal composition.
“No kidding, huh,” Bastian muttered under his breath as he looked at the silver liquid before moving along.
All that could be heard thus far was the echoing of their own footsteps, carried outward through the vast chamber. It resembled the innards of an ominous temple, painted by the scorn of flames, yet was somehow kept without erosion.
The area somewhat looked as though it could be man made architecture, though that notion was simply impossible by the odd texturing to the walls, as though the black stone was of flesh itself.
As they ventured through the lengthy room, which seemed to serve as a large corridor itself, a small noise was caught by the ears of the hooded adventurer as he came to a stop.
Claxous glanced behind him, “What’re you doing?”
“Something’s coming,” Bastian replied in a hushed tone, moving his hand towards the dagger sheathed behind his back.
A scratching sound noisily rang through the onyx hall, as if a sharp edge was being dragged against the floor. What became a minuscule sound was now ear-filling; the hostile scratching rapidly grew closer, now with footsteps drumming along.
After a dreadful few moments of awaiting the origin of the ominous noise, a shrouded figure leapt from behind the center pillar, unveiling itself from the shadows:
A creature of black, sleek skin with metallic plating that resembled armor naturally protecting it as an exoskeleton. It had a humanoid physique, though with an elongated, hunched torso and two, unnaturally long arms that ended in the shape of blades.
Its head was long and sharp, with eyes split into countless hexagon patterns like blemished, black pearls.
“What is that—?” Bastian questioned, keeping his distance and his hand near his sheathed dagger.
The mercenary reached behind his back, grabbing hold of the black-leather handle of his sheathed weapon with his glove before retrieving it, “Stay put. I’ll handle this.”
Almost as much of a surprise as the creature was to the newcomer to the eleventh floor was the fact that the man in front of him wielded the massive blade as if it were a knife.
“Come on,” Claxous said in his monotone voice towards the monster.
It managed to tower over even the mercenary as it made clicking noises like that of a nocturnal insect, grinding its sharp limbs together.
Without any warning, the plated creature sprung forward with its bouncy legs, spinning around at an incredible rate as its blade arms became deadly weapons.
Still, Claxous had yet to move, standing still with his blade held at his side while the hostile denizen of the floor rapidly approached.
“Watch—!” Bastian attempted to warn.
It was too late for any meaningful callout; the creature moved almost too fast for the naked eye to perceive—the mercenary failed to move in time as the bladed, swift creature slashed its limbs against his body.
Bastian was at a loss for words, feeling his stomach sink into the deepest depths of his body, “No way.”
That fear that swelled in him was dispelled as quickly as it came as his mind began to adjust to what he watched before him: not a single drop of blood met the floor, nor did the mercenary move an inch.
It was only then that he noticed; the dual blades of the buzzing monster were being held back, not by a weapon, but by the arm of the man.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
‘So that’s how it is—he has a Blessing,’ he realized.
The limb of Claxous was different; the man’s light-brown skin had shifted into a stone-like texture, completely obstructing the creature’s edge as if it were a dull blade against an unmoving boulder.
Claxous’ expression remained unchanged as he used his other hand to lift his sword before slamming it downward. The incredible might of the ruby rank befell the swift insectoid creature, splitting it in half as the great sword crushed into the onyx tile below.
As a result, stone was crushed below and a burst of wind knocked outward from the inhuman force presented; it was leagues ahead of his own caliber, simply feeling supernatural in every which way.
Putrid, green blood splashed as the squelching of the creature’s body echoed, leaving it as nothing more than a mess of blood and entrails as Claxous lifted his dirtied blade up.
Seeing how easily and brutally the sable monster was dealt with, Bastian felt himself questioning if his own companion was more of a monster himself.
“Let’s keep moving,” Claxous said casually before swiping his sword clean of the blood, sheathing it once more.
Bastian slowly nodded, “…Yeah.”
‘This is the difference between those with a Blessing and those without–it’s insurmountable,’ he thought.
All he could do was carefully walk around the splattered corpse of the creature, making sure not to get any of its repugnant blood on his boots as it seemed acidic by the light hiss on the floor.
Moving through the vast chambers of the blackened floor, alight only by azure flames, more of the bladed-armed creatures were encountered, and as the same, Claxous dealt with them handily. For the adventurer who promoted being stealthy and avoiding encounters, it felt as though his companion was the opposite: the mercenary strutted forth without any ounce of sneakiness, dealing with anything that obstructed his path.
Finally, the seemingly endless rooms of similar architecture were left, leading into an open area of the colossal floor: a stretch of blackened soil, in which mounds built up, forming and rumbling before erupting pillars of steam.
“A field of steam is what he said, right? I don’t think this could be mistaken for anything else,” Bastian remarked, already beginning to sweat from the absurd humidity occupying the area.
“Yes, this is it. Follow along,” Claxous said.
“Huh–?” Bastian let out.
Without any warning, the mercenary began marching forward into the vast, barren area, stomping through it as the hiss of steam geysers released throughout the domain.
