Novel Full Chapter 1416: Cathedral
[Rotten Monk (???)]
[Level: 50]
–
[Physical: 13,500][Mental: 0][Will: 0]
—
Sylas ripped the Rotten Monk apart with his bare hands as though he had herculean strength. An outside observer would have thought his Physical was double that of the zombie, and yet it was nowhere near this.
With a calm gait, Sylas continued to walk forward.
Another spear came for him, hidden in the darkness. It came from an unexpected angle, and yet the moment it was about to touch Sylas’ skin, it wilted away to ash.
The tip of the blade looked as though it had been crushed against Sylas’ flesh, the zombie delivering its neck right to Sylas’ palm.
With a squeeze, Sylas shattered its head, not stopping his forward progress in the slightest.
One after another, Rotten Monks wielding spears fell.
Their attacks were supposed to be hidden, hard to detect, and the number Sylas was facing only increased as he continued to walk forward—numbers meant to be faced by a squadron of 50 creeping up on him.
And yet, the result was the same every time.
What couldn’t be seen were the waves of Rotten Monks that collapsed before even receiving a chance to attack Sylas in the first place.
The erosion of time, a power of the Dungeon, seemed to have become all Sylas’ own. This very same power, that should have been the hidden ace and power-up of these Rotten Monks, was crushed in Sylas’ palm just the same.
And this time, even though the Dungeon could sense that Sylas was manipulating its Runes, it didn’t react in the same way as the others had. That was because to the Dungeon… Sylas’ Will was little different from the universe that birthed it.
This was the power of a Perfect Spark Seed.
Maybe the Dungeon wasn’t even intelligent enough to tell in the first place that something was wrong with the way its Runes were functioning.
Sylas looked up.
Finally, the endless sea of darkness was suffused with hints of violet light. Up ahead, the Cathedral that was the namesake of this Dungeon appeared.
It loomed with shingles of black iron and shining obsidian, its body pointed and jagged in all the ways it could manage. Countless towers formed its frame, flags worn by age and death waving in the water at their tips as though planted on tall mountains in heavy wind instead.
At its gates, there were a pair of guards that stood with a menacing air.
—
[Rotten Monk Giant (???)]
[Level: 50]
–
[Physical: 18,500][Mental: 0][Will: 0]
—
However, between Sylas and these giants was the moat that had somehow appeared at the bottom of this ocean. It looked like a heavy oil, sinking to the bottom rather than floating as one would expect, and it was somehow even blacker than the waters all around him.
The Rotten Monk Giants spotted Sylas in the darkness, seemingly feeling his existence. It was the Cathedral giving off such a wave of light, but they seemed sharper than the earlier zombies, as though they, too, could feel the changes and twists in time.
Both of them wielded saw blades that almost looked like war flags chained lengthwise to their polearms rather than along their widths.
When they raised them, the waters churned, and the moats seemed to especially gain power and character.
The instant Sylas made it to the first side of the moat’s bridge, the heavy oil of the moats rolled, rising up in snaking pillars that descended soon afterward like meteors crashing toward the earth.
Sylas looked up.
This Dungeon certainly had a way of making people feel small. And yet, there was only the slightest flicker in Sylas’ eyes.
For that moment, it felt like the world was in the palm of his hands. Rune Mastery… it was truly the path of a god.
And a part of him really, really liked that.
The pillars, once as heavy as mountains, shattered apart into a scattered rain, the Runes forming them crumbling as Sylas unraveled them.
But the instant they were ripped out of the control of the Rotten Monk Giants, Sylas’ irises flashed, their wiggling shades of various emerald and green, foresty colors surging.
The pillars were reformed, snapping together in the depths in two masses of javelins as large as a hundred meters in length—and yet being far heavier than they were enormous.
The giants only had time to blink a single time.
Reality seemed to distort, time bending. In that instant, it felt as though the javelins had never crossed the distance in the first place; it was like, from the very start, they had always been pierced right through the chests of the pair of giants.
Then, they crumbled to ash.
At some unknown time, Sylas had already crossed the bridge, the ashy rain of what remained of the pair of giant zombies falling above him as though a welcoming confetti.
He pressed his palms forward and pushed. The creaking doors of the Cathedral ended with a BOOM, slamming open.
The howl of a cold wind crept across Sylas’ skin, his body feeling as though silky strands of ice were sliding across him.
The ghosts of banshees floated through the air, a small army standing before him.
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[Elite Abyssal Knight (???)]
[Level: 50]
–
[Physical: 19,000][Mental: 0][Will: 0]
—
Behind the Elite Abyssal Knight, a series of knights with Physicals just 500 weaker than the giants on the outside stood. But as though that wasn’t enough— Sylas looked up.
—
[Abyssal Banshee (???)]
[Level: 50]
–
[Physical: 0][Mental: 15,000][Will: 15,000]
—
Every time they swept down, passing through his body, they seemed to snatch a bit more from him.
Suddenly, Sylas reached out as another banshee was about to pass through him and leave.
He gripped onto its head as though it was solid and squeezed down.
The banshee unleashed a shriek that peeled the paint from the rotting walls of black, and yet it seemed to reflect away from Sylas’ ears as though it didn’t exist at all.
Sylas’ hand squeezed down and shattered it to pieces.