1-Second Invincible Player in the Game

118. Luo al Banas (1)

Riamon and Erucel bickered as they ascended the stairs.

“When will you grasp the situation? You keep stumbling about, whining about the captain.”

“Shut, shut up. What am I to do if the problem was difficult? If you couldn’t solve it, don’t speak.”

The riddle posed by the professor in his scholarly garb, Lace, was this:

To identify which senior professor had framed him and forced him into honesty.

Riamon clicked his tongue at Lace’s bizarre antics.

“Honestly, that one seems like a specter, clinging to memories of the past with such stubbornness.”

“There’s a saying, isn’t there? Ghosts cannot attain peace unless they resolve their grudges.”

“Aren’t those also artificially created? If they’re dead, they’re dead. When you think about it, they’re just memories, nothing more.”

Edina, who had been quietly listening from behind, let out a deep sigh.

As if hearing that, Erucel whipped his head around and chuckled awkwardly.

“Ha ha ha. It was thanks to Edina that we solved the problem. Without you, we’d still be floundering. Riamon would have just been a nuisance at my side.”

Edina opened her eyes slightly, responding with a hint of irritation.

“Riamon was just being whiny; he still did everything he was told. But you kept calling out names of professors unrelated to the matter. When the ghost said it would leave if we got the next answer wrong, do you know how terrified I was?”

Erucel, feeling a bit sheepish, cleared his throat.

“Ahem. Well, that was just a matter of that fellow lacking patience.”

Having somehow resolved the issue, they stepped into the corridor.

A man stood there, his eyes trembling as he gazed out the window.

Riamon scratched his head.

“Isn’t that the gang of that fellow, Luon or whatever?”

“Indeed. Kurel, the big brother, used to bring him around often.”

“But why does he look so dazed?”

With a curious expression, Riamon approached the window.

Outside, only black dust swirled in the air.

“What’s the matter? Are you just going to stand there staring blankly?”

Even as Riamon spoke, Kurel continued to gaze outside.

“…It’s truly absurd power.”

Kurel’s eyes seemed vacant, as if all will had drained from them.

Riamon tilted his head, puzzled.

“Hmm?”

Only then did Kurel turn his head.

“If you had seen what I just saw, you would understand my words.”

What could he have seen? The curiosity was piqued, but that was something to unravel slowly.

“Time’s a-wasting; why not draw your sword? Ah, unless you’re thinking of surrendering, in which case, forget it. What will you do if the chief gets angry?”

Riamon smirked, and Kurel scoffed.

“Do you think Luon forced me? You know nothing. Luon said we could leave whenever we wished if it didn’t suit us. Of course, I intend to follow him to the end.”

Srrng—

Kurel drew his sword.

Riamon glanced at Erusel.

“Something’s off about him. Was he always this vacant?”

“I can’t say for sure. All I know about that man is that he was Luon’s loyal dog.”

Kurel spat out a bit of powder and spoke.

“Enough of this chatter. Let’s begin.”

As he swallowed the pill, his skin hardened like stone.

Gentle flames flickered from the cracks.

Riamon drew his great sword.

‘Is it similar to the medicine the instructor took?’

—

It was a sight reminiscent of a flame-wreathed tortoise, save for the absence of its shell.

Riamon cast a sidelong glance at Erucel, poised and ready, and at Edina, who aimed her staff with intent.

“You’re just here to watch.”

Erucel raised an eyebrow, questioning.

“What do you mean?”

“Stay too close, and you’ll get hurt. Edina, conserve your mana.”

With that, Riamon lunged forward with swift determination.

As he entered Kurel’s range, the great sword swung down in a wide arc.

Whoosh—

Kurel managed to block it in one swift motion, but the aura-imbued blade was too much to withstand.

Clang!

Kurel’s knee buckled under the force.

Riamon seized the moment, unleashing a flurry of strikes.

With each blow, Kurel was pushed back, unable to match Riamon’s strength.

“Ugh.”

In an instant, nine exchanges of blows had passed.

Riamon’s eyes gleamed as he thrust the great sword downward.

Kurel, in a desperate bid, aligned his sword in defense.

Swoosh—

He attempted to deflect the massive blade at an angle, but alas.

Shatter—

The blade cracked, splintering like shattered glass.

In the end, Riamon’s great sword pierced through Kurel’s abdomen.

Thud!

Riamon tore his gaze from the bloodied Kurel and pulled the sword free from his gut.

“It’s taken too long; let’s move. We’ll finish off that fellow, Luon, and then rest.”

He said this to Erucel and Edina as he passed by the trembling Kurel.

Yet, it was Kurel’s laughter that halted his steps.

“Cough, cough.”

“Not dead yet? I’m certain I pierced your heart. If you’re still breathing, that potion must be quite remarkable.”

—

It was the moment when Riamon was about to bring his blade down upon his head.

Kurel, spitting a mouthful of blood, spoke.

