This time, no one rushed in.
Barton stood at the very front, his dented shield held across his body, both feet firmly planted.
His job was not to take the blows head-on.
It was to keep Bonecrusher’s attention locked firmly on himself.
Bonecrusher stared him down and slowly raised its club.
“Heads up!”
The club came crashing down.
Barton took two quick steps to the right. The club slammed into the spot where he had just been standing, blasting out a shallow crater as stone shards sprayed in every direction.
The massive weapon shuddered violently from the impact.
Rayne saw it clearly. The cracks around the grip were spreading outward, bit by bit.
Good.
They were on the right track.
“Keep going! Everyone, focus on dodging!”
Asar cut in from the left flank, using the opening as Bonecrusher drew the club back to carve a shallow line across its forearm.
Bonecrusher roared, turned its gaze on Asar, and swept the club sideways.
Asar immediately dropped low and slid beneath it.
The club nearly skimmed his hair before crashing into the rock wall beside him, sending stone fragments spraying outward.
Several cuts opened across Asar’s face.
But he was smiling.
The cracks had grown even more obvious.
In the Core Chamber, Owen watched it all in silence for a moment.
“Now that’s coordination.” He couldn’t help sighing. “Back when I was doing dungeon runs myself, what I wouldn’t have given for teammates like these.”
He had assumed that once Rayne’s party found the weakness, they would rush in and start hammering away at the grip.
As it turned out, he had been overthinking it.
They had no intention of taking anything head-on.
Instead, they dodged carefully, the entire party circling around Bonecrusher’s attacks and baiting as many swings as possible into the floor or the walls.
It was an effective tactic.
But that was only the start.
“Still a long way to go. If I’m reading this right, the second phase should be coming up soon.”
The plan itself was solid, but if they failed to react quickly to what came next, things could get ugly fast.
Just as Bonecrusher’s swings kept missing and the wounds across its body continued to mount, its movements suddenly changed.
It suddenly bent forward.
Before Rayne and the others could react, Bonecrusher threw its head back.
“RRRAAAGH—!”
A massive roar tore from its throat, forming a visible wave of sound.
Everyone clapped their hands over their ears almost at once. Their vision went black, and their bodies lurched as if struck by a heavy hammer.
Bonecrusher slowly straightened again, and Barton stood directly in front of it, completely exposed.
A chill shot up the back of Rayne’s neck.
“Barton, look out!”
The club rose high. Barton barely managed to lift his shield, shrinking his whole body behind it.
But in the next instant, Rayne realized something was wrong.
Bonecrusher wasn’t looking at Barton.
Its torso had already twisted toward the rear.
“Behind us!”
The words had barely left his mouth when the club swept back in the opposite direction.
Tyren hadn’t seen the move coming at all.
With no time to retreat, all he could do was throw himself backward with everything he had.
The rush of air kicked up by the passing club slammed into him and sent him staggering two steps. His bowstring jolted, and the arrow flew wide, burying itself in the ground at an angle.
He barely managed to catch his footing. His face was bloodless, but he still gritted his teeth and forced himself to move.
“Tyren!”
“I-I’m fine!” he shouted, his calves still trembling. “It didn’t hit me. Fuck, it missed me by a hair.”
Bonecrusher locked onto Tyren’s back and charged after him.
Seeing that, Rayne gritted his teeth and prepared to rush in from behind to support him.
But Bonecrusher suddenly stopped, then swept violently backward once again.
The club smashed into Rayne’s sword.
He clenched his teeth and held on by sheer force. In an instant, his arm went almost completely numb, and the longsword bent to its limit with a teeth-grating groan.
That wasn’t a parry.
It was more like bracing his sword in front of him to catch a stone wall head-on.
The next instant, the blade shattered.
Rayne was sent flying, tumbling several times across the ground before finally coming to a stop.
“Rayne!”
“Greyhound!”
The others shouted in alarm, but none of them dared take their eyes off Bonecrusher.
Ever since that roar, its entire movement pattern had changed.
It was faster now. And craftier.
Rayne coughed and spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva. “I’m all right.”
He braced a hand against the floor and forced himself back to his feet.
He glanced at the longsword lying broken in two on the ground, his expression grim.
