Ch 41

  The arrival of the three katana-wielding foes marked another shift in the brutal contest that Matt was embroiled in. Instead of charging straight at him, they spread out deliberately in an attempt to slowly corner him. Meanwhile, Matt found himself bleeding profusely from wounds scattered across his body as darkness began to creep in at the edges of his vision. He was acutely aware that he had only about half a minute before additional foes would arrive. Casting all caution aside, he hurled Zara’s sword toward the enemy on his left with a desperate determination. Following this, he charged forward with a grin as the foe deflected Zara’s sword, sending it spinning upward, just as he leapt to intercept its trajectory. Grasping the spinning blade, he swiftly transitioned into a powerful downward slash.

  As his opponent moved to block again, Matt twisted his wrists and arched backward, landing gracefully without contact. He immediately sprang into another piercing thrust, unleashing his pent-up strength to deliver the decisive blow for victory. In one fluid motion, as the katana dropped from his enemy’s grasp and before it could vanish from the fray, Matt snatched it and spun rapidly, sending it flying at an unsuspecting armored knight wielding a shield. Although the shield managed to deflect the incoming weapon, Matt exploited the opening with remarkable speed. He slipped past the knight’s guard with another forceful charge, finishing him off before retreating while coughing up a streak of blood that testified to the ferocity of the clash.

  Though he had succeeded in whittling his adversaries down to three once again, Matt realized that he had pushed his enhanced body beyond its already superhuman limits. Yet, rather than slowing, he let out a battle cry that reverberated through the chaos, charging headfirst at the last standing foe from the group of armored foes brandishing both shield and sword. With a reckless abandon born of desperation, he hacked furiously, forcing them into retreat. It was then that two of the opponents wielding katanas surged to attack him from behind—a tactic Matt had anticipated. At the very last moment, he slipped around his target, shoving him from behind. This maneuver caused one of the katana-wielding foes to become entangled, forcing Matt to engage the others directly. Although he managed to vanquish that adversary, the other two recovered quickly, forcing him to charge forward once more.

  As Matt dispatched the last of the katana-wielding foes, three new attackers emerged, armed with the strangest weapons he had ever seen. He could not recall their names, but he remembered, even as a child, seeing ninja costumes complete with these fake yet iconic blades. Each weapon featured one long prong accompanied by two shorter ones that curved slightly outward—a design unmistakably intended to counter swords. Recognizing the deadly potential of these unfamiliar arms, Matt instinctively made the split-second decision to throw his sword as a decoy. The lead attacker, caught off guard, failed to block the incoming strike, sealing its fate and easing the pressure on Matt ever so little.

  After neutralizing the first threat from the new arrivals, he redirected his charge while keeping a cautious eye on the final armored figure armed with a sword and shield. Although Matt longed to dispatch this foe immediately, he realized that the newly arrived attackers demanded his attention first. With precise timing, he used his hands to deflect the initial two strikes and firmly grabbed the wrists of the two remaining newcomers. Had one of the opponent not managed to force the side prongs into his forearms, Matt might have felt completely dominant in this round; instead, he only managed to survive by swinging one adversary into the other, viciously impaling both with their own weapons.

  In the ensuing chaos, he rolled expertly to evade the slashing sword of the shield-bearing enemy, though a well-aimed boot still struck his head moments later. He barely managed to roll out of harm's way again as his vision swam and a warm trickle of blood began streaming down his face. Regaining his footing, Matt barely kept ahead of his opponents as the twenty-first wave of challengers surged forward. This new onslaught consisted of three foes, each clutching a staff crowned with a dark red gem, from which they hurled fiery projectiles at him. With a defiant smile, Matt charged headlong into the fray, even as a fireball seared his face. Clutching his sword once more, he felt his wounds cauterize almost instantly from the scalding flames.

  Once again, a sense of incredulity washed over him—as if the mastermind behind this dungeon had miscalculated—when he swiftly dispatched the trio in under ten seconds, snuffing out their attacks before they could regroup. However, he understood that this brief respite would vanish just as quickly as the next round loomed on the horizon. In the midst of turning to confront the particularly tenacious foe—one who had withstood the test of several waves—Matt stumbled. He found a moment of grim gratitude that shield-wielding enemies were a rare occurrence, as they proved far more challenging to vanquish without the luxury of tossing them into a bottomless pit.

  An ominous fear gripped him: if he didn't finish off this enemy without delay, the next wave might bring his doom. Ignoring his body's protests, he charged forward, sacrificing the refined control he once boasted for a clumsy yet necessary tackle following a deflected slash. Mere seconds later, he lay face down, having eliminated the last of his attackers, though the absence of any confirmation signal set off alarm bells in his mind. To worsen matters, a brutal blow had struck his lower back in the final clash, and he could clearly feel blood pooling there.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  It was then that he noticed a lone figure standing as if elevated above everything else—a solitary sentinel clad in black armor adorned with skulls at every joint. Instead of a traditional helm, the figure wore a deep, dark hood that shrouded its facial features, revealing only a pair of burning red eyes fixed intently on Matt. The figure held a short sword in one hand while a massive, triangular dagger, gripped as if it were a natural extension of its fist with a strangely contoured handle, was in the other. Despite Matt’s peril, the creature seemed content to simply wait as he withered slowly away, rather than ending him immediately. At least, that was his assumption—until the figure spoke.

