Roggo, an employee of the Adventurers’ Guild Bergana Branch, had once been an excellent Scout who specialized in the Labyrinth. His innate sense for danger had not dulled even after becoming a guild employee. He possessed a keen political instinct within the Guild and excelled at sniffing out peril. That was precisely why he had aligned himself with the faction of the Deputy Branch Manager, whose character was partially twisted, and had obediently acted alongside him.

Now, that instinct for danger was ringing louder than ever before, like an alarm bell shrieking in his skull. One glance at the ruptured Deputy Branch Manager made it painfully obvious what had occurred.

“This has to be a joke. Why are there ghosts now of all times?!”

That night, leaving behind only the bare minimum of organs required to sustain life for a short while, Deputy Branch Manager Raffaele had been implanted as a human bomb, a method frequently used during the Unification War. The materials typically consisted of the organs of a fire-breathing lizard, Black Water, and either poison or metal fragments. In the case of the ceremonial human bomb, the fangs of the hydra slain by the Republic had been used for Hydra’s Poison.

Roggo, who knew the history of Labyrinth City, realized that the method perfectly matched the tactics employed at the end of the Unification War.

Originally, this was a cursed land where powerful Ley Lines flowed. If negative factors overlapped, it could easily transform into Demonic Territory. There was no doubt. This had to be a conspiracy between the Republic and the ghosts of the Gundor Family, the prestigious necromancer lineage that once ruled Labyrinth City. Considering the monsters now overflowing inside the city walls, this plan had to have been years in the making. Decades, perhaps. If poorly estimated, it might have been set in motion since the end of the Unification War itself.

There was no way a man who had unwittingly aided such a plot would be forgiven. Roggo decided that he had to flee the country at once. Above all, the Republic, inheritors of the Giant’s stubborn blood, would never let this end here.

As Roggo ran, gasping for breath, he felt a dull pain in his chest and glanced downward.

“What is this?”

A mark had surfaced upon his body. He had never seen the pattern before, but there was no way it was unrelated to the present upheaval. As Roggo attempted to determine its effect, the need to investigate vanished.

The ghouls that had been devouring citizens nearby turned their hollow eye sockets toward him. And it was not just one or two.

In that instant, Roggo understood why he had failed to function as a human bomb in the Great Hall. He had been selected as bait to attract these monsters.

“Damn it, they turned me into living bait to draw the dead!”

Among those involved in Guild operations, many were former Adventurers. Roggo himself had served as a Scout both inside and outside the Labyrinth. He had faced monsters of this level countless times.

Drawing the machete from his waist, he accelerated. The thick blade severed an undead head along with its cervical vertebrae. Reversing his swing from overhead, he smashed the skull of the next ghoul that lunged at him.

“Damn it, the dead citizens are turning into undead?! There’s no end to this!!”

If surrounded, he would be toyed with and overwhelmed by sheer numbers. Roggo shattered the knee of an undead reaching out as if yearning for an embrace and slipped past it. Lowering his posture, he slammed shoulder-first into the chest of another corpse blocking his path. The fallen ghoul clung desperately to his clothing, but Roggo brought the machete down vertically. The ghoul’s thumb was cleaved cleanly from its base, freeing him.

Dashing into an alley without hesitation, Roggo avoided fighting large numbers at once and dealt with them head-on in narrow confines. It didn’t take long for the cramped passage to overflow with blood. The pooled blood on the ground hindered his footwork like a curse.

If the number had remained within what he could handle with both hands, his judgment would not have been wrong. But when the undead exceeded ten and pressed in from both ends of the alley, the situation changed entirely.

Even after cutting off hands, crushing knees, and blinding them with strikes, the horde of the dead did not cease its advance. Cold sweat streamed endlessly down his forehead, and his breathing grew ragged. Having stepped away from the labyrinth’s front lines and grown accustomed to calculation and intrigue, this was too heavy a burden.

If he had still been delving continuously into the labyrinth, he might have remained calm. But Roggo, as he was now, could not endure it.