“Stay sharp! That thing’s gotten faster!”
Rayne shouted the warning, drew the spare shortsword from the small of his back, and threw himself back into the fight.
The shortsword was far lighter than his longsword, but Rayne’s hand refused to steady.
His right arm was still numb. Ever since he had been sent flying, it had never fully recovered.
He did not tell his teammates. He simply tightened his grip on the shortsword, endured the stabbing pain in his palm, and forced himself to stay clear-headed.
Bonecrusher gave him no room to breathe.
It swept toward Tyren, forcing him into a desperate roll beneath the club. The weapon crashed into the stone wall, sending rock fragments flying.
The next moment, it turned on Asar.
Asar leaned back just in time to dodge, but the spray of stone shards struck his face and blurred his vision, slowing his footing by half a beat.
That tiny mistake nearly let Bonecrusher’s second swing catch him.
“Asar!”
Barton charged in, stacking both hands behind his shield as he drove it upward, forcing the blow aside through sheer strength.
A muffled thunderclap exploded through the prison. Barton was knocked back three steps, but he gritted his teeth and planted himself in front of Asar.
His left arm could no longer feel pain.
That was not a good sign.
“Can you hold?” Asar asked in a low voice.
“As long as I’m still breathing.” Barton did not look back, his eyes locked on Bonecrusher. “Make it quick.”
The cracks in the grip had already spread halfway down the shaft.
Coming up with a tactic was always the easy part.
This page used the chapter from where the author publishes without consent; their official publication supports the person who created it.
But once Bonecrusher changed its style, predicting where each swing would land became almost impossible.
Their chances to bait it into striking the walls had been cut in half.
And even then, Barton or Rayne still had to take blows head-on to buy the others more room.
Bonecrusher’s club was steadily breaking apart, but Rayne’s party was being worn down as well, bit by bit.
Serin stood at the rear, her face pale. Rayne could not tell how much magic she had left.
Tyren found another opening, nocked an arrow, and drew the string.
But his trembling arm threw off his aim, and the shot only sank into Bonecrusher’s shoulder.
Asar’s footwork was starting to slow as well, occasionally stalling for a brief moment.
“Greyhound!” As Bonecrusher drew the club back, Asar turned his head and shouted, “How much longer?”
Rayne narrowed his eyes and looked.
The cracks were deep enough, but they were still running along the grain of the wood.
“Find a way to make it hit the wall!” Rayne shouted. “It’s about to snap!”
The next second, Rayne was forced to bend low to duck a horizontal sweep.
Tyren seized the opening, gritted his teeth, and drew another arrow.
This time, he did not rush the shot. He locked his trembling fingers around the string and waited for the instant Bonecrusher turned its head.
The bowstring thrummed.
Bonecrusher suddenly howled, one hand clamping over the right side of its face.
Tyren’s arrow had punched straight through its eye socket.
Rayne and Asar quickly fell back, watching Bonecrusher thrash wildly in place. The tension on their faces finally eased by a fraction.
“Nice shot, Tyren.”
“Hell of a shot. Beautiful.”
Hearing the praise from up front, Tyren forced a grin onto his pale, exhausted face. “In the end, you still need me, huh? Ha!”
Bonecrusher kept roaring, wildly swinging the club in place.
Once.
Twice.
The club hammered into the ground.
Crack.
The fracture finally ran clean through the grip.
The broken head of the club spun through the air, straight toward Tyren’s skull.
“Oh, you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me!”
Tyren threw himself flat to the ground. The club-head skimmed past the back of his head and crashed into the stone wall behind him.
Close.
Way too close.
The sound of the club-head smashing into the wall was still echoing through the prison.
Bonecrusher froze where it stood.
It looked down at the half-broken grip left in its hand.
In its one remaining jet-black eye, that savage crimson light suddenly burned even hotter.
Then it roared.
This time, no visible sound wave rolled out.
No pressure that locked their bodies in place.
Only rage.
Raw, mindless rage.
It hurled the remaining grip to the ground, raised both fists, and charged at the nearest target: Barton.
“Scatter!”
Without the club, its reach had been cut by more than half.
But now, it was faster.
Freed from the weapon’s weight, its massive frame moved as if a chain had been broken off it.
