My heart skipped a beat.
Graham’s voice had changed… It was now distorted with a tone far deeper than his own, and sohow, it was disturbingly familiar. Then, his lips curled into an unnatural grin that didn’t match the rest of his expression.
He took a slow step toward , the ground that held him crumbling and withering beneath his feet. His wounds were still there—fatal enough to kill a man twice over—but they no longer bled. They were twitching.
“I t it in the tenth scenario… when I was in total despair, when I should’ve died,” he muttered. “It offered a piece of itself, and I accepted. It’s that simple…”
A sickening squelch echoed as black veins spread up his neck, threading through his arms like roots burrowing into flesh.
“But it didn’t forget you,” he hissed. “You desecrated its shrine in the second scenario. You stole the faith stored in the statue it left behind.”
Instantly, it clicked inside my mind. That statue—the one owned by the eldritch being that I’d drained of accumulated faith… The sa faith that had granted the legendary class no one else could claim, and unmatched by anything.
Of course.
However, this was Istellia’s domain. What was this thing thinking, revealing itself in the divine domain of a goddess, even if she was a newly born one? That was suicide—even for an eldritch being—especially with Raphael watching from above.
Or so I thought. I swiftly realized a peculiarity: By now, Raphael should have noticed this corruption and stepped in to extinguish it with all her might. She would never allow a foul presence like this to remain within Istellia’s divine kingdom.
For her not to do that ant that…
My gaze shot upward and found that Raphael was still hovering above, completely unaware of what was happening. Is it an illusion, then? No… impossible…
“It has watched you ever since,” Graham said, smiling with cracked, bloodied lips. “And now, it uses to take back what was stolen from it.”
The third eye throbbed rhythmically, and a ring of black haze pulsed outward from his body, distorting the air like ripples in tainted water. The sky above dimd unnaturally, like a filter had been cast over reality itself, and the crowd fell into absolute silence. The entire arena was quickly swallowed by that malicious, otherworldly energy.
“Shit!” I imdiately turned and sprinted toward the edge of the arena—toward the one corner where the black energy hadn’t yet reached. My boots pounded against the stone as I activated Wind Rush.
Unfortunately, I was too late. The creeping wave of corruption overtook the edge just as I was about to get out… I truly missed it by an inch.
“Escape is futile,” Graham growled in a voice that was barely human now. “Let’s finish this duel properly…” He extended a hand toward , and a twitching black tendril erged from his shoulder. “I’ll make you an offering to the Naless One.”
I gritted my teeth and raised my blade again, tightening my grip until my knuckles went white.
Just then, the sound of footsteps appeared behind . I turned and saw two dozen divine warriors flooding into the arena from all around—all of them Graham’s n. The sa ones who had blocked the path to the Hall of Classes.
None of them looked surprised. None of them looked afraid of Graham’s appearance. Their expressions were dazed, as though puppets dancing on invisible strings. It appeared that they had been mind-controlled.
Graham smirked and said, “I’ve made sure only divine warriors can enter the arena. I’ll give you a fair chance for others to join you, but there will be no interference from the divine. And there won’t be anyone stupid enough to help you.”
“Aren’t you afraid of what Istellia will do to you?”
“Afraid?” he chuckled darkly, extending his arms wide as if welcoming judgnt. “The Naless One has promised salvation—its domain, its power. What is there to fear?”
Welp, it seems that he has lost it.
Whatever this eldritch thing was, it had hollowed him out completely. Graham wasn’t the one speaking anymore; he had beco its vessel and a disposable pawn. A sliver of that being now festered inside him, and that fragnt could be cut loose at any mont. That was why it didn’t fear Istellia. If it got exposed, it would simply sever the tether and abandon Graham like shedding a worn-out shell.
This was bad. Really bad.
Graham was already much stronger than without that thing’s help. I wouldn’t be able to face him and his n alone…
“I know you can’t maintain this form for long,” I said, steadying my breath.
Graham’s third eye twitched, and he grinned. “So what?”
He took one step closer while his n followed in perfect, eerie unison. “Ten minutes is more than enough to kill you.”
I clenched my jaw, looking all around for any possible exit. Alas, the space was sealed shut, and Graham’s underlings were slowly circling , cutting off every angle of retreat.
“Is there no other choice but to use Fabled Vessel?” I muttered, frowning to myself.
Since the arena was completely sealed by this malevolent energy, using that skill here shouldn’t draw any scrutiny. With that thought in mind, I decided to bite the bullet and prepare to activate it. Better to take the risk than die doing nothing.
“Fa—”
But just as I was about to activate the skill—and as Graham raised his blade to signal the kill—a thunderous, all-too-familiar voice bood across the arena.
“Gahaha! Sorry I’m late, but your savior has arrived!”
This voice… Boris?
A massive silhouette dropped from above and slamd into the ground between and the encroaching warriors. The impact cracked the ground and sent a shockwave rippling outward, knocking several of Graham’s n off balance.
As the dust settled, I saw him clearly…
The person was indeed Boris, but his muscles looked denser and defined, like sculpted steel. A tallic gleam shimred over his body, and a silvery aura clung to his skin. Aside from that, he now wore a pair of pants that resembled proper battle gear, reinforced at the seams and held up by a belt adorned with a stylized knight’s helt as the buckle.
