Superb agility and precise swordsmanship combined to form an efficient killing blade.
The black-robed nun’s class, [Bloodbound Scholar], granted her terrifying insight. The cores buried deep within the decaying bodies of the [Root of Man] were hard to locate, but Maria’s clear eyes rarely missed their mark. No matter how well hidden, her faintly glowing sword-staff always found its target!
Because of that—
When she casually sliced through one grotesque [Root of Man] after another, it gave others the false impression that these abominable, nausea-inducing monsters weren’t all that threatening.
But in truth…
Crack!!
One unlucky player had his calf twisted off by a lightning-fast tentacle from a [Root of Man]. The crisp snap of bone echoed the monstrous strength behind the strike. Worse yet, so of the composite beasts could unleash dozens—sotis even hundreds—of tentacles at once!
Tentacles swung in frenzied, overlapping arcs.
Black, bulbous growths of unknown origin dotted the surface of these writhing limbs, exuding a mind-polluting horror. Anyone with trypophobia would be instantly paralyzed.
And with just [Apprentice]-level strength, facing these nightmarish creatures was futile. Even if you could stomach their grotesque appearance, you would soon discover your body couldn’t withstand the brute force of their writhing mass. Worse still, excessive contact with the [Root of Man] carried a high risk of [Abyss] contamination.
Most crucially—
These evolved [Root of Man] were fire-resistant! The fla grenades carried by the Initiate Followers barely ignited before being snuffed out by oozing pus. Even if fire caught on, it caused little real damage.
Without environntal or weapon advantages, these advanced [Root of Man] could suppress most [Iron]-rank classes.
“Huff… Huff!!”
Tyr’s lungs worked like bellows. Clutching his arming sword tightly, he felt imnse pressure mounting. He had to keep his eyes on every possible tentacle, listen for sound, sense the wind, and rely on pure instinct—all to avoid a sneak attack from so lurking horror.
These weren’t brainless beasts. The [Root of Man] displayed battlefield cunning: faking death, ambushing with hidden limbs, coordinating attacks.
Were it not for their bloated, sluggish bodies, Tyr and the others would already have been digested.
Their mission as Initiate [Followers] was simple—stall for ti.
Once those two monstrous NPCs finished cleaning out the inner periter, their inhuman power would crush everything on the outer edge.
“Left!”
Several players engaged with one of the monsters unleashed a synchronized barrage of vicious sword strikes. Their training at the Radiant Cathedral made such teamwork almost instinctual. The attacking tentacles were shredded. Phylin noticed his sword was pitted and corroded from the acidic ichor—his cold expression turned even grimr.
Even standard Church weapons couldn’t withstand prolonged exposure.
Recalling the nun’s falcon-like movents, Phylin gritted his teeth and approached Ralph. The stoic young man forced out three firm words:
“Give sword.”
“…Alright!”
Seeing the resolve in Phylin’s eyes, the sweat-soaked Ralph understood. He handed over his weapon and sprinted off with a segnted steel whip, hurling a fla jar to draw attention.
The [Root of Man], lured by the explosion, imdiately turned its focus to Ralph. Seizing the chance, Phylin crouched low and crept through the smoke-shrouded ruins to the monster’s flank, twin swords in hand.
“Cover him!!”
Noticing the maneuver, Tyr—now in command—clenched his fists.
Their coordinated effort succeeded in diverting attention.
These malford beings, freshly born from corruption, possessed a savage intelligence but weren’t fully sentient. Against the chaotic backdrop of battle, they failed to notice Phylin’s approach.
Through the mist, Phylin crept within five ters of the target. At that range, the imnse, two-story body of the [Root of Man] radiated an oppressive dread.
But Phylin triggered his innate player talent:
[No Retreat]—temporarily boosts all attributes, pushing the body to its limit without backlash. Grants temporary super-armor.
Power rose from the legs, channeled through the waist, focused in the arms!
A perfect flow. Unbroken. Unified.
Muscles surged. Phylin hurled the arming sword with full force! The air rippled as a pale shockwave burst forth.
The blade struck true—slicing through the monster like a balloon. Pus exploded in all directions.
By sheer luck or skill, the blade had struck its core.
Most of the organ was shredded. The thing remained barely alive, flailing its uncontrollable limbs. Gagging from the stench, Phylin stepped in and finished the job.
Success!
A flash of joy crossed his face—then a terrible noise scread behind him.
The whistling of an incoming tentacle.
‘What? It should be dead!’
Panic gripped Phylin. He couldn’t understand what had just happened behind him...
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