Barton couldn’t fully dodge in time. He took the shoulder charge head-on and was sent flying into the stone wall, his breastplate caving in on the spot.
“Barton!”
“I’m not—” Barton broke off with a harsh cough as he slid down the wall, his face ashen. Still, he forced his shield up. “I’m fine. I can hold.”
That was not a lie.
The hit had been heavy, but it was nowhere near the despairing weight of the club coming down.
Rayne felt it.
So did the others.
Something quietly shifted within the party.
Not carelessness.
A firm, long-awaited sense that they finally had the upper hand.
“Press the attack!” Rayne shouted. “Don’t give it a chance to breathe!”
Bonecrusher swung a fist.
Rayne sidestepped and carved a deep cut along its forearm with his shortsword.
It wheeled around to chase him, but Asar had already cut in from the other side, landing two more strikes.
Tyren nocked another arrow. This time, his hand was much steadier.
“Here’s your arrow back, you stone-throwing bastard.”
Arrow after arrow buried itself in Bonecrusher’s back.
It was still struggling.
Still swinging its fists wildly.
But its roars had begun to weaken.
Every missed punch slowed it a little more.
Every arrow that struck home made it stagger another step.
Rayne could see it.
It was no longer the monster that could shatter their formation with a single swing.
“One last hit.”
Rayne said it quietly, the heaviness from the start of the fight gone from his voice.
Bonecrusher swayed as it raised a fist, its movements now too slow to keep up with their rhythm.
Barton sprang forward and slammed his shield into its chest, knocking the massive body backward.
That was the opening.
Rayne and Asar cut in from both sides at once.
The shortsword drove between its ribs.
Bonecrusher stopped moving.
In its one remaining jet-black eye, that savage crimson light dimmed bit by bit, like coals burning down to ash.
Its knees hit the ground.
Then its entire body pitched forward and crashed down, kicking up a cloud of dust.
This time, it did not get up again.
The prison fell silent for a long moment.
“…We won?” Tyren still had an arrow nocked, not daring to lower his bow.
“We won.” Asar slid his sword back into its sheath and let out a long breath.
Tyren’s hand went slack, and his bow lowered as he dropped heavily onto the floor. “Good gods, I really thought I was going to die in here.”
“Worst case, we would simply come find you in the stone chamber, no?”
Asar, of all people, cracked a joke.
“No thank you!” Tyren shook his head at once. “I am not getting carried out of that chamber by anyone!”
Serin went over to Barton and began treating the wounds he had taken during the fight.
Rayne said nothing.
He braced his hands on his knees and caught his breath for a few moments before walking over to the remains.
Bonecrusher’s corpse was giving off the same scattered points of blue light as it slowly dissolved.
Two items lay where Bonecrusher had fallen.
[Bonecrusher’s Thumb Ring]
A heavy iron thumb ring. It seems to still carry the grip strength and weight of the one who once wielded the club. Slightly reduces fatigue caused by equipment load. When using heavy weapons, the wearer’s grip becomes steadier, and the power of charged heavy strikes is slightly increased.
[Prisoner’s Token (2/3)]
A token belonging to Bolton the Bonecrusher. Where are the other two?
Rayne picked up the thumb ring first.
The moment it settled into his hand, his brow lifted slightly.
It was heavier than it looked. The cold iron pressed against his palm, and for a moment, it gave him the strange illusion that he was gripping the shadow of that massive club.
“Is this… a relic?” Tyren asked, unable to stop himself from leaning in.
Asar took it and examined it, his expression growing a little more serious.
“It is. And a rather rare kind, at that.” Seeing the confusion on their faces, Asar continued, “I have seen similar items in my family’s treasury, but adventurers at our level normally do not even get the chance to touch something like this.”
“Whoa! Doesn’t that mean we’re rich?” Tyren blurted out.
Beside him, Serin’s eyes lit up as well.
“It reduces the burden of heavy weapons and boosts the power of heavy strikes,” Tyren said, unable to resist glancing at Barton. “Barton, shouldn’t you be treating us after this?”
Barton was silent for a moment. He looked at the left arm he could barely lift, then at the thumb ring.
“When my hand works again, we’ll talk.”
That earned a short laugh from the group.
