Chapter 169: Demonic Palace (3)

Two days had passed since the adventurers entered the Demonic Palace.

Normally, most parties would be complaining of physical and mental fatigue by now, but Harang’s party was different.

The reason?

Harang’s contribution was the greatest.

Slaughtering every visible enemy like a baby goblin, he left no room for his party to feel burdened.

At first, his dominance left them struggling to find their roles, but now they adeptly covered areas he missed, their synergy reaching new heights.

With such comfortable conditions and accumulating loot, motivation naturally arose.

‘At this rate… I could retire after this one job.’

‘They said anything in the Demonic Palace can be converted to points. The byproducts we’ve collected are already worth a fortune.’

‘Not just monster byproducts—we got gear from the treasure room too. They’re corrupted by Magi, but that’s the Magic Tower’s problem. I just need the points. Not having to deal with aftermath is great.’

Even hygiene was top-notch.

Normally, after half a day of dungeon exploration, adventurers’ discomfort peaks, covered in sweat, monster blood, and dungeon dirt, causing immense stress.

But Harang’s party was an exception. Thanks to Allen Meir’s water spirits, they stayed clean after every battle.

Even their sleeping arrangements were excellent.

“Oh, this is super comfy.”

“Right? It rivals a high-end inn’s bed… Is this really made of earth? I didn’t know Spirit Masters could do this.”

“Don’t compare me to brainless combat Spirit Masters. I’m different. Studying these aspects improves combat efficiency, but people don’t get it.”

“I agree. Man, I wish every party was like this.”

Elf archer Queir threw herself onto the earth bed, and Shylock nodded in agreement.

Harang felt the same.

Thanks to the village’s harsh training, he could go days without sleep, but that didn’t mean a good bed wasn’t welcome.

More pleasing was the party’s warm atmosphere.

They explored the Demonic Palace harmoniously, as if their earlier fights never happened.

Seeing this, Harang smiled faintly and thought.

‘At this rate, I might get an Artifact-grade sword without monopolizing points.’

Of course, to be certain, they needed to defeat the Crack Keeper or the Ancient Magician, likely a lich.

Ideally, both, for maximum rewards, but that depended on luck, with nine other competing parties roaming the Demonic Palace.

‘I don’t think all nine are strong enough to handle boss monsters…’

In that case, two parties might team up against a boss.

That would reduce rewards, but half was better than nothing.

‘I don’t want to lose the initiative like that.’

With that thought, Harang shared his idea with the party, suggesting they move faster.

But the other three dismissed the idea of cooperation.

“Cooperation? More likely they’ll ambush us for loot.”

“Ambush?”

“Yes. Killing monsters and mining rare materials is great, but it’s easier to attack an unsuspecting party. You can take their loot and subspace pouches too.”

“But the recording equipment… Oh! Just destroy it.”

“Exactly. I don’t recall any wanted criminals among the briefing attendees, but… you never know. Gold and treasures blind people. We should be cautious.”

“Hmph! If anyone tries that, I’ll put an arrow through their groin!”

“Same here. I’ll tear their limbs off with earth spirits.”

“Wow… the ladies are fierce. I’m just planning to cleanly stick a dagger in their forehead. Though Harang will probably wipe them out first.”

“That’s true.”

“Haha, no party in the Demonic Palace is stronger than ours!”

The party chatted with relaxed expressions.

It was only natural.

Seeing Harang’s performance, anyone would think so.

He cut down seven Death Knights—Graduate-level threats—in an instant.

He effortlessly slaughtered tricky monsters like Dark Swarms and One-Eyed Rock Bat hybrids.

And that was just a fraction.

Listing all the monsters he’d killed could fill a dictionary.

‘His eyes and ears are sharp. His sense of smell too…’

‘How can he have better senses than a Rogue guild elder or an elf?’

‘The most absurd part is his age. It could be magical disguise, but… a disguise so perfect I can’t detect it would require a Magic Tower elder. Why bother?’

It was a shared thought.

But that wasn’t important now.

What mattered was that their party was progressing faster than anyone.

Despite slaying countless monsters, they were still in peak condition.

And finally…

“…This must be it.”

“Indeed. The atmosphere is distinctly different.”

“Crack Keeper or Ancient Magician… which one is it?”

“Neither can be underestimated. Let’s go in prepared.”

They were the first to reach the entrance to what seemed like the boss room.

Fortunately, they had time to prepare.

If the boss had appeared suddenly in the field, the damage would’ve been significant, but a boss waiting quietly in a room was different.

“Let’s use scrolls generously.”

“It’s modest, but I’ll add a wind blessing. It’s a Psy Forest elf secret, though I’m not a Spirit Master, so it’s not top-tier.”

“Take your time preparing. I’ll keep watch. Not that it’s necessary with Harang here…”

Protection scrolls for vitality and defense, wind blessings for agility, and various buff skills and items were used without hesitation.

