Cleaner golem—lv ??

  Skills: Swift Steps (??), Greater Cleanse (??), Restore (??).

  The opponent is at least 20 levels higher than you. Assessment ongoing.

  Zayn scoured out Hollowfang to meet whatever unholy thing this was. The sword still worked better than his bare hands, and he didn't really feel comfortable fighting it in close range. Razor sharp, its barbed legs could tear him apart without an issue. So, he wielded the sword that was bigger than him, and stared at the monster.

  The octa-eyed monster stared at the size of the sword, and at him, and its glowing eight eyes curled up in a mocking glint.

  Huh?!

  “Oh yeah?” He made stabbing motions at it. “Let’s see your weapon, you eight-legged bastard.”

  And so it obliged.

  Out of who knew where, it brought out a weapon—a long stone shaft ending in a spray of stiff, wiry fibers.

  Isn't that?

  The cheeky thing swung overhead, right down at him. The wires on the stick shimmered faintly, reflecting in his pupils as it got closer.

  This is a fucking broomstick!

  A sense of incredulity hung on his lips as he swung to meet it, cracking the broomstick with ease. His strength, being at a decent 20 points now, was generally enough to fight off a broomstick.

  Or so he thought.

  The strike pushed him back several meters from the backlash. His boots heated up as he skidded on the stone floor to stabilize himself. Mouth open, he stared at the golem.

  Strong.

  Why should it not be? It was much higher-leveled than him, and used four limbs against his one.

  Even just a cleaning golem was this strong. If he met a battle golem, wouldn’t that be his doomsday?

  He didn’t like where this was going.

  Upright and back to position, he was just about to leap at it, but stopped.

  A thin sound of whining could be heard from its box-like chest. The golem’s beady eyes stared downward, holding the pieces of the broken broom with clear sorrow in its eyes.

  It was sad… over the shattered broom?

  He felt like he’d broken a kid’s favorite toy. Almost felt bad about it. Then he realized the thing had attacked him first. And it was just a monster.

  Charge: 6/10. Next point regenerates in 5 minutes and 32 seconds. (Bleeding on, cooldown halved)

  Deciphering that slab had taken a lot of energy out of him.

  The good news was that the golem had no attack skills. Greater Cleanse should be a cleaning or healing skill as its name implied. Swift Steps was a movement boosting skill. And Restore sounded like a classic healing skill. Now, that didn't mean it was easy, but he could certainly survive. As long as he didn’t get squashed underneath, he could even wear it down slowly.

  Get a punch in, rush back out, and repeat. Then, with a crimson claw, break it down. He had the firepower, the speed, and a feasible plan.

  Or so he thought.

  Like most of his plans, it was washed aside.

  A vast amount of mana sprayed out of the golem, turned the air thick with vapor, and left everything wet and slippery—including him. That did no damage, but the entire floor had lost all of its friction, making movement incredibly hard.

  What was supposed to happen, happened. He slipped and almost fell headfirst onto the limestone floor. Hollowfang slipped off into the air, dropping like a sledgehammer, with a crushing noise that echoed in the empty hall. If that wasn’t bad enough, the golem lunged at him with unrestrained fury and smacked its broomstick down like it was squashing a cockroach.

  He hastily rolled to avoid getting smacked to death.

  Soon, it became a game of Whack-a-Zayn. And he was losing terribly, getting smacked and smelling the floor in frequent intervals.

  He had never been washed like this before.

  Wait a second. Back up. Back up.

  It had a brand-new broomstick!

  “Why the fuck… were you sad if you had another?” He summoned his strength and swung a wild red punch, tearing the broomstick down again.

  Then, he rolled back. The rupturing pain he felt made him fear he’d cracked a bone or two, but he had no time to care. Swallowing the blood, he forced his knees to let him stand again. A buzzing noise greeted him as he was sent flying again, and to no one’s surprise, its hands held a brand-new broomstick.

  Warning! Health under 50%.

  This fucking thing had an unlimited supply of broomsticks!

  He broke it again with a swift slash.

  The golem lost all reason. Its black eyeballs shone with unprecedented rage, attempting to bash him to death. He rolled over to take up Hollowfang, but it was not a good defensive weapon against pure strength.

  Scrambling, he dodged and adapted to its attacks.

  His breath stabilized as the pain kept increasing; he soon became used to its attacking pattern. Using the slippery floor to his own advantage, he moved around freely as though he was skating. And occasionally, he'd break the broom with a timely punch. Each time, it would grow slightly slower.

  He knew the reason. He saw it with his very eyes, and yet he was skeptical.

  The golem had eight legs when he first saw it; he’d counted it right. Now it had only six. He could swear he hadn’t even touched its legs.

  Unless...

  Sidestepping the strike, he burst through the broomstick one more time. Eyes glued to its legs.

  Crack!

  As he suspected, one of its six legs broke down, and the broomstick in its hand reappeared. Complete and new!

  “So that’s what Restore does!” He opened his mouth in wonder and awe, like a kid shown a cool magic card trick.

