From Bankrupt Noble to God-Tier Warrior: I Just Broke the Re

Chapter 5: The Quest for Power

The iron door didn’t just buckle; it surrendered, showering the hallway in splintered wood and rusted iron shrapnel. Three men in blackened plate armor surged inside, their silhouettes jagged against the dying evening light.

"Sila has a flair for the dramatic, doesn't he?" Lara’s voice was a frantic hiss inside Arto's skull. "Run, you idiot! We are not equipped for a three-on-one!"

"Run where? The back wall is collapsed!" Arto scrambled backward, tripping over his own heels as he scrambled toward the library entrance.

"The cellar. The old servant’s passage. Move!"

Arto didn't think. He dove into the shadows of the library just as a heavy mace smashed the pillar where his head had been a second before. He scrambled down the spiraling stone stairs of the hidden passage, his breath hitching in his chest.

"They’re behind us, Lara! Do you have any ‘divine’ tricks to stop them?"

"I’m a tethered soul, Arto, not a tactical nuke. My energy is spent. You need levels. We need that dungeon."

"You want me to go into a dungeon while people are trying to turn me into a human kebab?"

"They’ll be at the estate for an hour searching for your corpse. The dungeon is our only chance to get strong enough to survive the night. Move your legs!"

Arto burst out of the tunnel into the biting night air, stumbling into the overgrown ruins of a sunken stone archway—the local 'Delver’s Pit.'

"This place smells like wet dog and bad decisions," Arto panted, gripping the hilt of his sword.

"It’s a starter dungeon, Arto. It’s supposed to be unpleasant. Just go inside."

"Wait, do I just walk in? Is there a keypad? A guard?"

"It’s a rift in reality, not a grocery store. Just walk through the shimmering air."

Arto took a deep breath, squeezed his eyes shut, and stepped through the curtain of distorted light. The transition felt like walking through a wall of ice water. He stumbled onto damp, mossy flagstones. The light was dim, provided by glowing, pulsating blue fungi clinging to the damp cavern walls.

"Okay, I’m in. Now what? Where are the monsters?"

"Listen," Lara murmured.

From the dark corners, a soft, skittering sound emerged. Four large, chitinous shapes crawled out from the cracks in the wall—giant cave spiders, each the size of a dinner plate.

"Are those spiders?" Arto’s voice spiked an octave.

"Technically, they’re 'Lesser Skitterers.' And they’re hungry."

"They look like they want to eat my face, Lara."

"They do. Aim for the joints. Don't hack, poke. Like you’re dealing with a difficult client—straight to the point."

A spider lunged. Arto flinched, the blade clattering against the wall.

"You missed by a foot, Arto! It’s a spider, not a slow-moving target in a board meeting!"

"It’s fast! I’m trying to keep my heart inside my chest!"

"The spider is a project. Break it down. Identify the threat, isolate the movement, execute the solution. Go!"

Arto gritted his teeth, shifting his stance. As the second spider leaped, he didn't try to swing. He held his ground and thrust the point of the sword upward. The blade caught the spider’s thorax, pinning it to the floor. The creature let out a high-pitched hiss before going still.

"One down. Are you feeling like a hero yet?"

"I’m feeling like I need a stiff drink and a resignation letter."

"Keep moving. The other three are closing in."

Arto ducked under a web-line, his sword whistling through the air. He was clumsy, his footwork still largely consisting of 'panic-stepping,' but he was learning. He jabbed, parried, and hacked, his movements becoming more rhythmic, more desperate.

"You’re getting a rhythm," Lara noted, her tone almost surprised. "That last thrust was almost competent."

"Don't sound so shocked. I’m a quick learner."

"Good. Because you’ve managed to draw the attention of the local infestation. There’s a larger signature ahead."

Arto rounded a corner, finding himself in a spacious, circular chamber. The air grew suddenly cold. The floor was littered with the bleached, broken remains of past adventurers.

"Lara? Why does it suddenly feel like the room is holding its breath?"

"Step back, Arto. Now."

"Why? I don't see any—"

The ground beneath him gave way.

"Trap!" Lara screamed.

Arto plummeted, sliding down a smooth, slick chute of stone. He tumbled into a deeper chamber, his shoulder slamming into a pile of cold, damp bones. He groaned, rolling over, his sword skittering away into the darkness.

"Lara? You there?"

Silence.

"Lara? Answer me!"

Still nothing. The darkness felt thick, suffocating. Arto stood up, shaking, his hand grasping for his blade in the pitch black.

"Oh, great. Alone in a hole. Just my luck."

A sound echoed from the far end of the chamber—a low, rhythmic scraping of heavy claws against stone. It sounded like metal dragging on granite. Two points of crimson light flickered to life in the darkness, hovering seven feet off the ground.

"You’re lost, little intruder," a voice rasped, sounding like grinding boulders.

Arto’s blood ran cold. "Okay, that’s definitely not a spider."

"I am the Sentinel," the voice boomed, the crimson eyes glowing brighter as the creature stepped into the dim bioluminescent light.

It was a monstrosity of fused iron and jagged bone, a hulking golem with a rusted greatsword embedded in its chest cavity. It towered over Arto, the air around it humming with dark, static energy.

"Lara? Please tell me you have a plan for a walking mountain of death!"

Arto stared at the creature, his sword trembling in his grip. The golem raised a massive, stone-fisted arm, pointing a jagged finger at Arto.

"You smell of the Divine," the Golem droned. "And of failure."

The Golem roared, the sound vibrating through Arto’s very marrow, and swung a fist the size of a crate directly toward his head.