Watching them, Harang thought party play wasn’t so bad.

If their skills were too lacking, they’d be burdens, but these three did their best to contribute.

That pleased him.

It was a rare sight, even in the village or the outside world.

‘Let’s keep this good atmosphere going.’

With that thought, Harang closed his eyes.

He began reviewing everything he’d learned.

Techniques from the village.

Tricks from the Beggar Old Man.

Broad perspective and senses honed with the mercenary corps.

Combat experience from countless battles.

Self-confidence taught by Ulrik.

Delkaro’s Aura Cultivation Method and its applications.

‘And… blending emotions into swordsmanship.’

That was the hardest.

He didn’t lack technical skill, but the emotional fuel was still insufficient.

He needed something deeper, richer, more intense.

For now, that was out of reach.

‘Fine. Don’t dwell on what I can’t access now.’

Flash-!

Harang opened his eyes.

He stared at the tightly shut boss room door, which somehow felt like it would open easily with a touch.

The other three swallowed hard, seeing his gaze, and steeled themselves.

They couldn’t be a burden.

Even if they couldn’t be the party’s top contributor, they had to avoid holding Harang back.

Standing behind him, they aligned themselves.

“Let’s go.”

No one answered.

But their eyes spoke.

Receiving their gazes, Harang stepped forward without hesitation and touched the entrance.

Grind grind grind-!

The door split open, revealing the interior.

A smooth, artificially crafted dome-shaped space.

Magic lamps, pillar-like decorations, and unknown ores jutting from the ground dazzled the party.

But only briefly.

The massive entity at the center of the boss room.

A black hound, exuding the presence of a hellish guardian, stole all their attention.

Roooaaar-!

“…”

“…”

“…”

A deafening roar filled the chamber.

The party froze, paralyzed by the Fear attack woven into the sound.

‘Damn it! It’s far worse than expected! Did the Magic Tower know and send us as sacrificial lambs?’

Allen Meir looked at the Hell Hound with terrified eyes.

She wanted to look away, to avoid its molten-lava-like eyes, but her trembling body could only quiver. Queir was the same.

Fortunately, not everyone was paralyzed.

Bleeding from his mouth, Shylock shouted.

“Bite your tongue! Resist the mental attack with pain!”

“…”

“…”

Though they couldn’t move their limbs, they could bite their tongues. Allen Meir and Queir clenched their teeth just enough to avoid serious injury, freeing themselves from the confusion.

Regaining control, they checked on each other.

But.

“He’s gone!”

“What?”

“Where’s Harang?”

Harang was nowhere to be seen, plunging them into shock.

It was inevitable.

Despite being the youngest, he had become the party’s emotional pillar.

His absence, after always handling every crisis with composure, shook even these veteran adventurers.

But.

Swoosh-

Their worries were unfounded.

Wooooooong-!

A black figure appeared at the Hell Hound’s neck.

Yet the sword he held gleamed brilliantly.

‘One strike to end it!’

Shweeeek-!

Harang, manifesting a sharp, massive grayish-white Aura, swung with all his might. The Hell Hound, sensing the threat, stopped its Fear attack and turned, but it was too late.

Slash-!

The Demonic Palace’s boss, a Hell Hound larger than an elephant, radiating a dragon-like presence, fell pathetically, like a convict at the guillotine, without a chance to act.

“…!”

“Crazy…”

“In one hit…!”

Allen Meir and the others stared at Harang in disbelief.

They thought they couldn’t win.

Four Graduate-level fighters couldn’t possibly defeat such a formidable foe.

It was a miscalculation.

Overblown worry.

Harang’s terrifying performance proved their concerns were wasted energy. Though they’d never seen one, it felt like a Sword Master’s feat.

Of course, it wasn’t easy for Harang either.

He felt he’d used every ounce of his Aura, every cell’s strength.

Knowing a prolonged fight would be disadvantageous, he’d poured everything into this one strike.

“Phew…”

Exhaling heavily, Harang looked at his party and grinned.

He felt good.

Though his legs trembled from exhaustion, a short rest would recover him.

‘So, I should ask them to keep watch for a bit…’

Swoosh-

His thoughts stopped.

A danger signal in his head rang louder than when facing the Hell Hound!

He quickly turned. A completed Aura Sword was already emanating from the swung blade.

But he was a bit late.

The blood-red sword struck before he could assume a perfect stance, sending him crashing into the boss room’s wall.

Boom-!

“Ugh…!”

Pushing through the dust, Harang emerged.

He wasn’t in good shape.

The situation wasn’t either.

Against most foes, he could handle this condition, but seeing the assailant’s familiar face eroded his confidence.

“Harang.”

She called his name.

The figure, now free of her disguise, with blood-red hair instead of brown, spoke.

“You’ve gotten weaker.”

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.