Act Like a Boss, Mr. Swallow

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[Translator – Kie]

[Proofreader – Demon God]

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Even though they suffered defeat, Vern’s punitive expedition had reached the heart of the dungeon. The terrible outcome of their annihilation had overshadowed their achievement, but the record of reaching the heart of the Primordial core could only be found in history books written a century ago.

Moreover, most dungeons were restored to their former state just two months after a failed conquest. Some faster dungeons even recovered in 2 to 3 weeks. Since they had shed blood, the proponents of the conquest were in favor of giving it their all before the Primordial core was restored.

On the other hand, although Vern’s punitive expedition was one of the empire’s most powerful forces, failing to conquer the dungeon led the opponents of the conquest to suggest giving up without further casualties.

Under normal circumstances, Phaemore would advocate in favor. However, this time was different.

Vern’s punitive expedition had reached the end of the dungeon, where the boss resided. And they perished. According to the final testimony, including Vern, 43 individuals survived.

Conversations were exchanged, emphasizing that no reinforcements were necessary.

There were two scenarios. They either “infiltrated” into the boss room without defeating some monsters along the way, considering the subsequent reinforcements might suffer from the monsters, or it was a situation where no reinforcements were needed.

Most likely, it was the latter scenario. The absence of reinforcements signified that 43 individuals were deemed sufficient, indicating they were generally unharmed.

“That means all those unharmed 43 individuals were annihilated by the boss.”

In reality, up to this point, anyone could deduce. This is why the “pro” side advocated for the re-conquest of the hub. The state of the boss fighting against the unharmed 43 individuals couldn’t have been good. An unrecovered dungeon and a boss in a dilapidated state. Isn’t this an unparalleled opportunity?

And Phaemore was fully aware of this logical reasoning behind this twist.

However, if that ancient monster, the boss of the ancient hub, didn’t sustain major injuries?

If it wasn’t in a dilapidated state?

If it didn’t cause significant harm to the elite 43?

Then, how many would it take to bring it down? 100? 200? Are there enough individuals comparable to Vern’s punitive expedition across the entire continent?

Of course, this, too, is speculation. There’s a high probability of being wrong, and there’s no concrete evidence besides the intuition derived from numerous punitive expeditions. But.

“It’s weird from the start, isn’t it…?”

Exhaling a faint sigh, Phaemore leaned back in the chair. The chair wasn’t designed for comfort, and the polished gem decorations on it pierced Phaemore’s back. Yet, it was disregarded. Despite the discomfort and the piercing gazes from some nobles and investors due to the awkward posture, it was disregarded.

Everyone from the pro-side naturally assumed. They firmly believed that 74 elite soldiers had ‘sufficiently’ conquered the ancient hub. They didn’t doubt that the 43 survivors had narrowly lost the battle against the boss.

Of course, they would think that way. Even though it was the formidable “The Seven Great Evil Dungeons,” the failure of Vern’s punitive expedition of 74 was almost paradoxical. Each member who followed Vern in this punitive expedition was a top-tier fighter.

They were stronger than 7,400 ordinary members of punitive expeditions. That’s why─ they didn’t even consider the possibility of losing initially. They selected the worst among The Seven Great Evil Dungeons because they were convinced it was an assured victory.

But they lost, didn’t they?

Why doesn’t anyone even consider the hypothesis that the ancient monster residing in the hub is overwhelmingly powerful?

They’re all insane. If they leave it like this, the edge of the aristocracy’s blade will turn towards them. They’ve closed their eyes and ears to survive. Without considering the future where even the second expedition fails miserably, they’re being brainwashed into believing that they just need to take one more step in the heated atmosphere.

The more they think, the more they get absorbed in their own hypotheses.

“Even if we attempt again, conquering the Primordial Core is impossible.”

The thoughts that had been churning in the mind spilled out beyond the threshold of mere contemplation.

It was clearly a soliloquy. Yet, a sudden silence fell upon the chamber. All eyes were fixed on Phaemore.

[Note:- Soliloquy- an act of speaking one’s thoughts aloud when by oneself or regardless of any hearers, especially by a character in a play.]

Quiet, if not heavy, oppressive air filled the space. Numerous gazes, a mix of incredulity, anger, and mockery, converged on Phaemore. Amidst the heightened tension, everyone demanded an explanation from Phaemore in the form of silence.

In this tense atmosphere, what would happen if an explanation were given?

Just as the remorse for their own foolish actions began to sting, a booming voice echoed through the chamber.

“Master Phaemore, why do you think that way? I believe it’s entirely possible.”

The tone was generally assertive, but within it lay a subtle nuance. All heads turned simultaneously as if manipulated.

A man stood confidently at the source of the voice, accompanied by four others.

How did they manage to enter this place, one of the few sacred realms in Riaze? The moment they were seen, all questions vanished.

A long, thick, gray priestly robe adorned with discomforting golden iris patterns. Such strange attire and those capable of donning it were unique to the empire.

“Why is the Royal Magic Academic Society here…?”

The Royal Magic Academic Society, ‘The Third Eye.’

Expressions froze on everyone, including Phaemore. To the ignorant citizens of the Empire, the ‘Third Eye’ might appear as another reliable pair of wings, guarding alongside the Imperial Guards, ‘Roah’s Crimson Spear.’ However, the reality was different.

In the eyes of the nobles, they were merely the hounds of the empire or venomous, silent snakes. Unlike ‘Roah’s Crimson Spear,’ they lacked the minimal chivalry or discipline to uphold; they were simply individuals obsessed with occultism and truth. If ‘Roah’s Crimson Spear’ represented the light of the empire, they were the darkness.

And that darkness had stirred…

“Why indeed? Have you witnessed us moving without orders?”

The man with the moss-colored hair at the forefront chuckled. Phaemore confirmed from that smile.

─It meant the royal involvement had commenced.

“Dungeon conquest is akin to a scholarly pursuit. If one does not attempt it despite it appearing impossible, enlightenment will forever remain elusive. Particularly now… when we are so close, right at the doorstep. Surely we’re not considering ending things in the middle of this scenario? We cannot resurrect the fallen Vern, but… surely, we weren’t planning to leave a masterpiece behind in the dungeon, were we?”

The man with the moss-colored hair maintained a consistent smile. It seemed so insincere that it bordered on provoking anger. He quietly awaited a response, yet nobody answered his query. After a silence, he continued.

“Those astute among you might already know, our presence here means… you all will soon pay dearly for your sins. Not only did you participate in the deaths of the heroes, but you also allowed the masterpiece cherished by His Majesty to be left in enemy territory. Yes. However, truth be told, there is much contemplation. If everyone present here perishes, who will manage the countless punitive expeditions of the empire? You are talents, after all.”

He added further.

“Oh, of course, the contemplation isn’t by His Imperial Majesty but Her Highness.”

Amidst the voice, a trace of laughter tickled the ears of the listeners. Still wearing an indifferent expression, the man continued.

“So, we proposed to Her Highness. We have a solution that can save all of you. Considering the noise you’ve been making, you might have an idea. Yes. Just conquer the ancient hub. Retrieve the lost masterpiece, ‘Tanabella.’ It’s quite simple.”

“But… who would conquer the dungeon that even Vern failed to…”

“Niphrim.”

“What?”

“We’ll deploy Niphrim.”

Silence enveloped the room. The reactions of those present in the chamber could be largely categorized into two. Either they kept their mouths shut because they didn’t understand or furrowed their brows as if they heard something they shouldn’t have.

“Isn’t that not such a good choice…?”

“Isn’t that a defective piece in many ways? Even if it’s been put to better use, I can’t possibly imagine Niphrim being stronger than Vern.”

“Ah, hahaha. It seems like… everyone is misunderstanding something here. Firstly, Niphrim is not a failed creation. It’s an undeniable success. It’s just that we haven’t reached our pursuit of the ‘perfect truth.’ Also, since this is akin to a scholarly pursuit, understanding the root cause is crucial for problem-solving. Why couldn’t Vern Hüschaltz and his comrades emerge alive from the ancient hub? Were they weak? Careless?”

“Then, would only someone stronger than Vern be able to survive in the Ancient Hub? Well, I don’t think so.”

The eerie moment’s atmosphere stiffened everyone.

“For Vern and his companions, there was decisively one thing lacking.”

With a mad grin, the man twirled his finger. His eyes held something incomprehensible, something that embedded itself in the mind, haunting it relentlessly.

“What Vern lacked, Niphrim possesses.”

As he finished speaking, a surprised and mocking laughter echoed through the chamber. The scholar of the ‘Third Eye,’ concluding his speech, stretched his arms wide. Faint footsteps were heard from beyond the entrance. All eyes, except the scholar’s, turned towards the source of the sound.

Soon after, the footsteps ceased at the threshold of the chamber. Niphrim, the owner of the steps, leaned against the door in a casual manner. His gaze into the chamber was chilling. Blonde with clear eyes and an unassuming figure, he seemed ordinary at first glance, but an eerie aura set him apart from the ordinary.

As he swept his long bangs aside, scars covering half his face became visible. Niphrim, after scanning everyone in the chamber, slowly spoke. A grim voice escaped through his grim lips.

“I was talking about myself, wasn’t I?”

As always, no answer came.

“Such anxious faces all around. Why so tense? Did I hit a nerve? Have I been spreading slander? Haha. What, was I saying something about being defective, about how I can’t do what Vernswa couldn’t do?”

Some contorted expressions were the entirety of the returning response.

“Ha, it seems like I struck a chord with these rotting faces unable to maintain composure.”

“…”

“Where’s all the noise you were making? Well, alright. If you won’t talk, I’ll do the talking for you. Fine, I’ve heard the overall explanation, so I’ll give you the gist. You all will die soon.”

There was no need to delve into detailed explanations.

The question of what they did wrong to deserve death was utterly meaningless. They had committed a grave crime, and that was the only concern.

“Exactly a week from now, execution for the common crime. It’s the decree passed by Her Highness, who you all so adore, so it’s up to you to decide if mercy is possible among yourselves.”

The point was simple.

“Well, you never really had a choice.”

Merely brushing aside the remnants was insufficient to cover the stigma of the heroes’ deaths and the loss of the masterpiece. The Empire intended to sever the thick roots, cutting even the top brass of the Dungeon Raid Union.

Since they were aware of the superiors’ intentions, there was no need for them to debate the re-expedition to the Primordial Core. They had shifted from worrying about the Dungeon Expedition’s goal of challenging the Ancient Hub to worrying about their own fate.

As if ghosts had passed, an absolute silence settled in the chamber. It was a different kind of silence from before, as if time had stopped entirely, not even a faint breath could be heard. Only Niphrim continued to smile amidst the suspended time, breathing as if alive.

“Well, that’s how it is.”

As if erasing the previous madness, he smiled with pure innocence.

“I’ll take care of it myself, so shut up and beg on your knees.”

Beneath the innocent smile, a whisper of grace echoed.

“Please, grant us salvation.”

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[Translator – Kie]

[Proofreader – Demon God]

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