Shadowed Gaze: The Highserk War Saga - Chapter 128

After his deadly clash with Faust, Walm underwent noticeable changes. Until now, he had occasionally caught cautious glances from other explorers while passing by in the labyrinth. But now, those stares had intensified, following him even into the waiting area. Eyes filled with a mix of curiosity and suspicion lingered on him constantly, leaving him with the uncomfortable feeling of being perpetually watched. When Walm returned their gaze, those explorers quickly averted their eyes, only for another set of eyes to replace them—a never-ending cycle.

Another change had surfaced in Walm’s mindset during battle. After the fall of Highserk, he had spent a year surrendering to laziness, allowing both his body and mind to dull. Despite some training and real combat experience, he had never regained the sharpness of his days as a soldier. That lingering dullness was finally stripped away during his life-or-death struggle with Faust. His thoughts flowed more clearly, and his body responded instinctively to his commands.

Amid these recent changes, his greatest concern was undoubtedly his party members—or rather, the lack of them. It had been seven days since Walm started recruiting, but not a single response had come. Even though he had expected this, the harshness of reality still stung.

Unable to afford wasting time just waiting, Walm returned once again to the labyrinth. He descended deeper through its layers, slaying monsters along the way. Resting in a corner of a break room, Walm eventually knelt down at a specific spot—a seemingly ordinary section of stone flooring that held great significance for him.

“No stains or marks?”

No trace of his previous battle with the manhunters remained. The labyrinth’s self-cleansing mechanism had wiped everything clean. Had he made even one wrong move during that fight, it would have been Walm’s blood staining this floor instead, and his body would’ve been erased without a trace. Taking a deep breath, he lifted his gaze. Fortunately, the break room was empty; no one was present to judge him for his odd behavior.

Switching his focus, Walm turned toward the door leading to the next floor. He pressed his hand gently against the door that separated the layers. After a moment of resistance, the door opened, and a warm wind brushed against his cheek.

The labyrinth’s interior hadn’t changed—the same walls and ceilings stretched on as before. Even so, Walm felt certain: judging from his experience, the true challenge would come before he reached the next break room. He lightly swung his halberd, feeling the reassuring weight and the sharp sound as it cut through the air. His movements were fluid, his body ready for whatever lay ahead. Letting out a shallow breath, Walm resumed his conquest of the labyrinth.

The welcome came swiftly. Pebbles at the edge of the passage trembled, and the vibrations carried through the soles of his boots. Emerging from the shadows revealed by the glow of luminous moss was a heavy cavalry unit—or rather, something resembling one.

“That horse-thing… it must be a centaur.”

Naturally, no cavalry could exist in the labyrinth. The figure before him was a centaur—a creature with the lower body of a horse and the upper body of a humanoid, clad in armor. Lacking the need for communication between horse and rider made them even more troublesome than ordinary cavalrymen. Walm quickly gathered his mana. The sheer mass and speed of the centaurs made for overwhelmingly powerful charges, and neither finesse nor weak spells would suffice against them.

With no defensive fortifications, the usual tactics would involve forming a spear wall with a group or striking from afar with arrows or magic. Alone, Walm had only one choice: halt the charge with magic. Whether it was misfortune or luck, the straight corridor offered no room for either side to retreat. Conjuring a fireball, Walm hurled it at the leading centaur.

The explosion struck beneath its lower abdomen, burning through the armor, shattering its front legs, and exposing its foul-smelling entrails to the air. Yet the result fell short of Walm’s hopes. Its thick body and heavy armor shielded the two centaurs behind it, who continued charging forward.

The gap had closed. Walm had time for just one more spell. Drawing the two remaining centaurs into a range where his fireball would land with certainty, he unleashed a second shot Blue flames engulfed its body, tearing through its armor and ripping away flesh. Its neck remained attached by mere strands of muscle and skin. Its massive corpse rolled forward uncontrollably, crashing into a wall before coming to a stop, while the trailing flames threatened to consume the last centaur as well.

