(Third POV)
Unease clung to the rescue team like the mist curling through the tunnels. Whatever this place was, it wasn't a normal labyrinth—and they all felt it in their bones.
It had been shaped by a child's blessing, after all. As Roxy mentioned, the thunderstorm above manifested Rudeus's memory of his graduation ceremony when he was five. Still, something about this place made everyone unsettled.
The creatures they had encountered so far were strange—humanoid Pax Coyotes and overgrown Acid Wolves. Nothing else had appeared on this floor, which alone wasn't calming.
Paul yanked his sword from the corpse of yet another twisted, two-legged canine. As he wiped the blade clean, the strange white fire began to consume the body, crackling silently.
As he scans the tunnels again, the bioluminescent moss lighting his sight, one question flies through his head constantly.
"Is this place really considered S-rank?" he asked, his voice echoing. "Feels like there's nothing but these twisted dog monsters any average adventurer party should be able to handle."
Roxy flipped through her notebook, scanning its contents for a possible explanation until she found something logical.
"It's because of the distribution the Labyrinth used to settle on," she explained. "At the time of its creation, many monsters from far and wide were attracted to it. But there wasn't much room, and they had to take territory into separate chambers until the Labyrinth grew, and they could scatter to the lower floors. This section houses the weaker ones who took territory after the stronger ones went below."
"If this is just the first floor," Zenith began. "Then, what are the floors below like?"
"Kagami doesn't know any details, but each floor has different terrain, and the monster adapts through Rudy's blessing. They might be even stranger than the canine ones we've encountered so far."
"I see," Ruijerd said thoughtfully. "That explains why Kagami told me to wait. I would have struggled had I gone alone in such a cramped space with many monsters to fend off."
Paul blinked in surprise. For someone like Ruijerd to admit that… it meant more than he'd realized. He always thought the warrior was beyond mortal concern—able to read battle rhythm like a second language. But even Ruijerd understood the danger of being overwhelmed.
When the labyrinth first formed, the tunnels must have overflowed with monsters, slaughtering adventurers before they could react, let alone retreat. With their souls incinerated, the Labyrinth expanded, pushing the creatures further apart but also making them stronger.
Paul hated to admit it, but Kagami had been right to delay arrival. Yet, that didn't ease his concerns about his son's possible change in nature. His thoughts drifted back to a dream he had a few days prior, but he dismissed it. It was merely a dream- nothing more.
***
They continued navigating the tunnels, searching for the entrance to the lower levels. After another hour, they finally found something that resembled an entrance—a grand passageway flanked by towering pillars like an ancient ruin.
At each side of the entrance, towering, rotting figures stood guard—nearly eight feet tall, clad in rusted armor and wielding cleavers larger than most men. Their empty eye sockets glowed faintly beneath dented helmets, and the smell of decay clung to them like a second skin.
"Executioners," Ruijerd muttered from the shadows. "Fallen adventurers who have become monsters. They wield their weapons with precision but slow on their feet."
Paul stepped forward, eyes narrowing. "Ghislaine, take the left—I'll handle the right. Ruijerd, back us up when you see an opening. Elinalise, guard Zenith, and Roxy. Roxy—do what you do best. Hit 'em hard from behind."
Everyone nodded, and Paul and Ghislaine gripped their weapons and dashed into the open.
The Executioners reacted instantly to their intruders, their rusted armor groaning as they raised their massive blades. Despite their supposed lack of speed, the sheer weight and reach of their weapons made them formidable foes.
Paul charged the Executioner on the right, his stance low, ready to weave beneath the blade. Beside him, Ghislaine was already in motion—a blur of muscle and steel, her sword angled for the kill before he'd even gotten close.
The Executioner's blades came down in unison. Paul sidestepped just in time, feeling the gust of air as the massive weapon cleaved into the stone floor, sending shards flying. He struck at the rusted and brittle-looking armor, but instead of cutting through, the armor deflected his strike.
"Tch! Too tough," he muttered.
Across the battlefield, Ghislaine stepped aside her foe's swing, aiming her sword for the gaps in its armor. Her blade found purchase, slicing into its knee joint, but the Executioner barely faltered. It twisted unnaturally, redirecting its swing with unrelenting force at her. Ghislaine barely managed to leap back in time, her surprise at the unprecedented force and reaction speed making her brow furrow.
Ruijerd moved swiftly to assist, his spear darting forward like lightning, piercing an exposed shoulder joint—a precise hit. However, the undead warrior let out a ghastly groan while shifting its cleaver to the opposite hand, swinging with immense force that compelled Ruijerd to back away.
"These things won't go down easy. They are fast to counter," Ruijerd observed grimly.
The Executioner Ghislaine had wounded let out a guttural screech—wet and broken, like metal grinding through flesh. It lurched backward, limbs convulsing, before launching forward with a burst of speed that belied its decaying frame.
Ghislaine's eyes widened as it lunged. She met the attack head-on, her blade colliding with its cleaver in a screech of metal. Sparks flew as the weapons clashed. She twisted her body, shifting her weight to the side to avoid a crushing elbow swing, then drove her sword into its neck, forcing it back several paces. But still, it didn't fall, and instead twisted its body to swing its cleaver at her once more without meeting its intended target.
"Persistent bastard," she muttered.
Meanwhile, Paul gritted his teeth as the creature hunched low, its limbs snapping into twisted angles. Each swing now came from bizarre, unpredictable directions that forced him on the defensive.
One blow barely missed his side, his Touki blocking the edge from injuring him but sending him stumbling back.
Ruijerd surged forward again, leaping between Paul and the Executioner, spinning his spear like a whirlwind. He struck low—ankle, knee, thigh—each blow perfectly placed to disable. As the Executioner faltered, he slammed the shaft of his weapon into its helm, sending it staggering.
