Shadowed Gaze: The Highserk War Saga - Chapter 130

Walm let his limbs sprawl out, sinking into the cold stone floor. The chill seeped into his body, soothing the heat that had built up from battle. As he exhaled, the exhaustion he had been suppressing surged forth all at once. Though this was his second time reaching the 35th floor, the journey had been far harsher than when he first encountered the Dwarves.

“Completely drained of mana…”

Looking back, the first time had been easier—thanks to the Dwarves drawing in and exterminating monsters before he could encounter them. They had even cleared out troublesome Great Hall monsters. Unplanned, he had been benefiting from their efforts. After spending several minutes in a state of lethargy, Walm finally pushed himself upright.

Sleeping here was not an option. His weapons, worn down from fending off countless monsters along the way, were in dire need of maintenance. They would only deteriorate further without proper care.

He carefully wiped off the grime and blood caked onto his equipment, then applied a thin layer of anti-rust oil. Applying too much would do more harm than good, attracting dust and filth rather than protecting the blade. With methodical precision, he finished his work. When he reached for his cigarette to light it, however, he was reminded of his empty mana reserves. He clicked his tongue.

“Looks like I’ll have to do it the old way.”

The flintstone he had relied on when Wilart wasn’t around came to mind. It had been lying dormant in his magic bag for ages, but now it was time to put it to use. He wasn’t trying to make a campfire—just a small flame to light his smoke. The cloth he had used to wipe off oil and grime would serve as a good ignition aid.

He shredded a hemp cloth with his dagger, creating a tinder bundle, then poked a small hole in its center. Draping it over one of the flintstones, he ensured the exposed section was positioned where the sparks would land.

With a scraping motion, he struck the stones together. Dull metallic sounds accompanied the shower of sparks. Fortunately, after a few tries, one caught onto the oil-soaked cloth. Walm cradled the flickering ember with both hands, blowing gently to nurture the flame.

The tobacco in this world lacked combustion enhancers, making it stubborn to light. But after a few steady breaths, it caught, and Walm inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with smoke. As he exhaled, the wisps drifted into the empty air, dissipating without direction.

“Hah… how modest.”

Compared to the blue flames he typically conjured, this tiny ember seemed so insignificant. And yet, in this moment, it was a vital light. Now that its job was done, it was merely wasted fire. Walm pinched the cloth between his fingers, snuffing out the embers and scattering the ashes before surrendering to a fleeting moment of relaxation.

That moment was soon shattered. Walm flicked away his cigarette and grabbed his halberd, rising to his feet. He had caught the faint sound of footsteps.

He focused his hearing, but the steps were deliberately loud—almost performative. It was as if the person wanted their arrival to be noticed. Some explorers, as a matter of etiquette, made a point of announcing their approach in the depths of the labyrinth.

For someone to be doing so on the 35th floor, they must’ve been exceptionally courteous—or exceptionally foolish. People often put on airs when needed. Walm’s body, wracked with fatigue, protested against the sudden movement, but he ignored it. Slowly, the door creaked open, and a face peeked in—one strikingly vibrant, even in the depths of the labyrinth.

“Yo, we meet again.”

Merrill greeted him cheerfully as the rest of Three Magic Attack stepped into the safe room.

“You lot this time?”

First the Dwarves, and now this rowdy bunch. Walm had been encountering nothing but lively characters lately.

“That’s an awfully cold way to put it.”

Merrill pouted in mock offense, prompting Walm to offer a sincere apology.

“I suppose I’m a bit worn out. And… I do appreciate what you did with Faust.”

“See? If you’d just said that from the start, things would’ve been easier.”

Merrill’s mood quickly rebounded, and without hesitation, he closed the distance between them. His lack of restraint and disregard for personal space almost made Walm wonder if this explorer was some variant of Dwarf.

“So, what do you want? Here to bond over battle stories?”

“Well, something like that.”

A vague answer. Walm sighed and played along.

“Must be tiring work.”