The tension that had been stretched to its limit finally loosened a little.
Only then did Rayne bend down and pick up the token.
It was much the same size and weight as the first one. Only the number on it had changed.
“Two of three,” he said, holding the token out for Asar, who had walked over to take a look.
“Just as I thought.” Asar took it and studied it for a moment. “One path left, most likely up ahead. Only… is Bolton supposed to be that thing?”
“Who? That dead fat bastard?” Tyren yelped in surprise. “How do you know its name?”
“It is written on the token.”
Asar tossed the token to Tyren.
When Tyren saw the text on the translucent panel, he couldn’t stop himself from letting out a string of startled noises.
“Did the last one have a name?” he asked, turning curiously to Serin.
Serin took out the previous token, checked it, and said, “No. This one only has basic information.”
The others could not help crowding around, discussing it among themselves.
◆ ◆ ◆
And in the unseen Core Chamber, Owen watched it all with deep satisfaction.
“Not bad. Not bad at all.” His praise was sincere. “I do feel a little sorry for Bonecrusher, but that coordination really opened my eyes.”
They had found the weakness, baited the club into the walls, finally snapped the grip, then seized the moment its threat dropped sharply during the berserk phase and finished it off in one decisive strike.
The whole sequence had gone so smoothly that Owen almost wanted to applaud.
“Now that’s how it should be.” He bobbed the head he didn’t have, delighted. “Adventurers should have guts, but they need brains to go with them.”
“Ha. Though as someone who’s never actually been an adventurer, I probably don’t get to say that.”
Before long, however, his attention shifted to the token.
“Go on, keep guessing.” Owen’s crystal flickered slyly. “Who exactly is Bolton, anyway…?”
His smug little voice echoed through the Core Chamber.
“I don’t know either! Ha!” Watching them debate it so seriously, he couldn’t help bursting into laughter. “It’s just flavor text I filled in at random!”
He laughed so hard that he almost reached up to wipe a tear from the corner of his eye, only to catch himself.
He had neither hands nor tears anymore.
He paused, and his gaze slowly drifted toward the final prison deep in the canyon.
Crouched at the end of that path was no pure-mechanics creation like Bonecrusher.
That one was something he had designed with real care: the final gatekeeper of his beginner dungeon.
Owen was very much looking forward to seeing how it performed, and how the adventurers would react when they faced it.
“That said…” He glanced at the state Rayne’s party was in. “Looking at the shape you’re all in right now, today is out of the question.”
◆ ◆ ◆
Sure enough.
Rayne looked around at his teammates.
Barton’s breastplate was caved in, and his left arm was bandaged and slung at his side. The cuts on Asar’s face were still faintly seeping blood, and his right leg dragged with a limp. Tyren had only a few arrows left in his quiver, and his hand had not stopped trembling since the fight. Serin’s face was frighteningly pale, her magic clearly nearly spent.
As for Rayne himself, his trusted longsword was broken, and his chest still felt as if a stone were pressing down on it.
“That’s it for today,” Rayne decided. “We head out, replace our damaged gear, have the camp healer look us over properly, and then get a good night’s sleep.”
“We’re not pushing on?” Tyren asked, visibly relieved even as he said it.
Rayne placed a large hand on Tyren’s head and ruffled his hair.
“Good work today. Recover properly, and we’ll come back tomorrow.” Rayne gazed into the depths of the canyon. “I’ve got a feeling the third one won’t be as easy to deal with as this one.”
He had no desire to face the unknown while his teammates were battered and their equipment was in pieces.
That would not be training. That would just be throwing their lives away.
“Tomorrow.” He picked up his broken sword and slid it back into the sheath at his back. “We’ll come back once we’re in fighting shape.”
No one objected.
Greer slowly straightened from where he had been leaning against the passage wall, propped on his cane. A faint trace of approval flickered in his clouded eyes.
“A wise decision.” He nodded to Rayne, then turned and led the group toward the exit.
◆ ◆ ◆
In the Core Chamber, Owen watched them leave, his crystal flickering rapidly.
“Tomorrow, huh…”
His gaze settled on the final prison deep in the canyon, a note of barely contained anticipation in his voice.
“Here’s hoping you can all stay that calm when the time comes.”