From within the flames, however, the final centaur emerged. Its body was slightly charred, patches of fur burned away, but its threat remained.

A third fireball wouldn’t be ready in time.

Bracing himself, Walm positioned his halberd defensively, shifting his stance sideways as the centaur closed in. Up close, its enormous size was undeniable. A massive spear, proportionate to its body, stretched menacingly toward him.

The long reach of the centaur’s lance left Walm with no choice but to defend. Their weapons clashed, the spear scraping his halberd violently. Though Walm managed to deflect the attack, the centaur’s true threat remained—its sheer mass and momentum translated into devastating force.

The creature twisted its body to redirect its charge. A solid kick or a slam from its flanks would be deadly. Walm shifted his weight backward and slid across the ground, avoiding the burning stench of the beast’s scorched fur as its hooves passed inches from his face.

Using the pole of his halberd and one arm, Walm propelled himself back to his feet just as the centaur pivoted sharply on its hooves. The centaur, digging its hooves into the ground, attempted to turn around. It was a perfect union of man and beast—impressive, but as a cavalryman, this was a fatal mistake. A rider who abandoned speed had no strength left.

No matter how powerful its legs were, without a proper charge, it was vulnerable.

Closing the distance, Walm dodged a sluggish sweep of its spear. Compared to earlier, its strikes were noticeably weaker. Channeling mana into his halberd, he shattered the centaur’s weapon with a Strong Strike, forcing the centaur to draw a saber from its waist.

But before the blade could fully leave its sheath, Walm closed in and severed the centaur’s head. The lifeless body collapsed, limbs splayed out across the floor.

On an open field, Walm might have struggled, but within the labyrinth, cavalry’s natural advantages worked against them.

Wiping the blood from his weapon, Walm quickly moved to loot the corpses but clicked his tongue in frustration. More enemies were already approaching. Very few parties made it past the 30th floor, meaning fewer monsters were culled here compared to higher levels. The pressure on a single explorer like Walm was significantly greater.

“Armed trolls… Just my luck.”

Trolls—monsters with disgusting, boil-ridden skin, massive, bloated bellies, and an unrivaled regenerative ability for humanoids. Severed arms could be reattached by merely pressing them back, and slashed throats would heal over time. Worse yet, this one was even clad in armor.

Close combat would devolve into a brutal slugfest. Using magic to destroy it would likely attract more monsters. A lovely situation indeed. But this was Walm’s new normal—he had to adapt. Without the slightest smile, he welcomed his next guest.

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A pillar of fire rose from the floor, swallowing half of an ogre’s body as it foolishly closed the gap. Its flesh burned away in seconds, flames searing down to muscle and bone. Dispatching the creature, Walm’s gaze swept around, swiftly adapting to any remaining threats.

“Hmmph!”

Using the charred corpse as a shield, Walm thrust his halberd into the neck of a fourth ogre. Though aimed at its soft throat, the strike was deflected by a longsword. The ogre seemed to have learned from its kin’s fate, adjusting to Walm’s reach and speed.

However, as it pressed forward eagerly, Walm spun his weapon within his grip and swiftly pulled it back, outpacing the ogre’s advance. The hook side of the halberd dug into its neck from behind, shredding its spinal cord and major arteries. Blood gushed from its throat and mouth as the ogre’s eyes rolled back, its life instantly wiped out.

Suddenly, a distorted whoosh of air heralded a new attack—a warhammer with an asymmetrical head. Tilting his body, Walm dodged back just as a cone-shaped mass of metal tore through the space where his chest had been moments ago.

The two-handed hammer, weighted toward its head, delivered both mass and speed with a single swing. Given its power, it could’ve shattered Walm’s armor—and his bones—had it connected. Fortunately, the ogre’s hammer lodged itself into the stone floor.

“Too slow.”

As the ogre struggled to free its weapon, Walm’s boot crushed down on the handle, quicker than the beast could react. Obsessed with retrieving its hammer, the ogre failed to defend against the spear tip sliding beneath its chin and into its brain.

