Chapter 130
Here's the translation without asterisks:
Bad bad bad!
Right now, I was panicking beyond belief.
Missing the wyvern snipe and getting dragged into combat was within expectations.
After taking down additional wyverns that showed up, my arrow count dropped below a third when a sound reached my ears—and I realized something terribly wrong was happening.
"Wait, this path—?!"
I couldn’t tell if the wyverns intentionally herded me this way, but there was no way I’d miss the sounds of another intense battle nearby.
Cold sweat joined the hot sweat pouring from my body as I moved frantically.
"Seriously?! This is really bad!!"
Most ravine-type dungeons force you to follow a single narrow path carved into cliffs unless you’re climbing like a boulderer.
I considered going off-path, but the wyverns surrounded me to prevent that, leading to a breath attack vs. greatbow shootout.
They outnumbered me and had stronger attacks, but their movements were full of openings.
They fired breath attacks in rapid succession, but I slipped into spots where the damage wouldn’t reach. My precise headshots whittled their numbers down, but they replenished faster than I could kill them.
There seemed to be a limit to how many could spawn, but if I didn’t reduce them, it was pointless.
Under this numerical assault, I was gradually pushed back. I even considered retreating to the dungeon entrance, but wyverns had already circled it.
So where then? The place the wyverns were driving me toward was—
"Am I just trash swept up by a broom?!"
This must be the hottest spot in the dungeon right now.
"I didn’t know wyverns had behavior like this?!"
If I kept getting pushed, I’d end up joining the Dullahan and its group.
I searched my memory—did they have this kind of intelligence and tactics? They coordinated, but never like this.
I headshot another wyvern, sending it crashing into the ravine, but their numbers showed no sign of thinning.
Between the wyverns filling the sky and the zombie dragon horde led by the Dullahan, this might be every wyvern in the area.
"Dammit, getting forced away from the spawn point was a mistake."
Of course, the undead army ahead was also made of monsters. There was no way I could just waltz in, team up, and cooperate to take down the wyverns.
If I got cornered there, surrounded by wyverns—
"This is bad, I need to break through somehow... Wait, hold on."
A three-way battle would leave me—the only one free to move on the ground—trapped by the undead horde.
That’s what I thought, but... maybe I could pull it off?
Theoretically, it was possible.
An idea came to me. While dodging breath attacks, I spent about ten seconds weighing its feasibility before reaching a conclusion.
"Guess I’ve got no choice!!"
It took only a second to steel myself.
Once decided, I spun around and dashed through a gap in the breath attacks, heading straight for the mountain path where the undead army was likely fighting.
I fled, checking the threats behind me.
The wyverns hesitated for a moment as I switched from a fighting retreat to a full-on escape.
At a dead sprint, my destination soon came into view.
"They’re going at it!!"
Anti-air and ground bombardment.
Ten tough zombie dragons, plus thirteen wyverns breathing attacks from above.
Add the ones chasing me, and that made exactly twenty wyverns.
"Oh, one zombie dragon’s down, and two wyverns got dropped."
It wasn’t a stalemate—under the zombie dragons’ concentrated fire, even wyverns couldn’t escape unscathed and were being knocked from the sky.
"...Ugh, they really did evolve. Staying at Royal rank is fine, but using a zombie assault to clear the dungeon is cheating."
Then, a shadow lunged at a downed wyvern.
A knight in armor, wielding a rusted but ornate greatsword in one hand and holding a full-face helmet—likely containing its own head—in the other.
The knight slammed its sword into the wyvern’s face, finishing it off.
What followed was a resummon.
The wyvern’s ashes reformed, reviving as a zombie dragon.
The Royal Dullahan had an Inspiring skill to temporarily buff its underlings.
It must be boosting their stats above the wyverns’ to win fights and grow its forces.
I grimaced at the sight, but considering what I was about to do, I’d probably owe them an apology, so I wiped the expression away.
The Royal Dullahan and zombie dragons had all their aggro on the airborne wyverns.
And the wyverns’ aggro was entirely on the undead army.
The battle was a seesaw of attacks, with breath weapons flying everywhere—a hellish scene.
As this hotspot came into view, I gritted my teeth and accelerated into a final sprint.
An act that, if done to players in a game, would earn universal condemnation.
I hunched my small frame further and ran.
Then, I plunged into the battlefield where breath attacks clashed above and below.
"Handle the rest!!"
With that shout, I bolted through the zombie dragon horde.
