Against enemies wrapped head to toe in armor, finesse was a luxury.
Force—and timing—were what mattered.
A shove was more than enough.
I let a lazy smile curl across my lips and tilted my chin at them.
"Did you really think armor would save you?" I asked lightly. "Or was the plan to bore me to death?"
The Dullahans reacted a heartbeat too late.
Steel screamed as they lunged, realizing—far too suddenly—that they weren’t the hunters here.
I saw everything.
The rise of shoulders before a swing.
The shift of weight before a thrust.
The minute tremor in their grips that betrayed hesitation.
Greatswords. Maces. Spears.
Their paths were painfully obvious.
—Crunch.
A greatsword came down with all its weight behind it, splitting stone where I’d been standing a moment earlier. The ground caved, shards flying—but I was already gone.
—Whoosh.
A mace swept toward my head, heavy and brutal. I leaned back just enough for it to pass an inch from my face, the wind of it tugging at my hair.
—Swish.
A spear darted toward my stomach. I twisted, letting the tip scrape harmlessly along my side, sparks skittering where metal met reinforced cloth.
They overextended.
All of them.
That was the moment.
I stepped in.
My palm struck a breastplate—once.
Not a punch. Not a blow.
A shove.
The force rippled through the armor, through the body inside it, snapping balance apart like rotten wood. The Dullahan staggered, boots skidding uselessly across the ground.
—Clank. Clank.
Another lost an arm guard. Another a shoulder plate. Pieces of armor clattered to the floor as I moved through them, efficient and unhurried, stripping away protection with precise, almost bored motions.
In seconds, it was over.
I returned to where I’d started, brushing dust from my gloves with a quiet sigh.
"Honestly," I muttered, "it’s like you’ve all been locked up for centuries. Slow. Stiff. I might actually yawn."
The remaining Dullahans froze.
"...!"
It was a shame, really.
Without heads, I couldn’t see their faces—but I could imagine them. The confusion. The fury. The dawning realization that they were completely outmatched.
I took a step forward.
Their weapons rose again, trembling now.
"You know," I continued conversationally, "knights like you rely too much on equipment. Armor. Weight. Authority."
I cracked my neck.
"But once that’s gone, what’s left?"
Silence.
Then one of them charged with a wordless roar, dragging his axe along the ground as he swung upward.
I caught the haft with one hand.
It stopped dead.
The Dullahan stiffened.
"...That answer your question?" I asked.
My foot lashed out.
The shove sent him flying, armor screaming as he slammed into the far wall hard enough to leave a crater.
Good.
Fear had finally caught up to them.
I rolled my shoulders once, loosening the tension, and let my gaze sweep calmly over the battlefield.
"Well," I said lightly, breaking the silence, "now that the appetizers are out of the way, I’ll leave the main course to you."
Velra glanced at me from the corner of her eye.
"Good work."
The words had barely left her lips when—
—Whoosh.
A wave of searing heat tore past me from behind.
"Aaagh!"
"No—! We must obey the royal command—!"
The Dullahans didn’t even finish their cries. Flames swallowed them whole, their massive bodies crumpling like dry straw caught in a furnace.
I let out a low whistle.
"...So that’s why this place was classified as a hidden dungeon."
These weren’t ordinary monsters.
Dullahans were infamous for their endurance—undead knights that could keep fighting even after losing limbs, heads, or half their torsos. On paper, they were supposed to be mid-boss-level threats.
And yet—
Even after enduring Velra’s magic head-on for several seconds, they were still barely standing.
’Normally, this would’ve been a nightmare.’
Stripping them of their armor would only have been the beginning of a drawn-out fight.
As a guy specialized entirely in speed and precision, I would’ve had to chip away at them—hundreds, maybe thousands of strikes—just to bring one down.
"Gr... ghr..."
"Ugh..."
Their exposed bodies glowed red-hot before crumbling into blackened remains, the smell of scorched bone lingering in the air.
Velra brushed a speck of ash from her sleeve, expression cool and dismissive.
"Hmph. Such trivial beings."
I snorted.
"Yeah, yeah. I get it—you’re terrifying. No need to rub it in."
She glanced at me, unimpressed.
"I am merely stating a fact."
"Sure," I replied. "A fact that makes dungeon crawling way too comfortable."
Honestly, riding the dungeon-clearing express courtesy of a vampire noble was absurdly convenient.
No ambushes.
No drawn-out fights.
No careful stamina management.
Just walk, burn, advance.
I stretched my arms behind my head, grinning.
"Alright! Let’s keep this pace all the way to the boss!"
Velra slowed her steps slightly, giving me a sidelong look.
"...You speak as though this is some sort of leisurely outing."
"Isn’t it?" I shrugged. "We’re making record time."
"This dungeon is saturated with death-aspected mana," she replied coolly. "Carelessness invites calamity."
"Coming from someone who just vaporized half the cave," I said dryly.
She paused.
"...Point taken."
We moved deeper into the cavern, the passage narrowing as the ceiling dipped lower. Ancient runes glowed faintly along the walls, pulsing in time with some unseen heartbeat. The air grew heavier, colder, tinged with the scent of iron and old blood.
Velra’s steps slowed again.
"This place was sealed deliberately," she said. "Not to keep people out—but to keep something in."
I frowned.
"That’s not ominous at all."
Her gaze sharpened.
"The boss ahead is not a simple undead. It is an executioner—one that has tasted kings’ blood."
"...You could’ve led with that."
She smirked faintly.
"And deprive you of the thrill?"
I sighed, tightening my grip on my daggers.
"Next time, remind me to ask for hazard pay."
Velra chuckled under her breath—soft, dangerous, amused.
And together, we stepped into the darkness, toward the pulsing core of the dungeon, where something ancient and restless waited for us to arrive.