  Smack!

  The broom finally caught him unaware, sending him hurling through the air. Sharp pops rang in his body as he dragged his sword along the floor to slow his momentum.

  Warning! Health under 30%.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  Feat [Undying Cockroach] active!

  Rubbing the blood away, he stood again. When he saw the new broomstick it held, his face broke into a bloody grin. Right. The skill allows it to just recover the broomstick in exchange for its own limbs!

  Having found the win condition, he calmed down significantly. Or was it his feat numbing the pain?

  Whatever. He didn't care.

  But before he could actually claim his win, a soft tune brushed past him, filling him with a strange sense of calmness.

  You’ve listened to the song ‘Sloth of the Winter’.

  The song attracted the golem to the ghost couple. It leapt towards them.

  And Zayn?

  He rushed behind it; his mind bound to a single, stubborn goal—to kill the monster and level up. He cursed himself for keeping some of the ornaments still on him; they had only reduced his speed.

  But he cursed someone even more—the mad old man. The thieving old man! The kill-stealer!

  Not happening under his watch.

  The Battlewraith had transformed her hair into a pair of wing-like constructs, protecting the old man from the golem’s charge. The old man was busy tugging the strings, his hands blurring as the tune changed to near-hypnotic.

  Zayn was clearly not the target. Yet, he felt the coldness of the floor snuggle up in his bones. Felt his bones go soft. Even a step forward took it all.

  Being closer, the cleaner golem was in a much worse state. Its box-like head drooped to its chest. Its limbs were sluggish, refusing to move. Slow like rusty cogs.

  “Mine!” Zayn exclaimed as he lumbered up to it. He slashed at himself, tearing open a new wound every time the drowsiness got to him. Pain became the remedy for sloth. He stared at the old man with a warning, “My kill!”

  He stood in front of the golem and slashed down in red waves, over and over in a combo. First, he broke its remaining legs, then its limbs, until eventually a wave of mana gathered around his arm, turning into a red gauntlet. And then he smacked it down, tearing through the golem’s chest.

  Perfect kill performed!

  Level up! ×2

  He only stopped once he saw the levelling notification. Huffing and grinning in joy.

  [‘Nameless Gauntlet’ has stored a skill from a slain enemy!]

  Hmm?

  He had almost forgotten about the pair of gloves sticking to his hands. Curious, he went forward to check the skill description.

  Nameless (Common—Growth)

  Currently stored skills (1/1)—Restore (Adept)

  Restore (Adept): Relocate the damage from one wound to another part of your body, restoring the first at the cost of the second. An equivalent exchange.

  Stored skills can’t be upgraded.

  He looked at himself and snorted. There was no part of his body left unharmed. What should he restore?

  Devouring the gravefruits and rations, he recovered some slight sense, and wathed the energy traces.

  Similar to when he’d killed the evolving turtle, most of the energy within the golem was snatched away by the ground, traveling beyond the hallway—right into the small entrance.

  Eyes dilated, he stepped toward it.

  “When the second holy war broke out, Merisa and I were drafted into the sixth regiment,” reminisced Old Grey with love in his voice. “Unlike us dull-hammered men full of bloodlust, she refused to kill a soul, devoting her life to the act of healing."

  Zayn stopped.

  "‘Every consciousness is a gift to be protected,’ she used to say.”

  He snorted and felt compelled to ask, “But every time she saved someone, wouldn’t that person go and kill more people?”

  There was a thick silence after that.

  Old Grey nodded. “I asked her the same question myself. She said, ‘That’s not my role to consider. I only have to heal them.’ In a way, she was just like the rest of us—a bit unreasonable.” The old man stretched a smile on his wrinkled face and turned his head at the remains of the cleaner golem. “That golem had developed its own thoughts and likings over the years, capable of its own emotions.

  “....”

  "It was just… protecting its own place. It's home.”

  Unbothered, Zayn walked toward the entrance. He wasn’t going to engage in this. Whatever this was.

  Pacifism. Compassion. Madness.

  The golem had nearly splattered him with a fucking broomstick. And it gave him mana when he killed it. That’s all that mattered. That’s all he could afford to care about.

  He felt a ‘glance of disapproval’ pierce his back. That didn't make him waver. He'd gotten them all: the small shake of the head, the dismissive shoulder shrug, the gaze of disappointment. He'd gotten them everywhere.

  He scooted inside the small entrance in the wall without much thought.

  But he knew.

  Few could afford to be like Old Grey, doing things on a whim. Only the strong could be kind to all beings in existence. Zayn wouldn’t be like him. The moment something threatened him or his belongings, he would meet them with every bit of strength, regardless of whether they were monsters or men, as silly as that sounded.

  Soon, the environment changed.

  Vein-like etchings covered the walls flanking him, spreading haphazardly and without pattern, pulsing with corroded mana. A midrib attached them all into one single strain, into a bigger mana node.

  They lit up the path into a poisonous green.

  And the walls shrank as he moved, until it was barely enough for him to wiggle through. The walls caved in.

