How to Survive as a Dungeon Manager in Another World

49 – The Ruins of Mirshika (4)

The Second Lord, his lips twisted into a sneering grin, stared at me.

Even with an entire arm severed, his composure remained unshaken.

As if he had meticulously prepared for this very moment, a deep elation swam in his eyes.

“You’ve lost your mind.”

The Second Overlord let out a hollow laugh, as if at a preposterous joke.

He picked up his severed right arm and aligned it with the stump.

In an instant, a jet-black aura enveloped the wound, the meeting flesh intertwining as if stitched together with thread, rejoining seamlessly.

As if nothing had happened, he lightly flexed his regenerated right hand.

Siron, who had been attempting to mediate, swallowed hard, his gaze darting back and forth between us.

The Second Overlord fixed me with a gaze, his eyes shimmering with unconcealed excitement, before finally speaking.

“So, you want to test me, Sixth Overlord?”

“Did you just realize that now?”

*Krrrkk—!*

The instant he finished speaking, an immense pressure suffocated the air.

The sheer wave of magical power was so intense that the ground beneath our feet cracked, but of course, that energy couldn’t even penetrate my shield, vanishing against it.

Frankly, weighing the gains and losses, contending with another Overlord like this was a disadvantage in itself.

Light sparring would mean dealing with each other’s grudges later, and a full-out battle meant dealing with the aftermath, not to mention that as an Overlord fight, neither of us would come out unscathed.

…If this were an ordinary conflict, that is.

‘It’s too late to turn back now.’

I had made my decision, and I didn’t particularly regret it.

Technically, the justification lay with him, but I had decided not to even concern myself with it.

After all, wasn’t this world one where strength was justification, a world where everything followed the logic of power?

That necrophiliac villain becoming an Overlord, the slaughter of villagers without any reasonable cause, it was all possible because he possessed the power to do so.

Then, wouldn’t his demise at my hands, because he was weaker than me, be justification enough?

The Second Overlord narrowed his eyes, glaring at me.

A stark, frozen stillness enveloped the space.

He stared at my face for a long moment before slowly, creakingly tilting his head.

“I could forgive the first time as youthful indiscretion. I’ll even admit it was entertaining, in a pathetic sort of way. I thought I could understand it as the exuberance of a newly appointed Overlord and merely give you a light thrashing. But now, you’ve exceeded the limits of my patience.”

Mockery dripped from every word.

I watched him silently before lifting one corner of my mouth in a smirk.

“Have you already forgotten what I just said?”

“What?”

“Full of empty words, you are. For a dog soon to be pushing up daisies.”

“…”

The moment that playful mask cracked on his face.

*Ghooo!*

From the Second Lord’s pallid fingertips, dozens of strands of black magic bloomed like threads, undulating in a surging tide.

In an instant, gigantic bone spears erupted behind me.

With a sharp, flesh-rending shriek, they spread outward like an umbrella, surging forward.

There was no time to react. Each spearhead pulsed with writhing, ebon magic.

*Kwa-gwa-gwang!*

A deafening sonic boom roared, followed by a tremendous explosion.

“Ugh!”

Naturally, the attack itself would never work on me, but the shockwave that erupted in its wake was so intense that Chiron, for all his strengthened form, was pushed back for quite some time, struggling against the overwhelming force.

Had I not established a defense system beforehand, a frail human body would have been torn to shreds – it wouldn’t have been surprising in the least.

“Tch.”

The Second Lord clicked his tongue and raised his hand.

The air shimmered, and from the ink-black sky, hundreds of crimson eyes pierced through the void, staring down.

Reality tears.

From the fissures in the eyes, torrents of overwhelming magical energy, pregnant with destruction, compressed as if ready to burst.

Simultaneously, a black haze unfurled behind the Second Lord.

It weaved and tangled, as if with a will of its own, sketching out something, slowly taking shape.

I stood rooted to the spot, glaring at the grotesque entity manifesting behind him.

*Kkigigigik!*

Exuding compressed wickedness, it wore massive armor and pulsed with a scarlet glare, its form so bizarre it was almost impossible to look upon directly.

