Shadowed Gaze: The Highserk War Saga - Chapter 129

The Cyclops, now bereft of its allies, flailed its massive club in a half-mad frenzy. The stone floor shattered beneath each wild swing, scattering debris like deadly shrapnel. At first glance, the one-eyed giant appeared to be dominating the battlefield—but in truth, it was on the verge of defeat.

Each reckless movement cost the creature dearly. With precise strikes through the cloud of dust, the Dwarves and Beastkin relentlessly carved away at the giant’s flesh. When the dull gleam of a battleaxe severed the tendons of the Cyclops’s ankles, the battle became entirely one-sided.

Its wild resistance amounted to nothing. Blow after blow, enhanced by Strong Strikes, sheared off its limbs. It was a brutal, almost systematic dismantling—like knocking sections out of a tower until it collapsed. It didn’t take long for the Cyclops’s head, single eye and all, to be separated from its body.

The Great Hall, soaked in blood from the chaotic battle, reeked of the exposed entrails of slain monsters. Even on a floor where monsters weren’t routinely wiped out, the sheer number defeated would ensure no new creatures would appear for a while.

Walm, who had silently watched the entire battle unfold, knew he couldn’t remain a mere spectator for long.

“Oi! Who the hell are you? You’ve been sneaking glances for a while now.”

A bearded Dwarf, wiping the blood and grease from his axe head with a cloth, scowled at Walm. Though Walm had been waiting his turn to pass through the Great Hall, he had indeed watched the fight without asking permission. He hadn’t meant to spy, but the accusation wasn’t entirely unfounded.

“My apologies—”

“Hmm? Don’t recognize you. What party are you with?”

Before Walm could finish his apology, the Dwarf interrupted, his words hovering between a mutter and a challenge. The Dwarf swung his axe casually at his side as he closed the distance—a rough and unrefined approach that put Walm on edge. Considering his previous encounter with Faust, caution seemed wise.

But Walm also felt a pang of guilt for watching their battle uninvited. As he struggled to find the right words, another Dwarf, busy dismantling a monster’s corpse, called out.

“Quit lazing around! Get over here and help!”

“Shut up, I’ll be there in a second! Look, there’s an unfamiliar guy here.”

“Are you drunk ag— Who the hell is that?”

“How should I know? He’s been here since halfway through.”

“Hey, check it out! A new face!”

The Dwarves and Beastkin, drawn by curiosity, gathered around Walm as if inspecting some strange object. Despite their short stature, their broad, muscular frames exuded an oppressive presence. Their loud voices, echoing unnaturally through the labyrinth, made it clear why monsters had been drawn here.

“You alone?”

The group’s boisterous chatter abruptly shifted focus back to Walm.

“Yeah, I’m alone.”

His response was met with a chorus of voices that blurred the lines between amusement and aggression.

“Cocky for someone so calm.”

“Better than bawling his eyes out.”

“Odd choice of weapon for a scout—carrying a halberd.”

It took Walm a moment to realize that their rough tone wasn’t fueled by anger; it was simply their way of speaking.

“So, where’s your party?”

“I don’t have one.”

“You don’t? What, did you abandon them?”

“No, that’s not it—”

A Beastkin who had remained silent until now cut into the conversation.

“This is the guy who wiped out Faust’s party. He reeks of death.”

Though Walm kept himself as clean as possible, the Beastkin’s heightened senses likely picked up the lingering stench of battle. The Dwarves, however, didn’t seem fazed by the warning.

“Ah, that mercenary. Faust really was a fool, going after someone who could reach this deep alone.”

“But that armor… Never seen it before. Where’re you from?”

“That design… Northlands, isn’t it?”

No one had ever guessed Walm’s origin correctly before. He turned his gaze toward the Dwarf who had named his homeland.

“Ha! Thought so. I know my armor designs well.”

The Dwarf puffed out his chest proudly, his thick beard and broad frame giving him an air of undeniable confidence.

“You’re as cautious as a fawn. Don’t worry—we’re not going to help you unless you ask. Besides, our gear’s top-notch; we don’t need whatever junk you’re carrying.”

Their laughter was boisterous but lacked any hostility. Despite Walm’s wariness, their words—likely spoken with knowledge of his past run-in with the manhunters—carried no malice. Whether it was the nature of their race or their experience in the labyrinth’s deeper floors, Walm felt no discomfort around them.

Growing up in a farming village and living as a soldier, Walm had no ties to nobility or social graces. On the battlefield, politeness had no place, and hesitation could be fatal. Perhaps that was why the rough mannerisms of the Dwarves felt oddly comforting.

“Haven’t seen many new faces lately. The greedy giants from the Meiris Republic have pulled out their squads and aren’t sending replacements.”

“Not many parties go past the 35th floor?”

“You could count them on two hands. Most of them are foreign units like ours.”

“Thirty, forty years ago, there were more tough bastards around.”

“The veterans of the Unification War and their students knew how to handle themselves. Today’s explorers care too much about gold and power.”

“Even we’ve only been here thirty years—compared to those who fought in the Unification War, we’re just pups.”

“Enough talk. We’ve wasted enough time here. We’ll finish dismantling the corpses—you can move ahead.”

“Yeah, this place is too busy for idle chatter.”

Had this been a tavern, Walm might’ve stayed to share a drink. But the depths of the labyrinth were no place for leisurely conversation.

“One last piece of advice, since you’ve got the guts: don’t go beyond the 35th floor. This is a natural limit. No matter how skilled you are, you won’t survive alone down there. Even we don’t expect to make it back alive without the right kind of comrades. Don’t throw your life away recklessly.”

“I appreciate the advice, but I haven’t been lucky enough to find the right kind comrades.”

“I can see that. Don’t lose hope or rush blindly into death.”

“…I’ll keep that in mind.”

With their final words spoken, the Dwarves returned to their work. Only the Beastkin, ears flicking with curiosity, kept an eye on Walm. Sensing the conversation had run its course, Walm quietly left the Great Hall.

“Don’t lose hope, huh?”

Even if Walm’s resolve didn’t rot away, his eyes certainly would.

“This world… really doesn’t let anyone have their way.”

His quiet mutter vanished into the air, unheard by anyone.

Translator – Lyxxna