1-Second Invincible Player in the Game

119. Luon Al Banas (2)

“Chirta is the land my father bequeathed to me. You want me to give it up? Ha, it’s truly absurd.”

“If you’ve taken on the name of Banas, prioritize the benefits of this side!”

Luon had often heard the thunderous voices of his father and mother from beyond the door.

Disputes over arranged marriages driven solely by wealth were common.

They approached one another, blind to the essence of the person, their eyes fixated instead on the riches and power that lay beyond.

And the gaze of those who had secured their gains instinctively turned toward others, drawn by primal attraction, rendering the union itself meaningless.

“There, ah, yes. Hah…”

One day, as Luon strolled through the corridor, he heard sounds seeping from his mother’s chamber and opened the door.

Breathing heavily, for a boy, meant pain.

As the door creaked open, what Luon faced was a naked young nobleman and, sprawled beneath him, his mother.

“Gah! No, this is…”

The man’s eyes widened in shock, trembling as he did, while Luon’s mother took a drag from her cigarette.

The familiar flick of a match igniting.

It was only natural; she had been lighting them long before Luon came into her life.

“Enough. That child has been strange since the moment he was born.”

“Ah, no. That’s not the issue here.”

“Luon? You didn’t see anything just now, understand?”

With a detached gaze, Luon nodded at his mother’s words and closed the door.

“Can we really feel safe with this?”

“Of course. He may have his flaws, but he keeps one promise well.”

Yet Luon’s mother remained unaware.

Luon’s father knew all about her reckless affairs but chose to feign ignorance.

In fact, he was almost pleased.

Because he, too, had set his sights on another woman, ultimately taking her as a mistress.

“I’ll take care of that woman soon enough. You needn’t worry.”

“Hmm, but what about your child? If you start talking about succession rights, I’ll be the one with a headache… Oh, Master Luon.”

Seeing the new woman, Luon greeted her with calm indifference.

Still, his father furrowed his brow, uttering words unfit for a child’s ears.

“That brat is only being kept alive because there’s still something to be gained from that family.”

“I wonder if it’s appropriate to speak like that in front of your own child.”

“Who knows? I’m curious if he’s truly my son.”

As he spoke, Luon’s father scrutinized his expression closely.

Perhaps displeased by the sight of his son standing there, motionless, he scowled.

“What a bothersome child…”

The rest was predictable.

He was scorned by his half-siblings, received no special treatment from the servants, and was often met with his father’s verbal abuse and venting, all under the pretense of reminding him of his mother.

Yet, Luon himself was oblivious to the hell that was his life.

For all he had ever felt since birth was an empty, numbing boredom.

Until the moment he met that man…

* * *

Riamon tore his gaze from Luon and cast a sidelong glance at his surroundings.

The creature’s back was blocked by a statue.

He had claimed the optimal position to avoid being surrounded.

‘Swinging that great sword would be difficult.’

The sheer number of foes had become a disadvantage.

The wizards from the Magic Department would hesitate to cast spells for fear of hitting their own, and the knights would be similarly cautious, meaning only two or three could dare to engage the creature.

If they encroached upon each other’s territory, they risked being struck by their own allies’ blades.

‘At this point, a thrust is all I can manage.’

It was a somewhat passive attack, but there was no other choice.

He sent a glance toward Leana and Asley, and they nodded in understanding.

It seemed they had grasped how to fight.

But then, Luon abandoned his geographical advantage and stepped forward with a clack of his boots.

Riamon narrowed his eyes and asked, “You come out on your own. Do you wish to die surrounded?”

Luon revealed a neat row of teeth as he replied, “This is too easy, isn’t it? I thought I’d at least keep things balanced.”

Before the others could encircle him, Riamon swung his great sword with all his might.

Whoosh—

Yet it was met only by the mana blade that Luon conjured in an instant.

Clang!

With a shock that sent his hair flying, the edge of Riamon’s sword was chipped away, fragments scattering in the air.

He felt a tingling in his wrist and clicked his tongue.

‘Is it a rental weapon? Its durability is lacking.’

But there was no time to complain about his misfortune.

Luon lunged in, delivering a horizontal slash.

Riamon raised his sword vertically to block.

In that moment, Luon slipped past him in a flash, charging toward Rix.

Tap tap tap!

The weights hung from Luon’s wrists, heavy and unyielding.

With a forceful clash, he shattered the shackles of the weights, thrusting his sword toward Rix as if to pierce him.

