Chapter 413
The air in the throne room still crackled with residual power, a phantom echo of the struggle between Ais and Udaeus.
Crumpled stone, scarred walls, and the scattered remains of Udaeus’s lesser spawn served as grim monuments to the ferocity of the battle.
With the gargantuan skeletal king finally brought low, its massive frame already dissolved into black dust, a new, albeit less epic phase commenced: cleanup.
This particular task Draco took on.
The immediate threats from Udaeus’s direct summoning, the Spartoi, still numbered in the dozens.
Their forms, animatedly clattered across the uneven floor, their bone armaments glinting faintly in the gloom.
Alongside them, several obsidian soldiers, remnants of the rooms standard garrison, resumed their programmed assault, their dark, polished surface reflecting the dim light like fractured shards.
They were persistent, if predictable, enemies.
Adding to the mess, the throne room, had become porous.
Udaeus’s rampage, a storm of pulverizing blows and earth-shattering roars, had decimated the very architecture of the dungeon room.
Cracks spider-webbed across the ceiling, chasms yawned in the floor, and, most critically, large sections of the sturdy walls separating the throne room from adjacent chambers had crumbled.
Through these fresh breaches, a new wave of monstrous life began to pour in, drawn by the lingering scent of combat and the dying essence of the fallen boss.
Among these new arrivals were a few Peluda’s.
Draco’s eyes, keen even in the low light, immediately identified them.
Dark green, serpentine bodies slithered through the openings, supported by four powerful, scaly legs. Their most distinctive, and terrifying, feature was the array of needle-like spines studding their backs. Unlike a common porcupine, these dragon-type monstrosities weren't content to simply deter; they could project their poisonous armament.
The needles launched from their backs with incredible velocity, blurring through the air, each tipped with a toxin potent enough to incapacitate a high-level adventurer, and assuredly fatal to anyone without a powerful abnormal resistance skill, potent detoxifying magic, or a quick-acting antidote.
For Ais, exhausted and weakened from her duel, even a single Peluda would pose a critical threat.
Her movements were sluggish, her reflexes dulled.
Riveria, could likely manage them with her magic, but the added strain was unnecessary.
Speed was paramount.
As if on cue, a quiet understanding passed between the three.
Draco moved to the center of the largest concentration of incoming monsters, his posture relaxed.
Riveria, meanwhile, began to close the distance to Ais, pulling her staff from her back, a visible aura of protective magic already beginning to coalesce around her.
Draco let out a deep, almost imperceptible sigh.
This was a chore, but an essential one.
His mind quickly assessed the chaotic situation.
Spartoi, obsidian soldiers, Barbarians, elite lizardmen, Skull sheep's, and now Peludas, all converging.
He concentrated, his thoughts a quiet hum.
Within a few seconds, the air around him shimmered, then ignited.
Hundreds of small, crimson spheres of fire materialized, hovering in concentric rings.
Each orb pulsed with contained energy, casting a vibrant, dancing glow across the fractured throne room.
He imbued each fireball with two fundamental spell keys: 'Explosion’ and 'Homing'.
The first would ensure destructive impact, the second would relieve him of the tedious need to manually aim.
Then, with a casual flick of his tail, he uttered a single, resonant word……..a word that was more a command than a chant.
The fireballs, as if granted a singular, unified consciousness, shot outwards.
The throne room transformed into a dazzling, deadly spectacle of crimson light and deafening concussions.
Fireballs streaked through the air, leaving trails of incandescent smoke, unerringly finding their targets. Spartoi dissolved into dust with explosive impacts.
Obsidian soldiers shattered into fragments under focused bursts.
And the Peludas, for all their speed and poisonous threat, found their needle barrages useless against the incoming inferno.
The homing fireballs simply intercepted them, detonating against their scaly hides, reducing their serpentine forms to scorched refuse.
The same fate awaited the other monster variants, that flooded the throne room.
Draco remained in the center of this maelstrom, unmoving, eyes half-lidded.
His spell, once lit, became a continuous, self-sustaining process.
All he needed to do was lightly concentrate on the flow, utter the one-word spell key occasionally to reinforce the command, and supply the necessary mind to keep the spell continuous.
Riveria, half-way close to Ais, couldn’t help but be momentarily stunned.
The volume of magic, the relentless, cascading blasts, the brilliant crimson glow that illuminated every corner of the shattered room…..it was breathtaking.
She watched Draco, observing the ridiculous ease with which he cast such a complicated spell form.
Not only was it a single, terse word for a spell that should require a full, multi-layered incantation, but it was also incredibly powerful, each fireball capable of significant destruction.
And yet, judging from the complete lack of strain on his face, the steady, unruffled rhythm of his breathing, Riveria knew it barely cost him any mind.
He wasn't even breaking a sweat.
If it demanded significant energy, Draco, for all his power, would show some discomfort, some sign of exertion.
But there was nothing.
Just an almost casual disinterest in the act of annihilation.
"Unbelievable," she murmured, a trace of awe, and something else, in her voice.
She had spent the better part of her younger years, honing her craft, studying, delving into the intricacies of her magic, to earn the revered title of 'Nine Hells'.
Yet here, in front of her, was someone performing feats that seemed to defy the very laws of magic she understood, doing things she could only dream of.
It was frustrating, humbling, and in a way, honestly jealous-inducing.
Draco had taught her his 'Dragon Mind Arts' five years ago, a method he claimed optimized magic.
She had made progress, certainly.
Thanks to the art, her mind efficiency had improved, her spells gained slightly more potency, and even her ‘Mage’ development ability had nudged up a level.
But it wasn't the explosive, game-changing leap one might expect from such knowledge.
The chasm between her capabilities and Draco’s seemed vast, though that wasn't necessarily true.
Although there was indeed a gap, it wasn’t so large that her effort was irrelevant.
‘Sigh,’ Riveria mused inwardly, a faint, melancholic smile touching her lips.
‘I guess there is always someone infinitely better out there.’
She pushed the thought aside, returning her focus to Ais, who now laid splayed on the ground, still and utterly spent, barely able to move.
During the frenzied battle with Udaeus, Draco and Riveria had retreated near the entrance of the 38th floor, to avoid getting caught in the destructive chaos.
Now, as Riveria closed the distance between herself and Ais, her sharp elven senses registered something amiss.
A subtle shimmer caught her eye, high above Ais, near a point where the ceiling had been particularly ravaged.
It was a drop, slow and deliberate, a viscous glob of something red and gelatinous.
Alarm bells screamed in Riveria’s mind.
She wanted to raise her staff, to chant a spell, but the object was already in motion, picking up speed, falling directly towards the vulnerable Ais.
There was no time for incantations.
“Ais, move now!” Riveria yelled, her voice cutting through the din of Draco’s continuous explosions.
Ais, though depleted, responded on instinct.
Riveria's voice carried an undeniable urgency.
With a clumsy, almost painful grunt, she forced her battered body into a roll, a survival reflex kicking in more than any conscious decision.
She slid a mere foot or two from her previous spot.
Just milliseconds after she had vacated the area, the viscous liquid plummeted, landing with a wet splat precisely where she had been.
It landed not on the floor, but on the faintly glowing magic stone that was Udaeus heart.
The liquid immediately began to sizzle and froth, enveloping the obsidian core.
Riveria, her heart hammering, quickly identified the monster.
An Ooze.
A creature made of corrosive slime, notoriously difficult to damage with physical attacks, and often possessing unnerving adaptability.
Her mind, however, immediately leaped past its typical characteristics.
What was an Ooze doing falling from the ceiling, targeting Ais, then covering the magic stone?
This was no random dungeon spawn.
She didn't hesitate.
Her staff snapped up, a brilliant light gathering at its tip.
“Wynn Fimbulvetr!” Riveria yelled, unleashing a torrent of freezing cold straight at the amorphous mass.
Her spell was potent.
A blast of frigid air, cold enough flash freeze anything, slammed into the Ooze.
Icy tendrils immediately began to creep over its surface, attempting to solidify and freeze it.
But too late.
Her spell never fully found purchase.
Something bizarre happened.
The ooze, with an unnerving, almost intelligent maneuver, detached a huge portion of its viscous body just as the freezing blast was launched.
The detached mass instantly flash-froze, leaving behind a ridiculous, grotesque ice sculpture of hardened slime.
But its main core, the true heart of the monster, along with Udaeus magic stone, was conspicuously missing.
Riveria rushed forward, scanning the scene.
The Ooze, or rather, its remaining core, had slipped through one of the massive cracks on the floor, a gaping maw that had opened during Ais’s battle with Udaeus.
Several such fissures now marred the throne room, some leading down, others on the walls and ceiling.
Riveria was now left with unsettling choices.
One option was to immediately rush towards the entrance leading to the 38th floor, hoping to somehow intercept the Ooze there.
But the dungeon was a labyrinth, and an Ooze could move through crevices with astounding speed.
It would consume a tremendous amount of precious time, and even then, success wasn’t guaranteed.
The other option was to use her powerful magic to create an immediate path, perhaps by expanding an existing crack, and pursue the creature directly.
This option offered the best chance of catching it quickly, but it came with a terrifying problem.
The throne room, already structurally compromised by Udaeus’s rampage, was incredibly unstable.
If it were hit with a powerful magical blast, there was a chance the entire ground beneath them would collapse.
The consequences of such a collapse were unpredictable and potentially catastrophic.
While low, there was always the possibility, however remote, of triggering a dungeon anomaly……a Juggernaut spawning.
Dungeon anomalies were almost always fatal.
‘Just what the hell is going on?’ Riveria pondered, her mind racing.
‘What does that Ooze plan to do with Udaeus’s magic stone? Is it a wild monster, exhibiting unnatural cunning, or was it tamed by someone? If so, for what purpose? A magic stone of Udaeus’s caliber is somewhat valuable, but to go to such lengths… this smells of something far more sinister than simple stealing.’
Her worry was entirely valid……..This wasn’t just a wild monster……This was a calculated move.
Just below on the 38th floor, a woman with short, fiery-red hair reached out her arm.
Her expression was neutral, almost serene, yet her eyes, emerald green, sparkled with an undeniable, almost predatory intensity.
From a glowing fissure in the ceiling, a smaller, intact portion of the Ooze, glowing faintly, slithered down and deposited the obsidian magic stone of Udaeus directly into her waiting hand.
She stared at the black stone for a moment, a small, satisfied smile playing on her lips.
Her master had given her a mission, and it was one, for the first time in a long while she found particularly enjoyable at the time.
Her task had been to capture or lure a specific target of interest, deeper into the dungeon, ideally to the 45th floor, or, if possible, even deeper, to the 50th.
And, as luck would have it, she had found her target, Ais Wallenstein, in a rather vulnerable state…
However, it was also unfortunate that Ais was currently with a rather scary monster, Draco.
Revis could still recall, the monster of the Bahamut Familia, from the war five years ago, he was simply out of her league.
Consequently, he was also a primary target of interest for the corrupted spirit, one that it wanted to devour so badly.
Letting out a deep sigh, Revis looked at the magic stone in her arms.
With her sneaky ambush on Ais failing, she was a bit dejected.
But Revis had fulfilled her secondary objective; finding raw materials for a Jewel Fetus that had hatched several days prior.
Without another glance back, Revis turned, her movements swift and silent, and disappeared deeper into the labyrinthine darkness of the dungeon.
Ais, on the other hand, didn’t seem to care about losing Udaeus’s core.
Her body, filled with aches and pains, was splayed on the floor like a discarded rag doll, her breath coming in shallow gasps.
She stared up at the dark ceiling, her golden eyes reflecting the flickering crimson light of Draco’s ongoing purge.
All she had wanted was to challenge Udaeus alone, to test her limits against a monster of that caliber, and that she did.
She had won her battle, not just against the monster, but against her own limitations.
She reached her right hand up towards the fractured ceiling, as if to touch the stars that existed only in her mind, her ultimate, guiding light.
“How much closer have I gotten?” she questioned, her voice a barely audible whisper, addressed to no one in particular, or perhaps to the silent, ever-present spirit of her long-lost parents.
Then she slowly turned her head to her left, her gaze settling on Draco in the distance.
He was still launching spells, an unrelenting barrage of fire, but his movements remained eerily casual, almost bored.
The ease of his power was a stark contrast to her own, hard-won victory.
A spark ignited within her weary heart, banishing the last vestiges of her exhaustion.
‘I have to keep working hard,’ she thought, clenching her fist, a renewed, silent vow.
She still had a long, arduous way to go if she wanted to surpass him.
To her, Draco was a living, breathing wall, a towering benchmark separating her from her ultimate goal, which was to become strong enough to hunt the Black Dragon.
And she wouldn’t stop, wouldn’t rest, wouldn’t falter until she accomplished it.
Draco, oblivious to much else beyond the immediate task of monster elimination, continued launching his spells, a crimson dance of destruction.
He remained unaware of the deeper machinations, the stolen magic stone, the red-haired woman, and the elaborate lure that was already being set, beginning to brew ominously at his ultimate destination, far below, on the 45th floor.
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