Investing In My Lv.999 Devoted Wife Makes Me a Tyrant

12 | Dungeon Boss, Goblin Shaman Lv.15

Allen followed the corridor downward, the phosphorescent moss thinning until only scattered patches remained. Night Vision turned the darkness into a canvas of gray shapes and sharp edges. The air grew colder. The stone under his boots was slick with condensation.

The passage opened into a chamber three times the size of the last. Stalactites hung from the ceiling like stone teeth, dripping water into a pool of black liquid that dominated the center of the room. The surface was still as glass, reflecting the faint glow of moss. And on the far side, seated on a throne made of bones and rusted armor, was the boss.

It was larger than the others. Maybe 140 centimeters, but the difference was in the way it held itself. Straight spine. Calm yellow eyes that tracked the darkness like it knew something was watching. A staff in one hand topped with a crystal that pulsed with orange light, sending faint ripples across the walls with every heartbeat.

Two taller goblins flanked the throne. Broader in the shoulder, thicker in the arm. One carried a crude iron sword, the edge notched from use. The other held a wooden shield reinforced with strips of monster hide, its surface scarred and stained.

Allen pressed himself against the wall.

'Violet. What level are they.?'

[Violet: Goblin Shaman. Level 15. Fire-attribute staff. Two Hobgoblin guards. Level 12 each. One sword, one shield. The Shaman's staff requires a recharge period after three consecutive attacks. Approximately 2 seconds of vulnerability. Warning: Hobgoblins are significantly stronger than standard goblins. Host's current level and equipment make this a high-risk engagement.]

Allen's jaw tightened. Level 15, and two Level 12 guards who outclassed anything he'd killed so far. His ribs still ached from the club strike in the first chamber. His shoulder wound had closed but the skin was still tender.

'High-risk. That's one way to put it.'

He picked up a stone from the floor.

The stone arced across the chamber and splashed into the pool.

SPLOOSH.

Every head turned. The Shaman's yellow eyes narrowed. It barked something in its guttural tongue, a command and the two Hobgoblins advanced toward the water. The sword-carrier moved first, weapon raised. The shield-bearer followed, its heavy footsteps squelching on the wet stone.

Allen circled along the wall, staying low, staying in the shadows. His heart hammered against his ribs. Calm Mind kept his breathing steady, but the adrenaline was still there, a cold burn in his veins. He reached the flank just as the Hobgoblins stopped at the pool's edge.

The Shaman remained on its throne, watching. Waiting.

Allen struck.

He came at the sword-carrier from behind, knife aimed at the back of its knee. But the Hobgoblin heard him at the last instant. It twisted, and the blade skidded off its thigh instead of severing tendon. A deep gash opened, black blood spilling down its leg, but it didn't fall. It roared and swung its sword backward in a wild arc.

GRRROOOOAAAK!

Allen threw himself flat. The sword whistled over his head and smashed into the wall, chips of stone spraying across his back. He scrambled sideways, but the shield-bearer was already moving, its shield swinging toward his ribs.

WHUMP.

The impact lifted him off his feet and slammed him into the wall. Pain exploded through his chest. Something cracked—a rib, maybe two. Iron Will kept the scream locked behind his teeth. Minor Regeneration flooded the wound with warmth, but the healing was too slow. He couldn't take another hit like that.

The wounded sword-carrier limped toward him, blade raised. The shield-bearer advanced from the other side. Pinned.

'Move. Move now.'

Allen dropped and rolled between the shield-bearer's legs. The Hobgoblin's shield smashed into the stone where he'd been crouched. He came up behind it and drove his knife into the back of its calf. The blade bit deep, finding the tendon this time.

KKRRRIIISSKK.

The shield-bearer howled and stumbled sideways toward the pool.

Allen didn't hesitate. He slammed his shoulder into the creature's back, throwing all his weight behind it. The Hobgoblin teetered at the edge, arms windmilling. Then it fell.

KER-SPLOOOOSH!

The black water erupted. The shield-bearer thrashed, its heavy armor dragging it down. Bubbles broke the surface. Then the water went still.

'One down. For now'

The wounded sword-carrier came at him in a limping charge, its sword sweeping low. Allen jumped back, but the tip caught his jacket and tore a gash across his stomach. Shallow. A line of fire across his skin. He felt blood trickling down his belly.

He grabbed the creature's sword arm with both hands and bit down on its wrist. His teeth sank into tough, sour flesh. The Hobgoblin shrieked and loosened its grip. Allen ripped the sword from its hand, reversed the blade, and drove it upward through the creature's jaw and into its skull.

SSSKKRRRUNNCH.

The Hobgoblin collapsed.

Allen stood over it, gasping. His ribs screamed. His stomach burned. Blood dripped from his mouth. He spat it out.

The Shaman rose from its throne.

"GRAAK-SHA!"

The crystal flared, and a fireball the size of a human head roared across the chamber. Allen dove behind the bone throne, and the flames exploded against it, rattling the entire structure. Heat washed over him. The smell of scorched bone filled his nostrils.

'One.'