“Cough, there’s no need to… confirm the kill. Soon enough, I’ll be dead… I know that better than anyone.”

“Is that so?”

“Yet, just now… did you say you’d kill Lu, Luon? Cough. How… foolish. If Luon dies, it won’t be because of you. It wouldn’t be considered murder…”

Kurel’s eyes remained wide open, not even a flicker of movement.

Looking into his clouded gaze, it was clear he was truly dead.

Riamon sheathed his great sword upon his back and turned to continue on his path.

But a nagging feeling compelled him to glance back at Kurel’s corpse.

‘This guy. Why was he even holding a sword if he had no intention to fight?’

The flame tortoise was a beast that spewed fire from its mouth.

Not using it could only mean he either didn’t know how or, given the circumstances, it seemed unlikely he couldn’t.

Even when his sword shattered, he showed no sign of surprise, only a pitiful demeanor.

“What a thoroughly unpleasant fellow…”

Riamon muttered this and ascended the stairs with Eruzel and Edina.

* * *

In the courtyard of the stronghold stood an ancient tree.

The older the life, the more the wandering mana settles and accumulates its energy.

Leaning against the old tree, Peldira opened the grimoire of crimson jade.

What she must do now is create a new body and erase the memories.

The host’s body is merely that of another.

Living with the memories of the former Peldira cannot be called a true human life.

Carrying memories akin to a past life only brings confusion to one’s identity.

Peldira steeled herself and took a deep breath.

“Huuh.”

The materials were sufficient with the host’s body.

Blood and bones of an adult woman, and flesh. There was more than enough to construct the form of a youthful lady.

If she truly desired a human life, starting anew as an infant would be the right choice, but a body without memories, unable to walk on its own two feet, was far too barren a condition for survival.

A compromise was necessary.

‘After creating the body, I’ll erase the memories.’

She clutched the bucket list tightly in her left hand.

[Name it Aleyna.]

[Take a boat and tour the neighboring land.]

[Wait for some dashing man at the fountain.]

.

.

.

[Become a teacher to children.]

These are not the desires of the past life of Peldira, but the yearnings of her current self, a mere thought.

If she were to be reborn, she might toss this aside, wondering what it even was.

Yet, if she were to set these as her goals, that too would be romantic.

For it meant that the wishes of her present self and her new self aligned.

Though, once she loses her memories, what significance would it hold? It was but a fleeting joy for now.

‘Surely, the new me will be clever enough? Becoming a teacher won’t take long at all.’

With her eyes closed, Peldira gripped her staff and began to weave her spells.

Thanks to the time it took, she had ample opportunity to bid farewell to the memories that would soon fade.

Even if they were true memories, they began with a dove and encompassed only her time with Luon, but still…

“…It wasn’t so bad, after all.”

The expression she had seen on his face in the Purple Forest.

After Hershel had departed, Luon’s face must have mirrored what it was like to see one’s own life through another’s eyes.

When she felt jealousy towards a friend who received a headband from their master, Peldira’s own face in life must have reflected that same sentiment.

And it was likely the same when she expressed her anger.

On that day when they had camped in the Demon Realm.

She had directly confronted Luon, perched high in the trees.

-Seeing how you reacted to that man, Hershel, it’s clear you felt jealousy back then. When he came to rescue the short fellow, didn’t you feel a surge when you saw him with his comrades?

At that moment, Luon’s eyes had certainly trembled.

Just as the master had been for the living Peldira, Hershel was the vital spark of life for Luon—a definitive proof.

Peldira let out a deep sigh, a subtle smile creeping onto her lips.

She had no choice but to acknowledge it.

‘Perhaps I truly empathized with him…’

Perhaps even when the old man Akandrik was sealed away, he had sensed it.

The “Stone of Restraint” that dulled movement, and the “Steel Confinement” that imprisoned its target—both were grotesque artifacts prepared by the once-living Peldira to claim her master as her own.

She had failed, but Luon had succeeded.

Though the thoughtform that was herself was not the true Peldira, she found herself feeling a strange satisfaction.

Having inherited the memories intact, it was perhaps only natural to feel such intensity.

Emotions could not be suppressed by reason.

Peldira chuckled softly as those moments resurfaced in her mind.

“Ah, yes. Back then, I found myself staring blankly at Luon’s sleeping face for a full thirty minutes.”

Would he be angry if he knew she had secretly caressed his peacefully slumbering visage?

No, if it were Luon, such a thing would not even cross his mind.

He would simply respond in his usual indifferent tone, as if nothing had happened, saying, “Did that happen?”

“Yes, if it were Luon, that would surely be the case. If it were Luon…”

Then, suddenly, the desire that bloomed within her caused her smile to fade, the corners of her mouth drooping.

“…”

If not now, there would be no chance to meet again.

Because Luon…

Peldira bit her lip and opened her eyes.

Before they each went their separate ways, she intended to see him just once more.

Then, she was startled, her shoulders twitching.

“Wh—?!”