"Now!"
Paul didn't hesitate—he drove his sword into the creature's neck, steel screaming against rusted metal. The blade sank in deep, but not deep enough. With a guttural roar, the monster thrashed, and a backhanded swing sent Paul flying.
He crashed against one of the pillars, but thanks to the density of his Touki, the impact was not as jarring as it should have been.
He rolled to his feet just in time to see the Executioner stagger forward, blade dragging a deep gouge in the floor as it swung it behind itself.
Paul dodged the swing and dashed back in, pivoting on his heel to slice across the Executioner's back, first with his short sword to break the armor and then with his longsword to cut the flesh.
This time, the blade struck true, cracking through the spine. The monster dropped to one knee—but still, it refused to fall.
From behind the frontlines, Roxy raised her staff. Her blue eyes narrowed with focus, lips moving quickly as she cast her spell after finishing the incantation.
"[Icicle Lance]!"
An ice spike shot ahead, sparkling as it propelled itself and struck the Executioner dueling Ghislaine. It embedded deep into its exposed shoulder joint, another into the side of its skull. The creature faltered, its movements growing erratic—but still didn't fall.
"More!" Paul shouted.
Roxy didn't wait. Her stance widened slightly, staff glowing brighter once she finished the incantation to another spell.
"[Icicle Break]!"
The air chilled in an instant. A barrage of razor-sharp ice bolts erupted from her staff in a rapid volley. The Executioner Paul had wounded was pelted relentlessly—ice shards piercing its joints, chest, and face in a deadly rhythm. Each impact chipped away at armor and bone, freezing bits of decaying flesh on contact.
Smoke-like frost hung in the air as the barrage ended. The Executioner was a half-frozen wreck, armor split open, one leg nearly buckled—but still standing, driven by some unseen will.
"How are they keeping themselves together after all of this?" Roxy muttered in disbelief.
Dust and fragments of stone filled the air as the group regrouped. The two Executioners hunched, injured but far from finished, their heads turned unnaturally in unison, the eerie groan of metal and rotted bone echoing through the chamber.
Then, a rattling sound filled the chamber. Paul turned his head slightly, his grip tightening as skeletal figures emerged from the shadows. Some wore tattered armor, others wielded rusted weapons, but all possessed an eerie glow in their hollow eye sockets. It was an undead troupe of at least ten.
"I'll deal with them!" Roxy's voice rang out. "I need a few moments to prepare a large-scale spell!"
Elinalise stood before Roxy and Zenith as the skeleton horde swarmed forward.
The first skeleton lunged, its rusted sword raised high. Elinalise met it with a sideways swipe of her blade, cleaving it clean in half. Another came from the left—she pivoted, ducked under its thrust, and drove her sword into its pelvis, splitting the spine.
Yet more pressed forward. She blocked a strike with her vambrace and kicked the attacker backward.
"Roxy, now would be great!" Elinalise shouted, parrying a blow with a clang that rattled her teeth as three more skeletons lurched closer.
Meanwhile, Paul refocused on his opponent. The Executioner raised its cleaver again, and Paul drew his secondary sword.
As the Executioner swung, Paul dashed in low, striking first with his secondary sword to cut the rusted plate. Then, without hesitation, he brought his primary sword down, slicing through the broken armor and cutting into the rotten flesh as if it were paper. The blade cleaved through the exposed bone, severing the Executioner's arm.
The undead adventurer reeled as its severed arm crashed to the floor, the massive cleaver clattering beside it with a finality that should have ended the fight.
It dropped to one knee, groaning—a grotesque sound that echoed unnaturally in the vast chamber.
Paul didn't hesitate. He plunged his primary sword into the monster's exposed chest cavity and kicked off it to backflip away. He landed in a crouch, blade ready. Behind him, the Executioner slumped fully to the floor, unmoving for now.
But then the air shifted—an unnatural chill slithered down Paul's spine, and the fine hairs on his arms bristled like they sensed a predator watching from the dark.
A deafening boom echoed through the chamber as blue light burst outward in a tidal wave of arcane energy. At its heart stood Roxy, her voice sharp and commanding—
"[Blizzard Storm]!"
Everyone moved to regroup behind her without hesitation.
Shards of ice, bigger than those from the previous spell, shot in all directions, breaking apart the undead army in seconds as the shattered ice left behind another fog.
Paul exhaled in relief—until he saw movement within the fog.
The shattered bones trembled. The Executioners, nearly defeated moments ago, lurched upright, their severed limbs reattaching. The skeletons reassembled, the eerie glow reigniting in their eye sockets.
One skeleton, missing its jaw, clacked its teeth together as if trying to speak. Another—split in half—used its hands to drag itself toward Elinalise. Bone slid against stone with an awful scraping sound.
"What?! That should've wiped them out!" Roxy gasped, her eyes darting over the creepy scene before her.
"They're regenerating," Ruijerd shouted out, gripping his spear tightly and positioning himself in front of the group.
Paul's stomach twisted. "Something's bringing them back," he realized aloud.
But when Paul considered the signs, he realized what monster they were dealing with. He once read about a type of monster that stayed hidden as it commanded soldiers of skeletons, which would explain this chilling feeling he had a moment ago.
"A Wraith," he hissed. "There has to be one nearby. It's controlling them—these Executioners must be part of its army."
The fight had just become significantly more complicated.
No matter how many times the undead were cut down, they rose again. The Executioners reattached their severed limbs with unnatural ease, and the skeletons that Roxy had obliterated only moments ago were already back on their feet, weapons despite broken, once more in hand.
As long as the Wraith remained, the fight could go on forever.
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