NOVEL NEXT Chapter 6: Dungeon (III)
The BL.P dug out the brawn of the last ground dragon in sight, it's blood spilling like deepened ink as it collasped to the floor.
[LEVELED UP!]
[LEVELED UP!]
[LEVELED UP!]
This wasn't healthy. A menagerie of serpents were laid down dead before him, and as he huffed with tiredness, he wanted to deny the reality. But he was responsible for all of this.
[TITLE OBTAINED: DRAGON SLAYER]
[YOU HAVE EARNED: 80,000 GOLD, 1809 EXP POINTS]
[YOU HAVE UNLOCKED: Teleportation Stone, Healing Potion, Hunter's Hide, Riptide And 1 Essence Stone (Rare)]
"An essence stone huh?" Michael flexed his chin. For some reason he was glad he didn't have to do the dirty work of opening up the flesh of these beasts for stones. It was all an illusion after all, and there was nothing to derive from them.
But what the hell was a Riptide? The name reminded him of a PJO series he read. In the book, riptide was the name the main character gave to his sword; a three foot long celestial bronze blade that once belonged to Hercules.
"No way—" Michael gasped. "Inventory."
The inventory screen appeared, displaying its large collection of weapons. Behind the BL.P, another sword had been unlocked, the inscription below it spelling, "RIPTIDE."
It was the exact replica of Hercules's sword, three feet long, shimmering in bright celestial colors that even the screen couldn't withhold. Michael couldn't believe his luck, as he was hell of a Percy Jackson fan.
"I wonder how I'd do with swords..." He thought. He seemed to have grown comfortable with a dagger, as the size was enough to balance his reflexes.
WHOOSH! A shiruken flung an inch past his ear, impaling into the wall before him and leaving cracks. Michael's eyes widened as he stood petrified for a second.
"What was that?" He vigilantly turned around to take a look, but what he saw was a ninja sword headed his way. Michael blocked, raising his dagger up in the air, and light sparkled as their blades clashed.
He stumbled backwards by a bit, but managed to get a good glimpse of his assailant, a person in black hunter's cloak.
No... It wasn't a person. Where his face was supposed to be, Michael rather saw nothing but a mist of shadows instead.
A System template appeared above the assailant's head.
[GRIFFITH. RANK A]
Rank A? Weren't the challenges supposed to be a higher rank than the last? And apparently, the template lettering was written in bold red, unlike the ground dragons who had their templates written in orange color.
If the books he read were right, then... "This is the boss."
But an A rank? He had been expecting higher, an SS rank at the very least, considering it was supposed to be the last wave of the challenge.
"Anyways, it's all good for me." Michael shrugged. His once astonished expression replaced with confidence. "I risked my life battling against twenty ground dragons. But against an A-Rank like you, it should be a piece of cake."
Griffith dashes towards him, his feet not making a sound on the ground as he moved. He seemed like he was in same rhythm with the wind, he was fast.
So fast, that Michael couldn't capture a glimpse of him until his right leg kicked his face, sending him crashing into a stone wall.
"Shit." Michael groaned.
Had he underestimated this samurai? He was only A-rank, but he was way faster, and his attacks were way stronger than the ground dragon's. A single kick had sent him into a wall, his head demanding for mental purchase.
Yeah... He had underestimated him.
And maybe it was because he felt offended, but Griffith didn't hesitate after his first attack. He dashed towards Michael again, this time raising his sword in the air for a killing strike.
But Michael knew better than to let himself be killed now, he held his dagger up and severed the attack, although the force still spiraled a gust of wind around them, a jolt running through his body.
Griffith made a backward stunt into the darkness, probably processing his next move. This gave Michael time to regain to his feet, sparing him a few seconds to think.
"Think Michael, think!" What was he missing? Why was an A-Rank way stronger than an S-rank ground dragon?
But a few seconds wasn't enough, a gust of whirlwind hasted past him, his eyesight unable to keep up with the unnatural speed of Griffith.
[WARNING! HEALTH AT CRITICAL DAMAGE!]
[WARNING! HEALTH AT CRITICAL DAMAGE!]
"Huh?" Michael stared blankly into the screen. "What does this—"
Before he could finish, Michael felt pain explode at his side. Looking down, his eyes widened in horror as he saw a large cut opened up in his stomach, his blood pouring down freely from it like a flood.
Michael's eyes blurred as he collapsed to the floor, his body in a torrent of torments. How? How could he not have noticed that Griffith opened a cut in his stomach?
The samurai was indeed that fast.
His hands reached for his wounds, but what returned instead was a bloody palm. His clothes were soaked with blood and sweat, his consciousness slowly drifting off as darkness seeped across the corner of his eyes.
No... He did not want to die. Not again. Dying wasn't any fun.
Griffith walked up to him, and for the first time, Micheal could hear the sound of his feet. The samurai raised his sword in the air, its tip gleaming under the light of the dungeon crystals.
[YOUR TIMER HAS ENDED. 00:00:00]
[BETTER LUCK NEXT TIME, PLAYER.]
"Next time?" Michael laughed as he read the notification. "Fuck next time—"
Griffith's sword came down, and that was the last thing he saw before the scene around him dissappeared. Next thing, he was back in the library, the evening sky pouring down sullen through the shutters.
Michael collapsed to the floor, the pain in his gut still searing him badly.
"Healing Potion." He managed, and a vial of golden liquid appeared in his hands. Michael didn't hesitate, he quickly opened the lid and drank whatever content was left of the bottle.
His wounds began to heal immediately, and every scratches from his previous fights disappeared alongside too.
"That timer came through at the right timing." Michael chuckled satisfactorily the moment he recovered.
Michael heard his cellphone buzz from the desk, he reached for it and saw a new message, a video from Steven.
"How did that bastard get my—" He wanted to finish, but when he opened the video, a glimpse of Lucian stopped him.
Lucian had been placed in a wrestling ring, apparently being forced to fight by the way he was being beaten up by some other student. He couldn't see more than that because Steven's horrendous looking face popped up in the front of the screen and blocked the view.
"You're running late, Alastair." Steven said with a mischievous smile. "Your friend came here earlier, wanting to bear your brunt for you, and now look at him..."
Steven let the camera catch a good sight of Lucian and again, Michael saw him receiving another blow to the stomach.
"He's everyone's punching bag!" Steven laughed menacingly, his face returning to the screen. "Hurry here Michael, I haven't had a turn yet so let's make it worth it.
Or you could ditch it and wonder what would happen to your homeboy, hm?"
The video stopped.
"Well..." Michael shrugged. "Guess what's gonna happen now."
* * *
[NAME: MICHAEL ALASTAIR]
[TALENT: WRITER'S LEGACY]
[RANK: SSS RARE]
[STRENGTH: 56 SPEED: 87 STAMINA: 58 SKILL: 0]