[Rotten Monk (???)]
[Level: 50]
-
[Physical: 13,500][ntal: 0][Will: 0]
—
Sylas ripped the Rotten Monk apart with his bare hands as though he had herculean strength. An outside observer would have thought his Physical was double that of the zombie, and yet it was nowhere near this.
With a calm gait, Sylas continued to walk forward.
Another spear ca for him, hidden in the darkness. It ca from an unexpected angle, and yet the mont it was about to touch Sylas' skin, it wilted away to ash.
The tip of the blade looked as though it had been crushed against Sylas' flesh, the zombie delivering its neck right to Sylas' palm.
With a squeeze, Sylas shattered its head, not stopping his forward progress in the slightest.
One after another, Rotten Monks wielding spears fell.
Their attacks were supposed to be hidden, hard to detect, and the number Sylas was facing only increased as he continued to walk forward—numbers ant to be faced by a squadron of 50 creeping up on him.
And yet, the result was the sa every ti.
What couldn't be seen were the waves of Rotten Monks that collapsed before even receiving a chance to attack Sylas in the first place.
The erosion of ti, a power of the Dungeon, seed to have beco all Sylas' own. This very sa power, that should have been the hidden ace and power-up of these Rotten Monks, was crushed in Sylas' palm just the sa.
And this ti, even though the Dungeon could sense that Sylas was manipulating its Runes, it didn't react in the sa way as the others had. That was because to the Dungeon… Sylas' Will was little different from the universe that birthed it.
This was the power of a Perfect Spark Seed.
Maybe the Dungeon wasn't even intelligent enough to tell in the first place that sothing was wrong with the way its Runes were functioning.
Sylas looked up.
Finally, the endless sea of darkness was suffused with hints of violet light. Up ahead, the Cathedral that was the nasake of this Dungeon appeared.
It lood with shingles of black iron and shining obsidian, its body pointed and jagged in all the ways it could manage. Countless towers ford its fra, flags worn by age and death waving in the water at their tips as though planted on tall mountains in heavy wind instead.
At its gates, there were a pair of guards that stood with a nacing air.
—
[Rotten Monk Giant (???)]
[Level: 50]
-
[Physical: 18,500][ntal: 0][Will: 0]
—
However, between Sylas and these giants was the moat that had sohow appeared at the bottom of this ocean. It looked like a heavy oil, sinking to the bottom rather than floating as one would expect, and it was sohow even blacker than the waters all around him.
The Rotten Monk Giants spotted Sylas in the darkness, seemingly feeling his existence. It was the Cathedral giving off such a wave of light, but they seed sharper than the earlier zombies, as though they, too, could feel the changes and twists in ti.
Both of them wielded saw blades that almost looked like war flags chained lengthwise to their polearms rather than along their widths.
When they raised them, the waters churned, and the moats seed to especially gain power and character.
The instant Sylas made it to the first side of the moat's bridge, the heavy oil of the moats rolled, rising up in snaking pillars that descended soon afterward like teors crashing toward the earth.
Sylas looked up.
This Dungeon certainly had a way of making people feel small. And yet, there was only the slightest flicker in Sylas' eyes.
For that mont, it felt like the world was in the palm of his hands. Rune Mastery… it was truly the path of a god.
And a part of him really, really liked that.
The pillars, once as heavy as mountains, shattered apart into a scattered rain, the Runes forming them crumbling as Sylas unraveled them.
But the instant they were ripped out of the control of the Rotten Monk Giants, Sylas' irises flashed, their wiggling shades of various erald and green, foresty colors surging.
The pillars were reford, snapping together in the depths in two masses of javelins as large as a hundred ters in length—and yet being far heavier than they were enormous.
The giants only had ti to blink a single ti.
Reality seed to distort, ti bending. In that instant, it felt as though the javelins had never crossed the distance in the first place; it was like, from the very start, they had always been pierced right through the chests of the pair of giants.
Then, they crumbled to ash.
At so unknown ti, Sylas had already crossed the bridge, the ashy rain of what remained of the pair of giant zombies falling above him as though a welcoming confetti.
He pressed his palms forward and pushed. The creaking doors of the Cathedral ended with a BOOM, slamming open.
The howl of a cold wind crept across Sylas' skin, his body feeling as though silky strands of ice were sliding across him.
The ghosts of banshees floated through the air, a small army standing before him.
—
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[Elite Abyssal Knight (???)]
[Level: 50]
-
[Physical: 19,000][ntal: 0][Will: 0]
—
Behind the Elite Abyssal Knight, a series of knights with Physicals just 500 weaker than the giants on the outside stood. But as though that wasn't enough— Sylas looked up.
—
[Abyssal Banshee (???)]
[Level: 50]
-
[Physical: 0][ntal: 15,000][Will: 15,000]
—
Every ti they swept down, passing through his body, they seed to snatch a bit more from him.
Suddenly, Sylas reached out as another banshee was about to pass through him and leave.
He gripped onto its head as though it was solid and squeezed down.
The banshee unleashed a shriek that peeled the paint from the rotting walls of black, and yet it seed to reflect away from Sylas' ears as though it didn't exist at all.
Sylas' hand squeezed down and shattered it to pieces.
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