Driven into a corner with no escape and no space left, he screamed.

“Damn it, don’t come! Don’t come any clos—AAaAaAaAah?!”

Half-mad, Roggo abandoned stance and experience alike, wildly swinging his machete. He shaved off fingers, strips of skin, chunks of flesh… but the tide of the dead did not stop. The blade, dulled by fat and blood, bit into sinew and muscle and would not withdraw. Countless arms and teeth closed in.

“Let goooo! AaAAaAaaHhh?!”

Arms tore at his clothing, claws dug into his skin. From gaping jaws dripped rot and saliva. Roggo flailed his limbs desperately, but it only prolonged his life by moments. Death filled his entire field of vision. What escaped his throat was nothing more than meaningless babble.

Just as his limbs were about to be torn apart by the disorderly grasping hands, wind swept through the alley. Heat struck his cheek and seared his entire body.

“…Gah… Wha—what’s happening?”

Overwhelming heat incinerated death itself. Coughing from the aftershock and suffering burns on his exposed skin, Roggo looked on as the horde of the dead sank into a sea of azure flames.

Amid the blazing inferno, one man stood calmly.

“Y-you are…”

Roggo knew him. A mercenary who had served as a porter in the Conqueror party, his name was Walm. Shortly after this mercenary joined, the stagnating Three Magic Attack had succeeded in conquering the labyrinth. Though there had been doubts about his abilities due to his mysterious origins and lack of information, who could raise a critical voice after witnessing this scene?

“S-sorry. You saved—”

His breath caught, gratitude dying halfway. The eyes burning with emotion shifted from the monsters to Roggo.

Golden pupils narrowed vertically. They were not human eyes.

Roggo sensed danger but before he could run, a blast of hot wind tore through the alley. His path was burned shut, and he was slammed against the wall, air forced from his lungs. A hand seized his throat with enough pressure to stop his breathing.

“Don’t move.”

Feeling the heat transmitted from those fingers, Roggo abandoned all resistance.

“Answer me. Who did this? While everyone else was in chaos, you alone were trembling in fear. And the one who exploded was your beloved Deputy Branch Manager. What’s more, what is that mark on your chest? The undead seem awfully fond of you. There’s no way it’s unrelated.”

“I-I…”

“Give me what I want to hear. Do that, and I’ll spare you. Refuse, and I’ll burn off your limbs and feed your body to the monsters. You got until the flames in this alley die out. Choose.”

The clouded golden eyes swayed irregularly as they fixed upon Roggo. This was no mere threat. This mercenary would act exactly as he said.

Casting aside dignity and calculation, Roggo spilled everything he knew. What happened that night. Who had invited them. Where the base was located, and even his conjectures. He left nothing unsaid.

When the flames had begun to thin, the mercenary, apparently satisfied, removed his fingers from Roggo’s throat. He carefully voiced out a question.

“So, what will you do now?”

The answer came immediately. Fire burst from Roggo’s chest, and in an instant, his skin burned away.

The pain, directly ravaging his nerves, made him curl up like an infant and scream.

“Aah! AaAaaAhhh?! Damn it, why?! I told you everything!”

“I burned away the mark.”

Trembling in agony, the stench of scorched flesh clinging to his nostrils, Roggo looked down at his chest. The mark that attracted the undead had been seared away from his blistered skin.

Faced with such drastic treatment, he could not even protest.

“We’re leaving the alley. Do as you like after that.”

“W-what are you going to do?”

Suppressing the agony, Roggo asked.

“I’ll wipe out the attackers to the last one.”

The mercenary stated it as if it were the most natural thing in the world. It was neither bravado nor jest. He was serious.

If it was this unfathomable mercenary, he might truly accomplish it.

Though spared from death, Roggo could not move his body. The pressing undead were reduced to mere dust by halberd and azure flames. From the depths of his heart, Roggo gave thanks to the heavens that he had been excluded from the list of those to be slaughtered.

Translator – Lyxxna