Zombie dragons had decent detection, but with their aggro fully occupied, they wouldn’t notice me unless I attacked.
Only the commanding Royal Dullahan seemed to notice me, but a zombie dragon’s breath attack intercepted a pursuing wyvern, stealing its aggro. The ensuing chaos left it no time to focus on me.
I weaved through the zombie dragons, rubbing all my aggro onto them.
"Whoa!!! This is deadly! Seriously bad!!"
If I broke through too quickly, the wyverns would lock onto me again, restarting the cycle.
I slipped between breath attacks, sometimes darting right past zombie dragons, dodging their swipes, and redirecting aerial breaths into them.
I kept adjusting to pit their aggro against each other.
After over ten headlong slides, I finally shook off all aggro and fled the battlefield.
"Phew!! Escape!!"
Confirming no pursuit, I dove behind a rock in a blind spot.
Gasping from the sprint, drenched in sweat—but alive.
I checked the sky and my back—nothing was following.
Finally, I exhaled deeply and relaxed.
That was terrifying.
And while it worked, I swore never to do it again—it was too much hassle.
"Being alive makes this sweetness seep into my bones."
My body, craving water, calories, and salt, demanded replenishment.
"Ahhh, this potion hits the spot."
I drank water, ate rations, licked salt, then took another sip before pulling out a potion.
No direct hits, but between slides, near-miss breaths, and reckless moves, I was covered in scrapes and bruises.
No fractures or major wounds, but I’d taken a beating.
The potion’s warmth spread as the pain faded.
"That should do it."
I’d pushed my body hard, but maybe it was sturdier than I thought—as long as I fixed the malnutrition.
Maybe it was just the potion, but my joints and muscles felt fine.
I rotated my wrists—no discomfort.
"My weapon’s holding up too."
The Flame Demon Greatbow, unenhanced by the Mark of the Weak.
With fewer than 200 kills, it lacked the Dragon Slayer effect.
But its base durability was high, and despite rough use, it showed no signs of failing.
"I lost count, but thirty more should do it, right?"
I could tell the bow lacked Dragon Slayer by the damage I dealt. Once it activated, even my stats could hurt the wind dragon.
"Which means..."
I still felt a little tired, but I had to press on.
"Time to climb this cliff."
The aggro deadlock at the hotspot worked in my favor.
From the rock, I looked up at the sheer face.
Protruding rocks offered handholds, but it’d be a treacherous climb. A fall would be fatal.
And if wyverns spotted me mid-climb, I was done for.
No time for a slow ascent.
So—
"Let’s do it."
Steeling myself, I scanned the route up.
Then, with a deep breath, I began climbing.
My grip-to-weight ratio was a lifesaver here.
I carried a spear, greatbow, and quiver, but my child’s body was far lighter than an adult’s.
Yet, thanks to stat adjustments, my grip and arm strength were gorilla-level.
Otherwise, I’d never draw this bow.
The result?
"Hop, heave, hah!"
I scaled the cliff with ease.
A professional free climber would call this sloppy—just brute-forcing it with grip strength.
A reckless, no-safety-line climb was beyond foolish.
I focused upward, never looking down.
Five minutes later, I’d scaled what should’ve been a slow climb in record time, reaching wyvern-patrol altitude.
The summit of a ravine dungeon’s mountain.
The largest open area I’d seen so far.
"Now then, if their attention’s still over there—"
This was the bonus round.
"The perfect sniping spot."
Interrupting enemies locked in combat—another player-facing no-no, but fine against monsters.
I set up on the summit, nocking an arrow.
My target: the undead-wyvern battlefield.
Well within range.
With timing, I could steal last hits.
Just as I prepared to fire, a chill ran down my spine.
I trusted that instinct.
Aborting the shot, I ducked behind a rock and held my breath.
A sudden gale announced the arrival of a massive dragon, its emerald-green scales glinting.
It shrouded itself in storms, a display of confidence that its winds could deflect any attack.
"Why’s the wind dragon in such a shallow area?!"
I stared in shock.
Open-field dungeon bosses usually stayed deep in their territory.
They might move around, but appearing near the entrance? Unless—
"Did the Dullahan draw it out?"
Flying high, asserting its dominance, the dragon headed for the battlefield.
Monsters enter dungeons to become bosses. But did existing bosses not do the same?
The Royal Dullahan’s presence in this wyvern dungeon proved otherwise.
So, an open-field boss like the wind dragon might pick fights with other bosses.
Linking dragon dungeons to others was rare.
Even in FBO, this was a bizarre sight.