Thud!

Just before the blade’s tip grazed Rix’s chest, Asley seized Luon’s wrist.

As Asley lifted him to slam him down, Luon’s feet left the ground with a whoosh.

In that fleeting moment, Luon kicked out at Rix.

Whack!

Struck at the temple by the tip of Luon’s shoe, Rix stumbled, blood spilling from his head as he fell.

Of course, in exchange for his greed, Luon dislocated his shoulder.

Crack!

The way Luon soared in an arc resembled a child tossing a stuffed doll’s arm to the floor.

If this continued, his head would soon meet the ground.

Just before Luon was about to crash onto the stone floor, he swiftly enveloped himself in a barrier of destruction.

Boom!

As cracks splintered the ground, Luon sprang to his feet.

The knights unleashed a flurry of strikes like a rainstorm, but all were deflected with precision.

With one arm dangling uselessly, Erus sneered.

“Surely you don’t think you can win with just one arm? It’s over. Surrender now.”

Luon responded by sticking out his tongue.

Perched upon it was a single pill.

He swallowed it with a gulp, and with a loud pop, his shoulder snapped back into place.

“Oh, by the way, my weak points are the heart. Or the neck.”

At Luon’s flat declaration, Sylla frowned.

“What on earth have you been—”

“I told you. It’s a game.”

With that, Luon charged at Asley, intent on dealing with him.

Asley, with his brutish hands, attempted to grab Luon’s throat, but Luon deftly ducked, extending his sword-wielding hand.

Clang!

Asley’s gaze shot toward the sword that had ricocheted off the ground.

He clearly hadn’t expected the knight to drop his weapon.

Seizing the opportunity, Luon clung to Asley’s back, tightening his arm around the neck.

“Strength is commendable, but your speed is lacking.”

“…Ugh.”

As Luon twisted his arm slightly, Asley’s eyes rolled back, and he fell to his knees.

Luon snatched the sword from the ground, and with a swift motion, he plunged it into the shoulder of Leana, who was charging at him with the intent to behead.

“Ugh!”

It was the moment he aimed to drive the blade into Asley’s heart.

But the sword in his hand began to scatter like grains of sand.

Turning his head at the bizarre phenomenon, he spotted Edina, aiming her staff.

“Now, Belman.”

At her command, Belman, standing beside her, swung his staff.

A square barrier materialized, trapping Luon within.

The barrier slowly constricted, its area shrinking.

Luon roughly grasped the brooch attached to his jacket collar and spoke.

Sizzle—

“What a sword truly is…”

As he yanked the brooch’s clasp free, torn fabric fluttered, and a sharp pin glinted menacingly.

“Is nothing more than sharp or pointed metal.”

As Luon poured his aura into the brooch, a mirage shimmered, and a cold mist billowed forth.

Rustle!

Luon glanced at Erucel, who was preparing to slice through the barrier with a vertical strike.

With a slight feint as if to throw the brooch, Erucel stiffened for a moment.

“Gah!”

With a blank expression, Luon kicked Erucel’s abdomen with a swift motion.

“Cough!”

“Still as cowardly as ever.”

Erucel flew away, dropping his sword far into the distance.

Luon snatched the falling sword in one fluid motion, conjuring the frost blade.

Whooosh—

Ice crystals formed along the blade, and a blizzard swirled violently around him.

As everyone swallowed their saliva, Luon’s facial muscles twitched.

At last, his empty hand crept to his mouth, and a thick yawn echoed through the air.

“Haam.”

Tears glistened at the corners of his eyes.

“Ah, pardon me. I’ve been trying to hold it in since earlier, but it wasn’t easy.”

Those watching flinched at his words.

If he had given his all from the start, the outcome would have been decided long ago.

Riamon, lost in thought, began to grasp why Kurel had spoken those words.

—What a fool. If Luon dies, it won’t be your fault. It can’t be called murder…

If he were to kill him, it wouldn’t be by skill.

‘Does that mean this b*stard’s death can only be seen as suicide…?’

In the end, it is not murder, but suicide.

It would be akin to granting permission for his own demise.

* * *

During lunch, I tapped away at my laptop in the office.

As always, Ms. Miran stared blankly at me, watching as I played Asares.

The scenario unfolding was the Luon subjugation battle.

A section devoid of substance, merely tedious.

Perhaps sensing something was off, Ms. Miran spoke up.