She found herself face to face with the piercing gaze of an old crone, who had appeared without her noticing.

“Damn it, I was trying to be quiet.”

The crone spoke, gripping her sword as if to strike.

The aura around her was anything but ordinary.

Beside the crone stood an undead creature, clutching a staff that glowed with a white light.

“Oh, what a missed opportunity. Sir Bellen.”

It was undoubtedly a purification spell meant to sever her from the host.

Yet, more than that, Peldira’s attention was drawn to the crone’s sword, and she fixed her gaze once more.

The blade shimmered with a haze, stained in a deep crimson.

Kuuoo—

The feeling is wrong.

A foreboding that seems to whisper of annihilation in a state of thought.

An alien energy, transcending the aura, clung to the sword.

‘…Is this a new kind of power that never existed before?’

The knights’ techniques must have undergone countless advancements compared to the past.

To fight recklessly would be unwise.

Peldira swung her staff in haste.

“Uh? Sir Bellen. My body…”

Puff!

The undead crumbled to ash, vanishing into nothingness.

As the wielder, erasing them was a task of little challenge.

‘Good, with this, the old man cannot afford to attack recklessly.’

The old man had likely intended to extract the thoughts with purification magic before dealing with them.

He wouldn’t want to kill the host body, after all.

Now that this was impossible, being possessed by Rheden was, in itself, a shield.

Yet, for some reason, the old man’s gaze sent chills down her spine.

“Do you truly think that just because I lack purification magic, I cannot kill you?”

The old man’s blunt tone unsettled Peldira.

“…Don’t be foolish. If you kill me, Rheden dies too.”

“Do not deceive yourself. I simply did not wish to scorch that body.”

A shadow fell across Peldira’s face.

The old man had begun to draw closer.

* * *

Bellen felt a twinge of worry.

He looked rather worn from battling the Bondragon, a foe that should not have existed, and blood trickled from his lips.

Of course, it was only a ‘little’ worry.

Bellen possessed the technique known as the “Flame Spirit Sword,” which inflicted horrific burning pain upon the specter-like creature known as the Specter.

It was a blade wrapped in a higher-dimensional flame that affected even spiritual beings.

Since thoughts shared the same essence as the Specter, it boasted a dreadful compatibility for Peldira.

Crackle.

—

Well, I’ll manage just fine, so let’s focus on my worries.

Hiding in the classroom, I caught the scent and swiftly severed the neck of the undead that had come searching.

Shuggergok!

I needed to head to the twelfth floor, but there were far too many of them to break through alone.

Perhaps my hesitation displeased Donathan, for he spoke up.

“How long will you hide here?”

“Just wait. Soon, they will all vanish.”

“Vanish, you say?”

No sooner had the words left my mouth than a piercing female scream echoed, sharp enough to pierce the eardrums.

“KYaaaH!”

Simultaneously, the undead that had filled the corridor disintegrated into dust.

The spell of Peldira was undone by Vellen.

As I exited the classroom, I was forced to endure the continuous screams on my way to the twelfth floor.

“P-please! Stop, just stop!”

Her voice, close to a plea, was so horrific it tugged at the heartstrings of anyone who heard it.

Then, suddenly, I sensed an anomaly, something out of the ordinary.

Wait. Was there a scream?

No, there wasn’t.

Peldira, with her eyes closed, was meant to envision her own body as she was beheaded—a procedure that should leave no room for screams in that fleeting moment of death.

So why?

* * *

The twelfth floor is an indoor garden.

With benches and tables, even a flowing water sculpture, here Luon sat on the windowsill, gazing down at the distant ground.

Peldira, crying for her life, fled in desperation.

An old man was pursuing her.

With every ragged breath he took, white puffs of mist escaped his lips.

Peldira halted, raising the crimson grimoire high.

One second later, a black lightning bolt struck from the sky.

KWA-RUUNG!

—

As the old man swiftly stepped back, evading with a hundred quick steps, a spark of intrigue flickered in Luon’s eyes.

‘So that speed was his true nature.’

His movements were remarkably adept.

Had he not been weary, it surely would have been so.

Luon gazed intently at the crimson grimoire clutched in Peldira’s hands.

“To think that even Peldira, holding that, would struggle against such an opponent…”

A faint smile crept across Luon’s face as he recalled his conversation with Peldira.

– Peldira.

– Yes?

– I don’t know what it is you wish to do, but I hope it goes well for you.

– ……

Then, with strength and swiftness coiling around his arm, he pulled out a sparrow figurine from his pocket.

As his arm whipped through the air like a whip, the sparrow figurine shot forth with blinding speed.

Ping!

He hurled it toward Peldira’s vicinity, but if she couldn’t find it, there was little to be done.

In that moment, footsteps echoed from behind.

Clack, clack.

Nine men and women approached, their eyes glinting with murderous intent.

Luon stepped down from the window frame, his gaze murky as he drew his sword.

Srring─

“Thank you for coming this far.”