The heavy armor seemed to have swallowed souls whole, emitting shimmering violet currents that vibrated ceaselessly, and the black haze seeping through the gaps created the illusion of flesh rotting away.

The armor’s surface was covered with faces, as if thousands of souls had been etched upon it, twisted in agony, living and screaming without end.

Spiked bones that had grown through the ironclad plating writhed as if they were living things themselves, their ends dripping with a viscous, dark-red ichor.

The crimson flames that burned in its eye sockets were like hellfire itself; the ground beneath its feet was scorched black; even the air warped and tore.

Descent (降靈), Calamire of Carnage.

The Second Lord’s symbol, his familiar.

“…”

Having slain foe after foe without so much as a chance for them to strike back, I’d never truly grasped it before. But now, face-to-face with one of the lords, his majesty defied all expectation.

He hadn’t reigned as Second Lord for centuries for naught.

Though his twisted nature would doom him to torment the world and be ultimately vanquished by the heroes, his raw power was undeniable.

“I’ll grant you one last chance. Offer a formal apology and bring me the sword you wield, Sixth Lord. If you do, I might just spare you the ripping out of that cursed tongue and your limbs.”

Before the words could fully escape him, the sword materialized in Kalamanir’s grasp.

Appearing from thin air, it was less a sword and more a colossal ebony lance dredged from the underworld.

Swirls of pitch-black energy cascaded down its blade, and ancient runes etched into its surface pulsed with violet light.

With an ear-splitting screech, the blade began to ripple slowly.

Writhed like a living thing, its form shifting, until the sword’s surface became covered in thousands of tiny teeth.

They snapped greedily at the air, like a pack of ravenous beasts, and the honed edge of the blade simmered, its color morphing with each passing moment.

Crack- Clunk-

As Kalamanir assumed his stance, a chilling grating sound assaulted my ears.

Each adjustment he made to ready his swing seemed to compress the surroundings, sinking them into the earth, the very space around us twisting and distorting.

“Huu… Keuek…”

Overwhelmed by the surging miasma, Shiron clutched at his chest, collapsing to the ground, trembling.

Rudine watched the scene unfold with sparkling eyes, while Adina glanced at me, urging me to finish this quickly.

Shiron’s pupils darted wildly.

His judgment clouded by the spectacle of unimaginable might, and distrust in me began to fester within him.

Precisely then.

“!!!”

*Phat–!!*

Before a question could even form.

The Second Lord touched his face, unable to mask his shock.

As if only just now realizing what had narrowly grazed the very center of his face.

Ignoring him, I approached Shiron, who still sat crumpled on the ground.

Extending a hand to help him up, Shiron gazed back at me with a bewildered expression as he accepted the support.

“…What are you doing?”

“Assisting you to rise.”

“No, this isn’t the time for such things. We must persuade the Second Lord quickly…!”

I cut him off with a level tone.

“There is no need. For he is already dead.”

“…Pardon?”

Siron snapped his head towards the Second Lord.

“…He is still alive, though.”

To this, I chuckled softly, approaching the Second Lord.

Myonggak, seeing me draw near, frantically rolled his eyes, conveying his refusal, yet he made no other move to resist.

Ignoring his silent protest, I reached him, tapping his forehead with my fingertip.

And then.

*Crack*.

A single line, perfectly vertical, etched itself down his form, bisecting him from head to toe.

*Fshhh!*

Through that fissure, beads of blood, bubbling and sizzling, seeped forth.

And then.

“!!!”

*Riiiip!*

A bizarre sound echoed, like tearing a wad of paper in two with a single pull.

In that fleeting moment of stillness, a beat of time held captive, his body split along the fissure.

The gap widened, and then, at last, his form, cleaved in twain, crumbled apart, two halves collapsing to either side.

*Kuuung-!*

The force that followed possessed a destructive power akin to nothing short of Heaven and Earth overturned.

Behind the Second Lord, the earth shrieked and rent asunder, and in the torn sky, clouds shredded like spun sugar.

The inky blackness of the heavens split apart, revealing itself, and sunlight trickled through the fractured clouds.

The rift stretched out, reaching the very limits of vision.

I watched it all, saying softly.

“He is dead now.”

“……”

Siron’s eyes, witnessing the spectacle, were glazed with shock.