Each time he overcommitted I gave him a little more of my flank and a little more of the forest’s geography.
He was hungry for the throne, for the Faceless Imposter, for whatever stitched his madness together; baiting it out of him was as easy as waving a bone.
He swallowed it.
"Say his name!" I shouted, my voice cutting through the roar of the wind. "Call your king! Tell him you’re coming to steal his crown!"
That did it.
Freedman—no, the thing that used to be Freedman—lurched, his shadowed form twisting violently.
He wasn’t just angry now.
He was coming apart. The countless whispers inside him—Velra’s fading memories, the parasite’s hunger, the fragments of every life he had stolen—were devouring each other.
His entire body convulsed, dark tendrils writhing like snakes in boiling tar.
"Perfect," I muttered under my breath. "Now it’s Amelia’s turn. Don’t disappoint me."
"Lady Amelia! Now is the time!" I shouted.
From somewhere behind the smoldering ruins of the trees, a familiar voice groaned.
"What’s this now?! Is this why you had the soldiers stationed all the way in the rear?"
Her irritation didn’t surprise me—Amelia always complained when the plan wasn’t to her liking—but her movements never faltered. She planted her staff in the snow, and the air around her shifted instantly.
Runes flared beneath her boots, spinning like constellations, glowing in a soft, blue light that spread through the field.
"Ugh... every time you say ’now,’ it means something’s about to explode!" she muttered.
"You’re blissfully unaware of the world," I said, half under my breath. "Just do it right."
The shadow’s roar drowned out everything for a moment, a guttural, wordless howl that made the trees tremble.
I climbed up onto a collapsing trunk, balancing as it tilted under my feet. From up there, I could see it—Velra’s limp body, still faintly glowing, rising from the snow. Amelia’s spell lifted her like a puppet on invisible strings, gently carrying her toward the rear line where the soldiers waited.
"Good," I murmured, relief flickering for just a second. "That’s one less mess to clean up."
Then the ground shuddered again— crack, crack, crack! —as Freedman’s monstrous form thrashed, his mass swelling like tar spilled over fire.
He swung one massive arm, and the air itself seemed to tear. The falling tree beneath me snapped, scattering splinters through the air.
Just before it hit the ground, I jumped.
Snow exploded around me when I landed, my knees bending to absorb the impact. I straightened slowly, my eyes tracking the mountain of shadows that loomed ahead.
"...It’s really damn huge," I muttered, brushing the frost from my cloak.
Freedman’s distorted face—or what was left of one—twisted toward me. The faint outline of a mouth pulled into something like a grin.
"King..." the monster growled, voice bubbling like tar. "Give... me... crown..."
"Yeah, Come and take it, if you can."
The air between us thickened, heavy with the weight of shadow and steam. Amelia’s runes pulsed brighter in the distance, the faint hum of magic building pressure like a storm about to break.
The monster lowered its head, ready to charge.
The monster filled half my vision.
In the game, this boss had taken up nearly half the arena map during the Academy Duel Arc. Back then, it was just a spectacle—numbers, flashy effects, and a few frustrated retries before clearing the stage.
But standing here now, with its roar shaking the ground and its shadow blotting out the moon, I realized just how little the screen had ever captured. The air itself seemed to twist around it, trembling with pressure and heat—as if reality was warning me: you shouldn’t be seeing this.
Then—
[System Alert: Emergency Conditions Modified.]
A red notification flared across my vision, its pulsing light painting the snow around me crimson.
[Chain of events detected: assassination target has shifted.]
[New Primary Threat: You.]
[Mission Objective: Neutralize the berserk noble parasite — "Deceiving Ground Spider."]
[Reward: Classified.]
[Failure Consequence: Target change — from Velra’s death → to Player death.]
I let out a short, humorless laugh. "Oh, great. Just what I needed."
The sudden spike in danger nearly made my breath hitch.
"I’m going mad... seriously," I muttered, gripping my sword tighter.
Freedman’s grotesque body lurched, the misshapen limbs twisting and jerking like something caught between forms. The eyes—or what little remained of them—locked onto me with a sick hunger. Each step he took made the ground crack open beneath his feet, snow bursting upward like white explosions.