“Exactly! I thought you’d be lying low for a while after being confined by the Guild, but here you are, diving straight back into the labyrinth. And alone, all the way to the 35th floor. People say I’m restless, but you’re even worse.”

“I don’t have the luxury of standing still.”

“So you came to the labyrinth seeking something. And you still haven’t found it. Could it be that what you seek isn’t on the 35th floor?”

It was a bold, probing question. Walm had no intention of answering.

“Who knows.”

“Ugh, you’re such a pain.”

Merrill let out an exaggerated sigh, but his gaze sharpened as he studied Walm’s face. He was serious. There would be no dodging this.

“Explorers seek many things—wealth beyond measure, glory recognized by all, power surpassing their limits. I don’t judge any of those. In this labyrinth, everyone struggles and fights for something. It’s meaningless to rank those desires as greater or lesser. But tell me, Walm, what is it you seek in the labyrinth? What do you desire?”

“You’re an odd one. What do you gain from knowing that?”

“Well—”

The moment of tension shattered abruptly. Merrill pinched his forehead, while Walm instinctively scowled at the loud, boisterous voices that had interrupted them.

“Oi, you two arguing?”

“This looks like a good show.”

“Yeah, go on, settle it! No weapons, though!”

The sudden racket came from none other than the Aleynard Forest Alliance’s Dwarf unit. Expecting them to live quietly was about as realistic as teaching a goblin advanced philosophy. The only exception was a single Beastkin who flicked his ears apologetically toward Walm and Merrill.

“Could you at least read the room? We were having a meaningful conversation here.”

Merrill glared at the Dwarves, clearly irritated.

“Bah, how dull.”

“Well, whatever. Let’s eat.”

“Where’s the booze? Hurry up and bring it out!”

Just as quickly as their interest in Walm had sparked, it vanished, replaced by a singular focus on food and drink. Some had already settled in, tearing into hard bread without hesitation.

“Dwarves… honestly. I lost my momentum here, so let’s move somewhere else. I’ll treat you to a meal, and I still want to hear your answer.”

◆

Just off the main street, a particular establishment stood apart. Unlike the rowdy taverns Walm was familiar with, this one was built from solid stone, exuding durability and purpose. A glance inside revealed its nature—rooms partitioned by thick walls, designed for private discussions, business negotiations, and other matters requiring discretion.

Walm leaned his halberd against the wall before taking a seat. While he kept his distance out of habit, Merrill, in stark contrast, leaned forward eagerly, wasting no time in starting the conversation.

“I’m glad you accepted the invitation. Ideally, we’d all sit down and share stories to build rapport, but I figured getting straight to the point would be faster with you.”

After a brief pause, Merrill continued.

“I’m from this walled city. I never had to worry about my livelihood, nor did I experience poverty. But I had no family business to inherit and limited ways to make a living. So, I turned to the labyrinth to earn my keep. Not the most exciting story, is it?”

It was a common tale. Whether by force or circumstance, Walm had found his way to the battlefield, while Merrill had found his in the labyrinth. Both had simply fought to sustain themselves.

“But as I delved deeper, met my companions, my ambitions grew. You could call it curiosity, or maybe an explorer’s instinct. We’re aiming to become conquerors. It’d be a lie to say I have no interest in wealth or fame, but at the core of it, my goal is to reach the bottom of the labyrinth. That’s my dream… laughable, no?”

Though Merrill wore a wry smile, his eyes were resolute. His companions, seated beside him, shared the same intensity.

“No, I wouldn’t say so. Without dreams, hopes or goals, it’s hard to say someone is truly living. Without them, you start to forget whether you’re even alive at all.”

To claim that mere survival equated to living was a cruel existence. Having wasted a year drowning in alcohol and self-loathing, Walm was in no position to ridicule someone else’s aspirations.

“That’s a weighty statement… We reached out to you after seeing your recruitment notice. Most parties are still hesitating, watching from a distance. But given enough time, they’ll have to acknowledge your value. It might sound insensitive, but I was lucky—Faust paid the price to expose your strength to the world. I want you in my party, Walm. But before that, I need to know—what is it that you seek? What do you wish for in this labyrinth?”