  Surprisingly, they weren’t hard like stones; rather, they gave off a fleshy feeling.

  A disgusting feeling rose in his heart as he went inside, following the trails of mana veins like a cave explorer, squeezing through a tiny gap. The eeriness of it all made his skin creep, but he was far too deep in the rabbit hole. He didn’t even know which way was out anymore.

  By now, the development of a new phobia was just on the way.

  Thankfully, the walls ended soon, and he finally rushed out, huffing in relief. Then, his breath halted in awe.

  He was standing in another impossibly large chamber, this one circular. He felt himself a speck of dust against its vastness.

  Stepping cautiously, he moved inside.

  Thick purplish vines sprang out of the limestone floor like they’d been a part of it since forever. Thin mana trails circulated on their cylindrical bodies, shifting wildly. He followed their trail.

  On the way, he found immense, broken pieces of stone, shattered weapons, stone limbs, and bodies lying broken. Some resembled the golems he’d met. Others were immense and twisted beyond recognition.

  Staring at them, he was glad he hadn’t met these intact.

  Eventually, the vines thinned. The mana trails became more concentrated and circulated in a clear pathway, collapsing and absorbing themselves into bigger threads. He kept going, entranced by the movement of the pattern, until he reached a flight of stairs, each raised a couple of feet.

  Despite his growing caution, he climbed, bound by a strange sense of curiosity.

  The overwhelming flow of mana blinded him. It felt as though he was swimming upward through a sea of mana. After what felt like an eternity, he rose to the middle of the platform, panting.

  Then he saw it.

  A mound of vines that chained someone atop the platform, an armored silhouette, stripped and kneeling on the ground, reaching toward something.

  Something immense.

  ??? — An item prophesied to bring about a world-ending disaster.

  The shifting mana made it hard to gauge what was happening, but he kept peering at it unblinkingly, despite his eyes turning blurry.

  “So much mana.”

  His throat dried. Unconsciously, he stepped toward it. Panting, moving closer. It was like staring into the sun. A sphere of unending mana. It oscillated, concentrated, and moved in a specific manner, as if it were alive.

  He was fascinated by its movement.

  He could hear his heartbeat throbbing inside his skull as he got close. He licked his lips, greed overpowering his sense of rationality.

  This much mana… if I had it…

  It was like having the power of the sun in the palm of his hand. Well, nothing that dramatic, but he would be a hell of a lot stronger if he had it. Maybe, he could even clear the dungeon…

  “No. Don’t be too greedy.” Suddenly, he bit his tongue and rushed backward, giving up on the idea. Anything that came for free came with a cost. It clearly prophesied to bring a world-ending disaster—nothing good could come from that.

  He’d seen many people do shady things and get rich in life. Lead an easy life. But he knew himself—once he tried to do the same, he’d be made into an example by the gods themselves.

  Better to stay far from it before he understood what this place was.

  He went toward the mound of vines. Who was the person chained inside the vines? He rounded around it to check, only finding a dark silhouette of someone wrapped within shadows.

  ??? — ??

  These… vines were chaining this person, stopping them from going toward the sphere of mana. He rubbed his chin, unsure of his next move. He could release them and ask what was going on here.

  But he didn’t feel it’d go that smoothly.

  No.

  This was likely someone immensely stronger than him. Someone like the old man. And since the old man was not hostile, there was about a three-hundred-percent chance this new NPC would be. That was what his internal math told him.

  He should wait until the grey robed man followed inside.

  In the meantime, he had something better to do. He licked his lips, staring at the mana vines in the surroundings with curiosity.

  He could take just a peek, right?

  He retreated toward one of the smaller mana vines. He’d noticed it long ago—but the way mana moved here was fascinatingly strange and novel. The way he’d been using mana before was disorganized, crude, and inefficient compared to it.

  ‘I See You Now’ (Apprentice - Low) ranked up to ‘I See You Now’ (Apprentice - Mid)!

  He didn’t even notice the notification—engrossed in observing the many intricate ways mana moved. How it collapsed and converged. How it separated.

  He shifted the mana within his body in a similar manner, feeling it turn faster, swifter, more efficient with each passing second.

  In moments, he grew more proficient in understanding mana, better at copying its flow. Unbeknownst to him, the surging mana in the air seeped through his skin and trailed into his veins like a flowing river, shifting and churning. And the moment he completely copied the mana movement, everything changed.

  Without warning, the vines crumbled. Like dry coal turning to dust. Scattering into the air like fog. One by one.

  Nothing remained on the vast platform, other than ash and dust. All the mana vanished into nothingness, leaving Zayn huffing and puffing like a fish out of water. He stared toward the middle of the platform. That blinding yellow sphere with a seemingly inexhaustible supply of mana was gone—nowhere to be found.

  “Where did it go?” Zayn felt a terrible premonition ring within him.

  Then, a warmth assaulted him in his chest. As he lowered his head to look at it, his heart sank.

  Within him, a sphere of mana churned.