“It’s a boss battle, but something feels strange… At first, it seemed somewhat urgent, but, hmm.”

“Right? Even when you clear it, there’s always a lingering aftertaste.”

The cause lay in the absence of a sense of achievement.

No matter what anyone says, the charm of Asares lies in overcoming difficult obstacles and the thrill that follows.

Yet, it turned out that the boss had become so lackluster that victory was achieved with little effort.

The moment players realized this, disappointment was inevitable.

It was akin to forcing hardcore players into beginner mode.

“That’s why there aren’t many players starting with Frost Heart.”

“But, sir, why is he acting like that? Is there any reason?”

“A reason? I don’t know the details, but…”

The reason Luon was behaving this way.

As a stagnant pool, I could respond to some extent.

It was merely speculation, pieced together from various clues.

“Ms. Miran, do you like beer?”

“Of course! The thrill of having one after work—how could anyone dislike that? Hehe.”

“Is that so? Then imagine drinking it without feeling anything special.”

Ms. Miran’s eyes widened in surprise.

“I can’t even begin to imagine that!”

“Well then, hmm.”

…I should provide another example.

“How about thinking of watching a dull movie for days on end, a hundred times? Wouldn’t that be incredibly boring?”

Ms. Miran scrunched her face in distaste.

Only then did she let out an “Ah” and nod her head.

“…Life must have been truly dull.”

As Ms. Miran said, Luon’s life would indeed be devoid of excitement.

Delicious food would merely be sustenance, and traveling somewhere would just be a recognition that the body had moved elsewhere.

Within that existence, there would be no sense of fullness, no appreciation for beautiful places, nor the thrill of new encounters.

Could such a life truly be called living?

“But what does that have to do with causing such a major incident?”

“Isn’t it perhaps a desperate search for intense stimulation? Something that might be fun?”

* * *

Luon was like a wanderer drifting through the heart of the desert in search of an oasis.

A parched mind, dry as a dusty throat.

Pleasure sought to quench that thirst.

I can imagine it in my mind, but it remains just that—imagination.

Having never truly experienced it, I cannot claim to understand the madness that drives him.

Why he finds pleasure in such acts is likely something I will never know, unless I were of the same kind.

Yet, during a conversation with Peldira at the restaurant, I stumbled upon a strange realization.

—Luon must have felt alive when he was with you.

—Why is that?

—Perhaps you were the closest to his kind that he’s ever met? I can’t be certain, as I read Luon’s memories from my perspective, but at least that’s how it appeared to me.

Though not as much as that fellow, it seems Hessel too was a creature in search of stimulation.

I wondered why he didn’t simply torment people, but instead chose to inflict suffering through creative means like maid battles and such.

He must have longed for new pleasures in exotic ways.

“Hmm.”

In the end, what I must do is converse with him.

From Pellidra’s perspective, it seemed she thought our dialogue would be a grand gift to him, but such a task is not difficult.

I climbed the stairs toward the twelfth floor, pulling out my pocket watch.

Let’s see, the situation will soon be resolved.

Before entering, I had confirmed through the outer window that they were heading to the twelfth floor.

By now, it seems they are gradually entering the final stages.

Clack, clack.

I ascended a flight of stairs and approached the corridor window.

Still, the sight of Pellidra, resisting for her life in the training grounds, and the pursuing Bellen caught my eye.

Though there were variables, the circumstances suggested that, contrary to my fears, Pellidra would soon meet her end.

With a sigh of relief, I moved my body.

* * *

I’m breathless from running.

My limbs are already covered in burn scars, yet Bellen continues to chase me.

Pellidra glanced at Bellen with trembling pupils.

“How long will you torment this old woman?”

Her steps were weary, but her gaze remained alive.

With each step Bellen drew closer, Pellidra felt her legs weaken involuntarily.

What she felt now was a fear she had not tasted since becoming a specter.

“Ugh, my knees are quite sore.”

Bellen let out a deep sigh, then closed the distance in an instant.

Snap!

Her hand seized Pellidra’s hair with a brutal grip.

Though she resisted, the magic left in the crimson tome was feeble.

In the end, Pellidra was forced to lift her chin under Bellen’s rough strength.

“Ugh.”

Bellen’s eyes flickered open, cold as the winter’s breath.

“This time, it will hurt more than before.”

Peldira’s gaze widened in shock as she beheld Bellen’s scarlet blade aimed at her throat.

“…N-no! