Chapter 425
With his mind made up, Draco moved with sudden, explosive violence.
With a sharp flick of his wrist, he completely deactivated his crackling lightning magic, severing the deadly current instantly.
At the same time, his claw unclasped from the monster's throat, and he casually tossed the bleeding, half-dead female body type through the air like a discarded ragdoll, hurling it directly toward Alfia.
At this point, he didn’t care if the monster lived or died; he only needed a fraction of a millisecond to shift into a more appropriate combat form.
Swish!
The heavy body screamed through the air like a falling meteor, its shadow casting a brief, dark pall over Alfia’s impassive face.
While the monster sailed, Draco used the recoil to violently throw himself backward, creating instant distance as he initiated his ‘Dragon Spirit Transformation’.
The jet-black obsidian scales covering his arms, legs, chest, tail, and wings suddenly began to flake away, curling up like autumn leaves before dissolving into thin air.
In their place, a deep, rich shade of earthy brown bled across his scales, matching the tone of his skin.
Draco had deliberately chosen the earth element for this transformation, and his choice was for a very good reason.
First and foremost, Alfia was notoriously immune to conventional magic.
This immunity stemmed from her signature, game-breaking magic known as Silentium Eden. While active, a thin magic negating armour completely surrounded her body.
This armour negated nearly all magical attacks launched against Alfia.
Not only that, it served as a sort of limiter for her own already overwhelming magic power.
So, most spells were utterly useless against her; they simply fizzled out of existence the moment they touched that armour.
Well, that wasn’t completely the truth either.
The armour could only negate magic to a certain limit.
It was just that, there had been no one strong enough to overwhelm it.
Even if there was, it wasn’t cost effective as it would require a tremendous amount of mind to do little damage.
However, solid magic like earth and ice operated on somewhat different principles.
She could 'negate' most magical energy dependent spells, but it was impossible to magically erase the kinetic momentum of a solid mass hurled at insane speeds.
Solid mass did not care about her magic-nullifying armour.
Because of this loophole, the earth and ice attributes were effective counters against her.
Yet, Draco had chosen earth over ice for a second, equally vital reason: structural density.
His earth-infused transformation provided an exponential boost to his weight, mass, and blunt-force damage resistance.
This was critical, because Alfia’s ultimate offensive capabilities revolved around sound-based magic……specifically, her infamous, single-word cast spell, Satanas Verion.
The heavy, dense properties of earth magic would act as a natural acoustic buffer, helping to dampen, and deflect the devastating, flesh-ripping shockwaves of her sound based execution style.
Additionally, Draco was acutely wary of her physical strength.
Now that she had been reborn as a creature, her physical power had received a monstrous, unnatural boost, even for a mage.
Now, the stage was set.
The 49th floor fell deathly quiet, save for the low, tectonic hum of the earth vibrating beneath Draco's heavy talons.
As for the female body type he had hurled toward her, Alfia merely tilted her head and whispered a single word.
“Gospel.”
Immediately, a localized wave of concussive sound erupted with Alfia at the center, instantly blasting the falling monster aside as if it were a mere gnat.
Its heavy body crumpled against the wall, forgotten…….but probably not dead.
Through the dissipating dust, Alfia's heterochromatic eyes locked onto Draco with the cold, absolute stillness of a judge pronouncing a death sentence.
The real battle was about to begin.
……………………………………………………………………………………………………
The moon and stars hung high over western main street, casting a silvery glow upon the cobblestones that vied with the amber spill of light from bustling shops and night taverns. Laughter, clinking mugs, and the boisterous, unfiltered laughter of adventurers drifted through the cool night air, weaving a familiar, comforting rhythm that Bell had come to know as the heartbeat of Orario.
The city had not yet gone to sleep.
And neither had he.
Towering above the vibrant sprawl, the pristine white spire of Babel loomed larger with every step he took.
When its colossal gates finally rose before him, Bell paused, his hand instinctively resting on the dungeon gear slung over his shoulder.
He flashed the guards his identity plate, unable to entirely suppress the eager grin pulling at the corners of his mouth.
Once past the threshold and onto the first floor of Babel, he bypassed the usual returning adventurers and made a beeline for the depths.
The heavy iron gate of the dungeon’s entrance yawned open in the basement floor, a dark descending mouth promising danger and glory alike.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Bell dropped through, hitting the spiral staircase and taking the steps at a breathless, head-spinning pace.
Yet, even that felt too slow….a mere crawl compared to the wildfire impatience burning in his chest.
Halfway down, he caught the cold iron of the handrail, leaped over the side, and threw himself directly into the gaping center of the open shaft.
Swish! Thump!
He tore through the empty air, gravity pulling him down before he landed with a solid, jarring thud on the stone landing below.
The sheer impact sent a jolt up his spine that made his eyes water, but his feet vibrated with a wild, intoxicating excitement.
Without pausing to catch his breath, he broke into a dead sprint, plunging deeper into the first floor in search of his very first prey.
“……!!”
Crunch!
Bell skidded to a sudden halt, his boots grinding against the stone of a wide, shadowy hallway.
A short, pot-bellied silhouette with distinctly jagged ears popped into view just ahead of him.
A goblin.
‘This is it’ Bell thought, his heart skipping a beat.
The creature’s size, the exact distance between them…..it was his textbook definition of a clear, perfect target.
Gulp!
He swallowed hard, his throat dry, and quickly wiped his damp palms against the inner lining of his shirt.
The goblin spotted him almost immediately.
Letting out a shrill, guttural shriek, it slammed its bare feet against the stone floor, charging straight toward him with crude, feral momentum.
Bell wasn’t afraid of a stray goblin……he tangled with their kind almost everyday.
What made his stomach twist with nervous butterflies was the sheer unknown of what he was about to attempt.
Magic.
His first time casting an incantation outside of quiet, private daydreams.
Clenching his right fist, he thrust his arm straight out, spreading his fingers wide toward the oncoming monster.
His heartbeat thundered in his ears, a deafening drumbeat of adrenaline.
He couldn’t afford a single lapse in focus.
Gathering every scrap of nervous tension, anxiety, and breathless excitement, he channeled it all directly into his right shoulder.
He took a sharp, shallow breath, arched his eyebrows as high as they would go, and released a roar from the bottom of his lungs:
“FIREBOLT!”
Instantly, a wave of violent scarlet light flooded his field of vision.
Scarlet lightning tore through the hallway, crackling with untamed energy.
No, it wasn't just lightning……it looked closer to electric flames, arcing and snapping in a erratic path before zeroing in on its target.
That was the last clear thing he saw.
An explosive flash of blinding orange light bloomed in the corridor the moment the electric flame slammed into the goblin's chest, washing out the darkness with the brilliance of a miniature sun.
“…Greh.”
The goblin froze mid-stride.
Covered in deep, smoking burns, its entire body stiffened.
Its eyes rolled back to pure white before it pitched forward, hitting the stone floor with a dull, lifeless thud.
The monster's final, fading echo died out against the cavern walls.
“…No way. It works. It actually works. My magic... it really works!” Bell yelled, his voice cracking with disbelief and triumph.
He pulled his arm back slowly, staring down at the palm of his right hand in stunned, breathless silence.
He flipped his hand over, examining it from every angle.
It was the exact same hand he looked at every single day.
The same calluses from farm labor, the same ordinary skin.
Nothing about his physical body had fundamentally changed.
Yet, magic…..that power…..had just poured from those very fingertips.
“…H…haa-haa-haa!”
A breathless chuckle escaped his lips, quickly bubbling up into a giddy laugh.
He could use magic now, but the revelation didn't satiate him; it only made him thirstier.
His entire body was sizzling with a triumphant warmth.
He curled his open hand into a tight, trembling fist right in front of his face.
‘Yes…! Real results. Real, tangible progress,’ he mused, his mind racing.
‘This is something I can see with my own eyes, not just abstract numbers on a status sheet. I’m finally getting closer to Miss Wallenstein… I can actually feel it!’
‘Firebolt. Electric flame. Conjured in an instant, striking at the speed of thought with the devastating heat of fire. A magic faster than anyone else’s. Magic made just for me’ he thought, indulging in a wonderfully intoxicating delusion of grandeur.
A fresh wave of euphoria washed over him, basking him in the warmth of his own success.
He pumped his fist into the air over and over, so caught up in the moment that he accidentally bit down hard on his lip.
A sharp sting bloomed, but he didn't care.
Pain meant nothing compared to this.
In the very next instant, driven by a reckless, manic surge of momentum, Bell burst back into a sprint, hunting for his next victim.
“FIREBOLT!”
“Gyuaaaaaaa!!!!”
He spotted a wandering shadow, thrust out his arm, and unleashed the spell.
“FIREBOLLLTTTT!!!”
“Graaaaah!”
He felt like a reckless child high on sugar, racing through the corridors and screaming at the top of his lungs.
“FFFIIIRRREEEBBBOOOLLLTTT!!!!!!”
“BGYAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
Explosion upon explosion lit up the stone walls.
“FIREBOLT! FIREBOLT! FIREBOLT! FIREBOLT! FIREBOLT! FIREBOLT! FIREBOLT! FIREBOLT! FIREBOLT! FIREBOLTTT!!!!”
“GYAAHH!!!”
Bell tore through the upper levels like a force of nature, firing off his newly acquired magic at every single monster that crossed his path…..committing the exact kind of reckless mistake that defined an inexperienced, overly excited rookie adventurer.
“Whoops... wait. Looks like I’m already on the fifth floor…” Bell muttered, finally blinking away the residual spots in his vision and taking a moment to survey his surroundings.
He had blazed through the first four levels without even slowing down to catch his breath.
‘I’ve gone way too far in,’ he chuckled to himself, looking around the cavernous chamber with a satisfied, albeit breathless, grin.
“Bout time to head home, I guess,” he muttered, starting to hum a cheerful, disjointed tune under his breath when…..
“Woah?”
Suddenly, something felt off.
A strange, heavy warmth pooled in his chest, entirely unrelated to the adrenaline of combat.
“Uh……what’s going on?”
The change happened with terrifying speed, sweeping over him like an avalanche.
‘I’ve never tasted alcohol in my life’ Bell thought hazily, his mind suddenly feeling light and disconnected, ‘but I imagine this must be what being completely drunk feels like’
His legs turned to water, wobbling beneath him without a shred of coordination.
He couldn't even tell if his boots were making contact with the stone floor anymore.
The walls began to tilt sideways, spinning in a dizzying blur.
Before he could even process the sudden vertigo, his entire body pitched forward, rapidly approaching the unforgiving ground.
And right there, in the middle of the fifth floor, surrounded by the quiet echoes of his own foolish triumph, Bell Cranel passed out cold.
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