That which is hard to obtain—I think it is a friend. A true friend who genuinely cares for you. Are there many things in this world rarer than a true friend, one who will draw their blade in a moment of need and wager their life for your sake?
“Shit, you bastard!”
Uttering words he would never normally speak, my companion moved with such grace and refinement that I found it beautiful. Erih of Königsstuhl, who treats me as a friend, who allows me to call him such, was truly magnificent.
A single downward swing deflected the sword strike that should have come first, dislodging the wrist of the reanimated corpse. He turned his neck slightly to avoid the spray of blood, casually severing the reanimated hand with a kick while simultaneously striking the jaw of another corpse approaching from behind with his elbow.
The jaw shattered under the assault from his elbow armored with boiled leather and studs, forcing the corpse attempting to stab him from behind with a dagger to stumble back. The corpse that received a kick to the solar plexus collapsed onto its back, gazing up at the heavens.
I readied my staff and commenced the incantation that I usually omit out of laziness. Magic and sorcery both—layering assistance to ensure harmony with the world can somewhat alleviate the exhaustion that comes with their use.
There’s a trend in the Threefold Empire among mages that considers verbal incantations grandiose and unbecoming. But if it’s for the sake of a friend, I’d do anything.
“The foundation stone, the pillar, the beam, the crossbeam, and yet still, it’s not enough. We need the steadfast guardian who does not falter.”
I channeled my magical power to construct a spell, with the spoken incantation aiding in bending the world’s natural order. I built a spell to “entwine” the dead bodies retreating toward the wall into a pillar.
They say that those aspiring to be construct mages like myself lack direct combat abilities. Yet there are countless ways to engage. Especially when it comes to distorting and manipulating the compositions of wooden structures like beams and pillars—crafting obstacles to ensnare others is one of our specialties. In an indoor setting, we can be quite formidable when it comes to ensnaring our foes.
“Give it a pipe to hold, let it steep tea, and watch it with unblinking eyes through the night!”
Using the verbal incantation, I enforced the concept of making a human pillar, increasing the binding’s efficacy. Unsurprisingly, because they were “already dead” in the first place and thus weak against magic, the undead were quickly swallowed by the pillar.
“Made it, Mika!”
“Yeah! Leave the back to me!”
There was no need to worry about the corpse whose body was already half consumed and still being devoured by the pillar. What was more, the smile of joy on my friend’s face from such a small act of support was dazzling.
This ante-chamber filled with reanimated corpses was the third room we’ve encountered. Erih handled the first with ease, moving on to the second where the number of corpses grew to three but he seemed not overly taxed. His ability to deflect attacks and use them against other enemies was beautifully precise.
Even in this room, his blade showed no sign of wear. Despite the number of corpses growing to five and forming a rather unfavorable encirclement, he had already dealt with two. I worked to reduce the number he was up against by erecting barriers, trying my best to restrain them. It may have been small assistance, but if it meant protecting him from the reach of the dead, I was willing to be his shield.
The headache signaling my waning magical power creeping into my temples was no great matter.
Just now, there he went again. Though deflecting a spear with a sword should be quite difficult, he smoothly caught the spear mid-thrust, then raced forward while keeping his blade aligned with the spear’s shaft. Before the opponent could recover or retreat, his left-hand dagger found its way to the opponent’s side, severing the tendon.
It was magnificent. With a dance-like fluidity, never pausing for a moment, he relentlessly pursued his foe. Having severed the tendon in the now-useless right hand, the spear clattered to the floor. Then, with a light movement of the sword, he pierced the tendon in the left flank as well, making it so “unseen hands” could retrieve the spear.
What should be mundane, everyday magic in his hands became a spell of indescribable beauty. The spear, forcefully wielded, writhed for a moment before propelling the torso of the armored corpse, which had just lost its head, into the wall, pinning it there cruciform. When the struggling corpse tried to free itself, Erih twisted the spear handle at a right angle, preventing its release, his caution when he has allies behind him truly admirable.
“Phew… all five… complete…”
He methodically disassembled the last corpse that had been incapacitated, finally ending the fight in this room.
My friend’s combat was steadfast. Though his flow appeared elegant and refined, it was entirely free of any unnecessary adornment and relentlessly focused on “elimination.” Watching such dedication to purpose was awe-inspiring.
Nothing like the heroic tales sung by bards in plays—no grand swing leaving enemies in pieces. His sword was swung faithfully and surely, protecting himself and felling foes. It formed a solemn resolve in every swing, ensuring that no blade could reach the person behind him.
Ah, Erih, my friend. You’re such a good guy.
You call someone like me a friend, let me call you the same, and you fight risking your life to return home together. Even though I’ve become such a burden…
“Mika, you’re looking a little pale. Here, have some water.”
“But Erih, there’s hardly any water left in the leather flask…”
“It doesn’t matter. In the worst case, I can extract some from the air. Drink, it’s a small price to pay compared to you collapsing.”
You must be exhausted too, having been fighting continuously while wearing heavy armor and swinging a sword. There’s no way you wouldn’t be tired or have a dry throat.
And yet…
I accepted his kindness and took a sip, but his gaze urged me for more, and soon I couldn’t stop. Before I realized it, I had taken a third and fourth sip, and the flask, which had already been light, grew even lighter.
I’ve done it now. My magical power’s drain might not reflect serious physical wear, but…
“What’s this? You left me some? Thank you.”
Holding a flask with barely one or two sips left, he didn’t utter a single complaint as he drank, then casually filled it again with an air-based water creation spell. Even though we don’t know how much lies ahead, he’s using precious magical power on this—despite the flask being more valuable than gold coins right now.
Then, I must push on too. The headache is still mild, and drinking has improved things a bit. With oral incantation assistance, I can still do much more.