  "One finally reaches the point where they can challenge me, only for you to be teetering on death’s door. I must say, I am disappointed, though I suppose that comes as no surprise," it intoned in a cold, measured tone.

  "I have more than enough strength left in me to deal with you; I just need a few moments to catch my breath," retorted Matt, clinging to the hope that his formidable opponent would be so overconfident as to permit him a brief respite.

  "It matters not, for I am forbidden from granting you such reprieve—" the figure began.

  "At least tell me what all of this is about before we fight, so that when I defeat you, I might understand why you refuse to embrace death," Matt demanded, voice edged with desperation.

  "Very well," the figure conceded, its words laced with a somber inevitability. "I suppose I can indulge that request without breaking the enchantment which compels me to face you. There was a time when this world was the exclusive domain of humans like yourself, until what you call the integration occurred. That event forced us into distant conflicts on faraway worlds—battles much like the one you are engaged in at this very moment. Our people never recovered from that era of strife, and by the time we returned to our homeland, it had been overrun by others. Only those who dwelled in areas safeguarded by ancient magic—places long isolated from the outside world—were spared."

  "Upon our return, that protective magic failed without warning, and we were thrust into a hopeless struggle. I know not the fate of the rest of my world, for all I know, only those stationed at this fort managed to make it back. In the end, we found ourselves locked in a desperate battle against monsters intent on claiming this realm for themselves. We fought valiantly, dispatching ten foes for every one of our comrades who fell, but our efforts proved futile. Bereft of food and reduced to merely a quarter of our original strength, our fortress walls eventually crumbled. It was then that we were offered a grim opportunity—to become an eternal scourge upon our enemies—and so we accepted, binding our souls to this cursed dungeon."

  "So, what? One of those responsible for the ruin of your world offered you the chance to never stop fighting, using your souls to fuel this dungeon?" Matt asked incredulously.

  "Yes," the figure replied bitterly. "At the time, I was blinded by hatred for those who sought to claim my home. Did you know that the moment you stepped into the fort, escaping without confronting the dungeon ceased to be an option?"

  "No," Matt admitted. "Though I suppose that means I don’t need to feel guilty about forcing others into it then."

  "Yes, they will at least be allowed to leave the fort—provided they remember not to reenter it. Otherwise, I fear their souls will soon join yours in fueling this cursed dungeon for eternity. Alas, I can delay the inevitable no longer—"

  Matt didn't like the sound of that at all as he forced himself to stand. The wound on his back had stopped bleeding, yet it still throbbed, and pain lanced through his entire body while he struggled to remain upright as his foe continued to speak.

  “It seems you weren’t all talk about needing a short break. Unfortunately, I don’t think you’ve recovered enough to—” the hooded figure began.

  “You let me worry about that now. Unless you have more to say, I’m about to finish you,” Matt retorted sharply.

  “Only that you will become the owner of this fort if you actually succeed—not just in this world, but in any realm you venture into, for you will be able to summon it to you at will. This includes the dungeon before you. However, once you defeat this challenge, you will never again set foot here while living; you shall be banished until you die and are reborn, becoming as I am, standing where I am now.”

  With that ominous declaration, the hooded figure charged forward, his short sword slicing through the air. Yet, Matt found himself far more wary of the triangular dagger accompanying the assault. He felt an unsettling intuition that the moment he blocked or deflected the short sword, the figure would counter with a punch—one that would drive the dagger ruthlessly into his gut.

  Realizing he had nothing left in reserve to counter the threat, Matt understood that any misstep would only send him crashing to the ground. With nothing left to lose, he abandoned any attempt at a full defense and made a desperate move. Feinting as though he were going to block the short sword, he suddenly shifted and lunged with Zara’s sword. Even as he felt a deep slash across his side and the knife pierce his gut, he pressed forward with grim determination.

  In that critical moment, as he saw Zara’s blade protruding through the center of the hooded figure’s head and the figure collapsed to the ground, a weary smile crossed his face. When his knees finally buckled and he hit the ground, Matt fought to hold onto consciousness despite the swirling pain and blinding notifications emerging around him. Yet, his gaze fixed on one message: the fight had earned him a full 1,000 experience points. Shortly after, a notification declared that he had leveled up, and he could feel his wounds beginning to mend. The searing pain that had threatened to overwhelm him gradually faded as his risky gambit paid off. Even so, he silently vowed never to endure such a desperate battle again, especially after receiving the stark reminder that he needed to alter his path before reaching rank F.