Explaining it all would take too long. Showing them would be faster. Before acting, Walm gave a warning.

“I suppose seeing is believing. I’m about to channel mana—no hostility intended.”

As the flow of mana surged through him, Walm’s vision shifted. His eyes transformed, altering his perception of the world. Though not as intense as when he combined it with Demon Fire, a searing pain and heat coursed through his sockets.

“Those eyes… Cursed Eyes?”

The voice came from Hari, the warrior monk who had remained silent until now. Walm nodded in affirmation.

“I’m a remnant of Highserk, a defeated soldier from a ruined nation. I lost both my eyes in battle and had the eyes of the Great Ogre Lord transplanted into me to fight again.”

Satisfied that they had observed enough, Walm cut off the mana supply. Even as his vision returned to normal, the lingering pain remained. He shut his eyes for a moment, waiting for the discomfort to fade, then reopened them.

“These eyes will rot away before long. The more I use mana, the more they burn, as if trying to melt. The only cure lies at the labyrinth’s deepest level—a plant known as Deep Crimson Bloom. That is what I seek. That is what I desire.”

“I see… That explains it.”

“It’s nothing noble, just self-preservation.”

“My dream isn’t anything grand either. Walm, would you consider joining my party?”

With no connections and limited time, joining Three Magic Attack, one of Bergana’s most renowned parties, was the best option for Walm.

“Yeah. Let’s conquer this labyrinth together.”

“Then it’s settled! Time for a celebratory drink!”

“Hold on, Merrill! We haven’t even discussed the terms yet! And you, Walm, weren’t you a mercenary? Shouldn’t you be negotiating better?”

Before Merrill could rush off to grab drinks, a woman named Mariante reined him in. It was clear from her demeanor that she played the role of the group’s negotiator and problem solver.

“Sometimes, momentum is important.”

“You’re as reckless as a Dwarf, you know that?”

Even though they had only exchanged a few words, Walm could already tell that Mariante was used to keeping this rowdy party in check.

“Calm down, Mariante. We’ll settle the details later. But first, let’s properly welcome him.”

Hari, ever composed, interjected. Perhaps it was his monk training, but he carried an air of unwavering tranquility.

“…You just like his eyes, don’t you? You’ve always had a weird fascination with them.”

“And here I thought you adored my beautiful golden eyes, Hari! How quickly you’ve turned to another man!”

Merrill clutched his chest in exaggerated heartbreak. The theatrics left Walm thoroughly bewildered.

“That’s not it. Your eyes are still as captivating as ever, Merrill. But Walm’s—those darkened, almost murky Cursed Eyes—are simply irresistible.”

“What the—?!”

What the hell was he saying? That wasn’t even an attempt at an excuse. Hari’s gaze was locked firmly onto Walm’s eyes, unwavering. His simple, unadorned clothing and battle-hardened physique had led Walm to assume he was a reasonable man. And yet, here he was—proving himself to be an even greater eccentric than Merrill.

“Hari, take it down a notch! You’re scaring him off!”

A shiver ran down Walm’s spine as he instinctively tried to shift away, but before he could, an arm snaked around his shoulder, firmly keeping him in place. It was Merrill’s. Quick as ever, the young explorer had pinpointed the precise spot to weaken Walm’s resistance.

“Where do you think you’re going? Relax. Hari’s not into men… probably.”

Desperate, Walm turned to the last remaining party member for help—Yuna, the archer. She had been staring off into the distance, but upon sensing Walm’s silent plea, she slowly returned to reality.

“…Walm’s hungry. Let’s eat.”

No, that wasn’t the problem here! Walm internally screamed. As the realization sank in, a wave of deep-seated unease washed over him. Was joining this party truly the right choice? Where was the composed, determined man who had faced Faust head-on?

“Well then, welcome to Three Magic Attack, Walm.”

Merrill grinned as his grip on Walm’s shoulder tightened. This was why he hated adventurers. But his silent complaints vanished into the void, unheard by anyone.

Translator – Lyxxna