It seemed as though each step would have to be taken with utmost caution, as the mounds in the lifeless soil periodically exuded sharp bursts of steam, enough to melt flesh from bone by the looks of it. To make it worse, each spot seemed to release at different intervals, making it all the more improbable to remember a common pattern.
‘ Must be nice, having a Blessing–he’ll probably be fine if he steps on one of the geysers. One misstep and I’m as good as dead,’ he thought.
Carefully, he began his march through the lethal field, watching his step carefully as he made sure not to watch the soil as mounds formed.
HSSSS. HSSSS.
The sound of steam being violently poured out just a meter to his right made him jump, nearly making him stumble into another geyser to his left as it erupted—HSSSS.
“--Shit!” Bastian harshly breathed out, balancing himself as sweat trickled down his skin.
As he looked forward, using his glove to wipe some of his perspiration from his chin, the veil of steam made it difficult to see the man he traveled with, though he could make out his silhouette, still walking calmly through the impossibly humid field without a hindrance.
It made his body feel as though it was slowly being cooked, his breathing labored as his lungs seemed as though they inhaled fire itself; the light headedness it brought only served to make traversing the precarious field even more of a challenge.
He found his movements becoming sluggish, as if his boots were made of lead, feeling as though with any step, he might collapse as the humidity gripped his body.
‘...This isn’t good. It’s not just getting caught by the steam I have to worry about–this heat…I can’t even think straight,’ he realized.
As he tried to take another step, his legs buckled, dropping him to a knee; his breathing became strenuous as he attempted to stand, finding the strength in his body sapped by the unbearable heat. He could feel it beneath him; on the soil he stood on, it began to lightly vibrate, like a hum sang ominously against his boots. It was clear to him what was coming.
“...Hey…” He attempted to call out to his companion, though found his voice weak and quiet, unable to even see the silhouette of the mercenary ahead of him anymore.
The soil beneath him began to rise, with heat being felt bubbling beneath. Any second, it could release, though he still found his body unresponsive as the heat swirled his head into nausea.
‘I have to move…I can’t. My body won’t listen,’ he thought.
As he sat there, trying to move, he found himself staring at his arm, weakly rolling up his sleeve to see the fresh tattoos etched onto his skin. It felt strangely warm; a different heat from that which subdued his strength–it was a source of power; a burn that swelled through the black sigils on his flesh.
At that moment, it came naturally to him, knowing what he had to do as he inhaled once more, welcoming that scorching air into his lungs. Through his body, from his head, to his fingertips, to his toes, he spread his internal mana, honing it through the magical seals on his arms.
The once black tattoos illuminated into that of a silver radiance, burning brightly as the mound beneath him grew, about to explode with ruthless steam–
“Levin.”
That single word left his lips in a whisper, manifesting through a hiss of electricity that ran over beneath his skin and over it. The cells in his body felt as though they had truly awoken for the first time, like a surge of lightning struck each of them, interweaving his cells and bringing them into unison.
The only thought in his mind in that moment was “move forward”; that singular goal manifested itself as strands of argent electricity coiled around his legs. Without a conscious effort, the muscles beneath his skin squeezed, activating on the behest of the magecraft’s awakening before–FWOOM.
Like a stray bolt of lightning fulminating, he flung from the spot he was encumbered just as steam erupted from the bursting mound. It was provided through a single flex of his legs, springing forth as the strength of his legs for that brief moment had been amplified to supernatural heights.
“--Woaagh!” He exclaimed in surprise, finding himself bursting across the field.
There was no way to land gracefully as he instead braced himself, coming to a stop as he landed on the other side of the deathly landscape, rolling harshly and bouncing against the dirt.
As he slid across the dirt, he came to a stop only by an unmoving wall. Picking himself up, he winced as he moved his legs, grabbing his calf. It felt as though it was overheated, with his muscles being sore solely in his legs.
‘I did it…That was Uncle’s magic–”Levin”--it worked, but…my body definitely isn’t equipped to handle it yet,’ he thought, excitedly.
Before he could pick himself up, the adventurer was hoisted to his feet by his arm, finding that the “wall” that had broken his reckless dash was the stern mercenary.
“We’re here,” Claxous said to him.
“Huh…?” Bastian responded, still unsure of what had just happened before he looked past the brawny figure, “Oh.”
As promised, beyond the field of erupting steam was the dungeon in question; a corridor of black steel placed behind an arch of abyssal marble.
It was unmistakably the dungeon they sought; every floor of the tower had an assortment of their own, holding countless treasures among inexplicable creatures and dangerous of their own.
“I’ll wait out here,” Claxous said, planting his sword in the ground firmly as he crossed his arms over his chest.
Bastian nodded, knowing this was part of the deal as he moved alone into the entrance of the enigmatic dungeon. As soon as he entered the corridor of abyssal steel, he found his footsteps echoing around him, and darkness enveloping his vision.