The second fireball came faster. He rolled to the left, and the blast clipped the edge of his jacket. The fabric ignited. Allen tore the jacket off and threw it aside, the skin reddened, then blistered. Pain screamed up his arm.

'Two.'

The Shaman's staff pulsed brighter. The third attack wasn't a single fireball. It slammed the staff into the ground, and a wave of fire rippled across the stone floor, spreading outward in a semicircle.

Allen had nowhere to dodge.

He jumped onto the bone throne, climbing it like a ladder of ribs and skulls. The fire wave passed beneath him, singeing the soles of his boots. The throne groaned under his weight, bones cracking and shifting.

'Three. Now.'

The crystal dimmed. The Shaman's chest heaved, its breath coming in ragged gasps. Two seconds. That was all he had.

Allen launched himself off the throne, the knife in his hand. His wounded ankle screamed on the landing, but he pushed through it. The Shaman raised its staff, but the crystal hadn't recharged. No fire. Just a desperate swing.

The staff caught him across the ribs, the same ribs the shield-bearer had cracked and the world went white with pain. Allen's vision blurred. His grip on the knife wavered. He stumbled, nearly fell, caught himself on one knee.

The Shaman lunged.

Claws raked across his face, tearing three lines from forehead to jaw. Blood poured into his left eye. The creature's other hand grabbed his shoulder and pulled him forward, and then its teeth were in his neck, jagged and filthy, tearing at the muscle where neck met shoulder.

NGGHH—

Allen screamed. He couldn't stop it. The pain was beyond Iron Will, beyond anything he'd ever felt. But somewhere in the white-hot agony, his hand found the knife. Still in his grip. Still sharp.

He drove it upward into the Shaman's eye.

SQUELCH.

The creature's jaws released. It staggered backward, the knife buried to the hilt in its skull. One yellow eye stared at him in shock. The other was a ruin of blood and steel.

Allen rose. Blood streaming down his face. Blood soaking his shirt from the neck wound. His left arm hung almost useless, the burn still smoking. His ribs were fire with every breath.

He grabbed the Hobgoblin's fallen sword with his good hand and swung.

The blade caught the Shaman at the base of its neck. Once. Twice. On the third strike, something cracked, and the creature's head lolled sideways, attached by a strip of skin and sinew. It crumpled at the foot of its throne.

[Ding!]

[Violet: Boss defeated. Bonus EXP. Level up: 10 → 14.]

The energy surged through him like a tidal wave. Four levels at once. His muscles swelled. His bones hardened. The gash on his stomach began to close. The burn on his forearm cooled. The wound on his neck knitted together, flesh and skin re-forming in a cascade of warmth. Minor Regeneration finally had room to work, and it worked fast.

The pool behind him erupted.

KER-SPLOOOASH!

The shield-bearer dragged itself out of the black water, coughing and sputtering. Its shield was gone, lost to the depths. Its eyes found Allen, found the dead Shaman, found the dead sword-carrier. It snarled and charged.

Allen turned, the sword still in his hand. He sidestepped the charge, caught the creature by the back of its neck, and drove the blade through its spine.

CRUNCH.

The Hobgoblin went limp.

Silence.

Allen dropped the sword. It clattered against the stone. He stood in the center of the chamber, surrounded by corpses. Three boss-level monsters. Dead. His body was a ruin of injuries, but Minor Regeneration was already working.

He retrieved his knife from the Shaman's skull. Wiped it clean on the creature's rags. Bent down and picked up the crystal that had fallen from the Boss. A small, pulsing orb of orange light, still warm to the touch.

He pocketed it and turned to leave.

The corridor back was quiet.

Allen limped past the chamber where he'd killed the goblins and the Larva. The carcass was still there. The bodies were still there. The phosphorescent moss still cast everything in sickly green.

And three new shapes lay among the corpses.

He stopped.

The Hunters.

The young woman was slumped against the wall, her short sword still in her hands. Her throat had been opened by a goblin blade. The thin man lay crumpled around the broken shaft of his spear. Both dead. Their eyes stared at nothing.

The E-ranker was still alive.

He lay on his back, chest rising and falling in shallow, wet gasps. A dead Duskrat pinned his sword arm. His coat was soaked through. His lantern was a scatter of glass and twisted metal.

Allen walked over and looked down at him.

The E-ranker's eyes found his face. Recognition flickered there. Then fear.

"You," he rasped. Blood bubbled at the corner of his mouth. "You... left us."

Allen didn't answer.

"You could have... helped." His voice was barely a whisper. "You... bastard."

Allen crouched beside him. The knife was still in his hand, still wet with the Shaman's blood.

"You called my wife a cripple."

The E-ranker's eyes widened.

"You said she was useless. You laughed." Allen's voice was calm, almost conversational. "You don't get to say those things and walk away."

"I was... I didn't mean—"

Allen grabbed him by the hair and lifted his head off the stone. The E-ranker whimpered.

"This is the price for insulting my wife."

He drove the knife into the man's throat.

SSHHTT.

The E-ranker twitched once and went still.

Allen released his grip and stood. He wiped the blade on the dead man's coat.

The portal shimmered at the end of the corridor. Gray light. The way out. Beyond it, Seraphina was waiting.

Allen started walking.