With the battle over, only Walm’s ragged breaths and the sound of the ogre’s body collapsing remained.

“Move fast. Less than a minute.”

No time for satisfaction or rest—Walm scouted his surroundings while swiftly looting corpses. He’d learned the consequences of dawdling the hard way.

At the first contact with the ogres, Walm had sent a fireball toward them. Now, Walm began looting the scattered corpses, skipping those obliterated by the blast. Naturally, he didn’t forget to twist the tip of his halberd into the bodies to ensure their demise. As his magic bag reached its capacity, he was forced to abandon bulky weapons and armor while focusing on storing only the gathered valuables. Though mixed with ill-gotten gains, his haul consisted of one small gold coin, six silver coins, and a matching pair of silver fork and spoon.

“Tableware… from ogres?”

Most explorers avoided carrying bulky items into the labyrinth, preferring to eat by hand. If ogres were using cutlery, it implied a more civilized culture than the human explorers.

After finishing his grim task, Walm noticed something unsettling—no more ambushes followed. Either monsters were gathering somewhere ahead, or an irregular event, perhaps a rare creature like the Bone Collector, had disrupted the usual flow.

Soon, Walm found his answer. More accurately, it found him. Scattered across the corridor were chunks of a dismembered troll and the bisected body of a centaur.

Monsters didn’t cannibalize each other in the labyrinth, nor did they engage in senseless skirmishes. Upon closer inspection, Walm noticed signs of looting on the corpses.

“A party came through here…”

It was the first sign of another human since descending past the 30th floor. However, due to his encounter with Faust, he felt little joy.

The dried blood and the labyrinth’s self-cleaning made it clear—they weren’t far ahead.

Carefully, Walm followed the traces left behind. His experience tracking during skirmishes with the Libertoa Trade Federation served him well. His squad leader, despite his rough personality, had been unusually meticulous about footprints. A bitter memory surfaced in Walm’s mind—stepping on soft young grass only to have his helmet smacked as punishment.

Though not a specialist in tracking, the methods he had learned didn’t fail him. The trail of footprints, along with the bodies of monsters seemingly torn apart by a violent storm, guided him onward.

Soon, the sounds of battle reached his ears, and it wasn’t long before Walm caught up with the group ahead. Within the labyrinth, there were rooms with open spaces called Great Halls—challenging areas that often acted as unavoidable crossroads when descending deeper into the lower floors.

In that vast chamber, a chaotic melee was unfolding. Ogres, and even a Cyclops, clashed furiously with a five-person party. But it wasn’t the scale of the battle that surprised Walm—it was the sheer recklessness of their fighting style.

An explorer’s battleaxe met an ogre’s club in a clash that seemed destined to put them in a deadlock. Yet, the axe, imbued with mana, easily overpowered the club in a decisive blow. The skill ‘Strong Strike’ was a familiar sight on both the battlefield and within the labyrinth, but the truly astonishing part was that every member of the party seemed to wield it, each unleashing its full devastating power.

Scattered monster limbs lay across the stone floor—at least ten, by Walm’s count. Judging by the chaos, they had likely drawn in surrounding monsters and now faced the Cyclops atop it all.

Four of the five fighters shared similar physical traits. Though shorter than Walm, their broad chests, thick limbs like stone pillars, and beards extending to their chests were unmistakable.

“…Dwarves.”

No one would argue otherwise. If these warriors weren’t dwarves, what else could they be called?

The continent’s prosperous races weren’t limited to humans and monsters. Elves, dwarves, and beastkin stood among them. One member, bearing a beast’s ears and tail, likely hailed from the beastkin tribes.

Their armor bore the insignia of a great tree entwined with four trunks—a crest even Walm from the northern nations recognized. It symbolized the unity and alliance between Elves, Dwarves, Beastkin, and Humans, a grand alliance sworn to the forest’s protection. It was the national emblem of one of the continent’s three major powers, Aleynard Forest Alliance.

Translator – Lyxxna