The gargoyle cut through the sky like a living shadow, wings stretched wide, each beat sending a thunderous ripple through the air. Below, every monster they passed lowered its head, so kneeling outright, as though acknowledging their ruler.
Jack dangled in the gargoyle's iron grip, the wind howling past his ears. Each ti he opened his mouth to scream, the rushing air forced itself down his throat until it burned, choking him in a rhythm of breathless panic.
By the ti they descended and he was set down at the dungeon's entrance, he felt the giddy relief of a man who had stared death in the eye and sohow walked away.
That relief soured when his mind caught up with reality—he had signed a slave contract with this creature. Not just any creature, but a monster.
His backpack bulged with gifts from the gargoyle—ten strange items in all, none of which he recognized. Among them was a weapon rarer even than the Claymore, its tal gleaming faintly in the dungeon light. It was, by any adventurer's standard, a windfall beyond reason.
The gargoyle had saved him. It had helped him take revenge. By every logical asure, it was a benefactor.
And yet… being bound as a slave to a monster was not the kind of "blessing" he could boast about.
When his thoughts drifted back to the mont he had butchered his companions, his hands and feet trembled. He wasn't even sure anymore whether the feeling was fear… or sothing else.
Perhaps… excitent?
It was, in a grim way, worth celebrating that he'd made it back alive. But how was he going to explain all this to anyone else?
Especially to Kezman.
So many had died—Kezman's rage would be unimaginable.
Jack, oh Jack… whether you live or die now depends entirely on the story you tell.
After the gargoyle's massive wings faded into the distance, Jack lingered by the teleportation gate, staring into nothing. His mind churned, searching for an excuse that would sound plausible. He found nothing. At last, with a bitter twist of his lips, he stepped through and left the dungeon.
.
..
...
After sending Jack off, the gargoyle returned to its territory—the boss room.
Its massive fra had to hunch to fit through the fortress gates, though it could have taken another route that didn't require stooping.
"Cancel mimicry."
At the words, its stony body dissolved into drifting motes of light, revealing a withered, staggering figure beneath.
It was Wade.
"Feels strange being back in my own skin," he muttered, studying his thin arms and spindly legs—limbs so frail they looked ready to snap in a stiff breeze. The invincible weight and power of the Valiant Gargoyle were gone, replaced by this brittle, skeletal fra.
The truth was out: the one who had crippled the smugglers and bound Jack in a slave contract… had been Wade all along.
But why?
"Unlocked transformation and hadn't tried it yet—needed to find soone to have so fun with," he said to himself.
He'd considered taking the form of a Zinogre, but that was far too costly.
As for killing the smugglers, that had been no random fit of violence—it was preditated. He'd been watching them for a long while, eavesdropping on their conversations until he knew their identities.
At first, they were only ant to be practice targets, not corpses. But when they plotted to kill Jack, Wade's mood shifted. These backstabbing parasites wouldn't walk out alive.
It wasn't out of any fondness for Jack—Wade just couldn't stomach the sight of people burning bridges the second they'd crossed them.
Still, there was a problem: the teleportation crystals adventurers carried. Monsters couldn't even touch them, much less take them. Only another adventurer could do that.
And Jack? He was no hero—he'd been running with smugglers and calling them "family." Hardly a saint.
The slave contract, the dungeon map, the order to bring more people in—those were all spur-of-the-mont ideas.
He wanted to raise one of his own.
Slave contracts bound the soul, and even Wade could sign no more than three.
Jack wouldn't need to do much—just lead the way. As the Sein Dungeon drew more adventurers, the map would inevitably be charted. But instead of letting random players post guides, Wade could feed the information to Jack first.
Jack could then release it early—positioning himself as so "Dungeon Exploration Master" while wringing out the last bits of value from the map before it beca common knowledge.
Through Jack, Wade could also keep an ear on adventurer gossip—valuable for soone who couldn't freely leave the dungeon.
If Wade wanted to test new traps, maps, or monsters later, Jack could deliver fresh victims directly to him.
The idea was casual for now. The other possibilities could co later.
"The dungeon automatically clears corpses—that's convenient," Wade murmured, glancing at the smugglers' remains. But then… he stopped.
His throat worked. Gulp.
An old instinct surged up, pulling him toward the bodies.
He gathered the mangled flesh into a heap and inhaled deeply.
White streams of light bled from the corpses into his own body. His papery, cracked skin softened, a faint sheen spreading across it.
He still looked skeletal, but no longer like a dried-out mummy—there was a hint of moisture, of life.
"Strength… I feel a little stronger?"
The zombie race could absorb lingering life force from corpses to grow more powerful. Necromancers loved to summon zombies as disposable fodder.
Rumor told of a necromancer who once raised a zombie unit to king-tier… but no stronger zombies had been seen since.
Still, for Wade, what was the point?
"What use is this to ?" he said, face twisting. He was a dungeon master, hidden in the shadows. His odds of personally fighting anyone were about as good as a teorite hitting an ant.
Besides, apart from today's unusual case, his needs were simple—he wanted adventurers to die here over and over. Killing them himself for a bit of power seed… wasteful.
If he could ever leave the dungeon, then maybe this ability would matter.
Bzzzz—
The crystal ball in his arms vibrated. Wade tossed it into the air, and the fist-sized orb swelled, floating higher until it displayed an image in the air.
He had set alerts for Stella's group—any movent, and he'd be notified.
He wasn't even sure why he kept tabs on them. There were plenty of stronger, more intriguing teams.
But sothing in his gut told him to keep watching.
The view shifted: Stella's team was in disarray, split into three ragged groups.
Vilde and the surviving researcher.
Stella and Gibbs.
Ellie and Charon.
Scattered like startled birds, they fled through the dungeon, harried by monsters.
Gibbs had lost an arm, his combat strength plumting. Without Stella holding the line, he would have been torn apart already—the creatures chasing them were among the deadliest here.
Ellie and Charon, the second-strongest pair, had shaken off pursuit and were now plunging deeper into the swamp.
As for Vilde and the surviving NPC…
[Triggered a teleport trap!]
"Waaah!"
Vilde's shriek was anything but dignified. He swung his short sword wildly, bang—it smashed into a rock wall. Chips of stone struck his forehead, snapping him back to reality.
"W-where are we?"
The reek of the swamp was gone. Towering trees surrounded them, dense jungle canopy blotting out most of the light. The air was warm and humid, fragrant with wet earth. Birds chattered high above, and in the hazy distance, a faint outline of a town peeked through the foliage.
This was no swamp. This was the middle layer of the Sein Dungeon.
"Is… is this heaven?"
For a brief mont, awe replaced his fear.
Rustle—
The bushes behind them stirred, sharp and sudden. Relief evaporated, replaced by cold tension.
Sothing was in there.
"Pika… pika…"
(*****)
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