Retreat? Out of the question.
But then again—
’Crisis or opportunity... depends on how I play it.’
Freedman wasn’t some nameless monster that spawned in a dark corner of the world. He’d been a noble parasite once—a schemer, the kind who didn’t just attack, but planned. The kind that waited, plotted, and outlasted everyone else.
If I let him recover his reason, he’d become a problem—one that would keep resurfacing again and again throughout the story.
Now, though? Now he was nothing but pure madness, wrapped in delusion and rage.
A perfect opening.
"Still..." I exhaled sharply, frost clouding the air in front of me. "He’s too damn big. Just brushing against him would turn me into paste."
The thought wasn’t an exaggeration.
Every time his massive arm moved, the air itself howled. Trees shattered like twigs when his shadow passed, and chunks of frozen earth were thrown high into the air.
A single hit, and I’d be done.
"GIVE IT! GIVE IT!!" Freedman’s roar distorted the air, his voice cracking between pitches, neither man nor beast anymore.
I ducked under a swing that could have leveled a house. The wind pressure alone felt like getting slapped by steel—my coat ripped at the seams, and snow erupted behind me in a wave.
I barely caught my footing again before I found myself grinning despite the chaos.
’It’s supposed to be a universal rule that the bigger they are, the slower they move...’ I thought grimly. ’So why does this one move like a damn catapult?’
The monster’s head jerked back, mouth stretching unnaturally wide—too wide. Flesh tore and reformed as if the concept of anatomy had simply stopped mattering. Rows upon rows of jagged fangs glistened in the pale moonlight, each tooth big enough to crush a man whole.
My stomach twisted.
"My goodness..." I breathed, eyes narrowing. "Just how many teeth does one bastard need?"
Freedman answered with another roar that ripped through the forest, shaking the snow loose from the trees. The world itself seemed to tremble in his wake.
And yet, through the fear and chaos, my mind stayed cold.
’Size. Rage. Predictable swings.’
His attacks were wild, uncoordinated—a brute’s tantrum masquerading as divine wrath.
I lowered my stance, grounding my boots in the snow.
This wasn’t about overpowering him. It was about timing.
One mistake would be the end.
But if I could bait him into a move too big to recover from—
"Alright," I muttered, smirking despite the chill creeping down my spine. "Let’s see who cracks first, monster."
The next swing came like a mountain falling. I dashed forward, straight toward it.
The world blurred.
The moment I dashed in, the air screamed past my ears. The monster’s massive arm descended—a wall of muscle and shadow. The impact tore through the earth behind me, sending snow and soil into the sky like a geyser. I rolled forward, feeling the shockwave bite into my back.
The sound was deafening.
But I didn’t stop. I couldn’t.
My boots dug deep into the snow as I sprinted up the slope of Freedman’s arm, using the uneven ridges of shadow-flesh as footholds. Every step sank, every movement fought against gravity and the stench of decay.
His body wasn’t just shadow—it pulsed like something alive. Beneath the black surface, I could feel movement, like veins writhing just under the skin.
"Disgusting..." I hissed through clenched teeth. "You always had terrible taste."
Freedman’s head snapped toward me. The half-formed face twitched, its melted features bubbling with fury.
"CROWN—!!"
His roar shook the mountain.
I threw myself sideways just as another arm—smaller but faster—lashed out from his ribs. It struck where I’d been a heartbeat before, tearing through the air with a sonic boom that rattled my bones.
’He’s spawning limbs now? Fantastic.’
My sword hummed faintly as I funneled mana into the blade. A faint blue line flickered along the edge—unstable, but sharp enough.
One clean strike was all I needed.
But that was easier said than done.
The monster’s bulk shifted again, his body splitting into several layers of writhing shadow. From a distance, it would’ve looked like a storm given form—an enormous silhouette splitting and folding in on itself.
Every strike I could have landed found only air or regenerating sludge.
Damn it....
What should I do?
And then, in the middle of life threating fight, I thought about the post that I made in community forum before.
Maybe ... that was the way to kill this demon before.