If you’re risking your life for me, I’ll stake my life for you too.
That’s what friendship means, I believe…
———-
Somewhere after starting the dungeon crawl, I feel Erih’s eyes burning with a feverish intensity.
It might be my imagination, but the way Mika guards my back feels slightly off. Though I can’t exactly describe the change in words, I’m certain it’s not his usual manner.
Is it similar to my own state when emotions get the better of me and curses I shouldn’t say around my parents slip out during high-intensity combat?
I might not be the one to judge. Even with my limited experience in genuinely high-stakes combat—countable on one hand—I’ve still felt the adrenaline rush. First-time dungeon exploration coupled with close-range combat could only amplify that.
“Well, shall we proceed?”
“Sure, Erih. Let’s see what’s next!”
Encouraged by my friend’s cheerful, somewhat clichéd lines—was it from a movie or a novel?—I moved into the next door.
“Wow…”
And an involuntary groan escaped my lips.
The spacious room, as if multiple rooms had been copied and extended, held “seven” moving corpses standing in line before us. This is exhausting already.
It would’ve been easier if they were part of a troop or a generic mob collectively counted as one enemy. Regular mobs typically serve as obstacles keeping the back line safe or as meat shields for larger bosses, hence they’re low-power and easily dispelled.
But these animated corpses in the mausoleum are quite different.
Each one is powerful enough that dismissing them as mere cannon fodder is impossible. The balance master, whoever they may be, didn’t adjust things well. We’re just two people, after all.
Upon observing them, every one of them was clearly armed. Though some limbs or heads were missing, they’ve compensated by grafting on something in their place.
Moreover, their weapons and armor weren’t bad. And as we progressed through the rooms, their numbers and skill level increased, making the purpose increasingly clear.
This was an arena.
Whoever made this and for what purpose, I couldn’t tell. But the purpose here was, without a doubt, to gauge the abilities of those who dared to enter and how far they could endure as the difficulty gradually increased. I can only hope this isn’t some endless game where the test subjects are simply observed until they die.
Game Masters who set up unplayable challenges are terrible. Though I’ve consistently aimed to avoid creating scenarios that can only be cleared through telepathy or inside knowledge, I’ve played through various systems. Unfortunately, the rules I followed don’t apply here.
Our enemies come straight at us with lethal intent.
The work of GMs is essentially to “fall graciously” and be defeated in style, much like a recurring villain facing off against our bread-and-butter hero.
The tension is fine, the torment is fine, even a rare victory is fine, but ultimately, getting blown away while screaming dramatically and disappearing is the job. After all, GMs have infinite resources to draw on. If they wanted to win, they surely could—but what would be the point?
Only PLs (Players) can truly say that losing after a near-balanced battle was fun. That’s why GMs exist to be defeated, to entertain players through scenarios, and to enjoy their role-playing in return.
But the foes in this world completely lack any understanding of entertainment. The monsters in the first dungeon I faced would’ve wiped me out in under two minutes without some pretty powerful abilities. The bandits I fought earlier were serious enough to take down guarded merchant caravans.
Ah, that’s right, these aren’t NPCs controlled by GMs; these are PLs, each and every one a Player Character (PC) who won’t hesitate to kill us.
That logic undoubtedly applies to whoever—or whatever—created this place.
“Haha… this is quite… impressive, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, it is… but I feel like I might break a little.”
The expansive room held seven animated corpses arranged in two columns of three, swords raised as if guarding the path to the final figure in the back. Each of them, whether male or female and their differing armors and sword types, unmistakably exuded competence in their posture alone.
In the very back, sitting on a dilapidated throne, cradling a sword as if it were a treasured artifact, sat the figure that could have been the original adventurer. The skin clinging to his skeletal frame looked like dried bark, and the tall man had a rich gray beard and hair.
Contrasting with his tattered clothes, the small-scale armor he wore, though worn, was clearly of high quality. But most importantly, the weapon he cradled was truly alarming.
Placing the blade into the chair’s surface, he hugged it as if it were a treasure of great value. Even in the dim light, this sword asserted its presence loudly, embodying a strange paradox—it was black, yet seemed to glow. It was an impressive Zweihänder, judging by the length of its blade alone.
Now’s not the time to question whether this is from the 16th century or not. Likely, the world has seen countless adventurers do countless things, so pondering the time period of objects doesn’t have much meaning anymore.
Above all, the sword’s abnormality stood out. The glossy black blade, the slightly worn patterns carved into its grooves, and an oppressive sensation that seemed to squeeze your stomach—it was clearly an ominous artifact, comparable in impact to the book we saw yesterday if asked to choose between the two.
“That’s the core… right?”
Mika voiced an obvious deduction as if trying to convince himself. A top-tier cursed item capable of distorting space and creating a labyrinth surely wouldn’t serve as a mere extra or background character.
“It’s hard to imagine anything worse… though we can’t completely rule it out either.”
Indeed, occasionally, high-level bosses randomly appear as normal encounters in the final dungeon, so we can’t make sweeping conclusions.
“Let’s not indulge in too much pessimism there, my friend.”
“Casually letting down our guard when we see the finish line is dangerous too, my friend.”
After our final exchange, stepping forward prompted the six standing corpses, like loyal retainers protecting their lord, to turn and ready their weapons.
Alright, this is the climax. Let’s get pumped! We probably won’t get a second character sheet…
———
【Tips】 The symptoms of magical exhaustion are classified into five stages: one, mild dizziness; two, a constricting headache; three, severe headache or fainting; four, bleeding from the ears or nose; and five, certain “brain dysfunction.”
Traversing a mausoleum generally requires either destroying or obtaining the artifact that serves as its core.