He raised his arms and bellowed, “Adamant Flesh: Steel Body!” His skin hardened instantly, taking on a steel-gray sheen just like a block of stainless steel.
Curious, I used Inspect Eye on him.
Boris Ivanovich Volkov
HP: 100%
Rank: Giml [3]
Patron God: Istellia (Goddess of Imagination)
Class: Iron Bastion
Total Attribute Points: 1,492
His class had changed to “Iron Bastion,” and it was a unique hidden class known only to a rare few who used their bodies as living shields. As far as I knew, it was a foundation class that could evolve into sothing far more dangerous and powerful with ti.
“Hope you didn’t start the party without us,” said another voice—Michelle, striding in from the opposite side, wielding a gleaming new pair of axes—one gold, the other silver. A sleek bow was strapped across her back.
“Michelle…?” I blinked, montarily caught off guard by her slight change in personality. She felt more confident than ever.
She gave a quick wink. “I’ve advanced to Magic Lumberjack, like you advised. Let show you how much I’ve grown.”
A burst of vibrant green mana spiraled around her as thick roots cracked through the stone and dirt beneath her shoes.
Boris rolled his shoulders and glanced at the enemy force. “These chumps? Not even good enough for a warm-up.”
Seeing them both here, ready to fight by my side, I exhaled in relief. With my allies now present, we could definitely survive more than ten minutes. And maybe, just maybe, we could win without the need for anyone’s help.
Graham clenched his fists, the third eye on his forehead pulsing furiously. “Foolish mortals! Coming here only to die? So be it.” His voice echoed unnaturally, distorted and filled with malice.
Boris cracked his neck once, then charged straight into the cluster of divine warriors without hesitation. The mont he moved, a ripple of force exploded beneath his feet.
“Steel Avalanche!” he roared.
His body beca a living battering ram as he bulldozed through the front line. Each thunderous step sent shockwaves rippling across the arena floor, knocking enemies off their balance. The first warrior who dared to block him raised a sword, only for Boris to slam his shoulder into the man’s chest and launch him through the air like a ragdoll.
“Aargh!” the man who was sent flying scread.
“That is insane…” I watched from the back, totally awestruck.
Just how high was Boris’s Strength stat to be able to fling fellow Giml-rank divine warriors like they were made of paper?
The others barely had ti to react before Boris’s fists started flying. Each blow landed with a heavy crunch, amplified by the weight of his steel-reinforced body. Bones cracked. Shields bent. His onslaught didn’t slow for a second.
And then there was Michelle, who was equally fierce, in her own way.
“Nature’s Split!” She slamd both axes into the ground, and in response, thick roots erupted beneath the enemy formation. Vines lashed out, entangling legs and weapons alike. The roots tightened violently, jerking several warriors off their feet.
“Aaah! The thorns—my skin! It hurts!”
“A vine? What’s happeni—?!” The man let out a scream, his face contorted in pain as he was wrenched, leg-first, into the air.
Even if it couldn’t completely dispel the mind control, it seed the pain was snapping them back to awareness, at least partially; the blank obedience on their faces slowly giving way to shock and confusion.
Without stopping, she switched to her bow and loosed a volley of arrows into the restrained targets, each striking true.
Unwilling to be left behind, I raised my sword high as wind gathered around the blade. “Windstorm!”
A shrieking gust burst forth from the strike, catching half a dozen of Graham’s n just as they attempted to reinforce the front line. The pressure lifted them off their feet, sending them tumbling across the arena like leaves caught in a hurricane.
But before I could press the advantage, a tearing sound echoed from the center of the arena. More black tendrils had begun to sprout from Graham’s back—dozens of them, slick and writhing like the limbs of so otherworldly beast. They curled around his body, piercing through his torn armor and coiling down his arms while pulsing eerily.
His skin blistered and cracked, turning ashen and leathery, like burnt flesh refusing to die. His body began to swell and distort, veins bulging unnaturally beneath the surface. Bone-like protrusions jutted from his shoulders and spine, splitting through skin as his jaw elongated into a grotesque snarl of warped teeth.
“What in the abomination… is this?” Boris muttered.
By this point, Graham had lost all traces of humanity. His eyes were empty and rolled back into his head, whereas his mind seed to have been swallowed whole. Whatever was left of him was now rely a shell, a puppet animated by the will of the eldritch being he had made a deal with. He truly had beco a monster.
[Eldritch Vessel, Graham – Lv.148]
A divine warrior who has surrendered his body to a fragnt of an unknowable eldritch being. Host to a sliver of the Naless One’s will, it serves as a temporary anchor for the being’s hatred and hunger. Its physical abilities far surpass mortal limits, and its body regenerates as long as corruption remains unpurged.
Threat Level: Impossibly High
The sight must have been so grotesque and disturbing that even the mind-controlled divine warriors faltered and hesitated. Even Boris, soone I knew had faced countless brutal battles, stood frozen in place with his jaw clenched.
My heart pounded in my chest as I tightened my grip on my sword. Every instinct scread at to run, but I held my ground. Just as I braced myself to face whatever this thing had beco, a familiar blue screen flashed in front of my eyes.
The effect of Grant Plausibility has ended.
All stat and skill enhancents have been removed.
The surge of strength vanished in an instant, causing my body to feel much heavier. The confidence I’d been leaning on crumbled like sand.
“Fuck, I’m dead.”
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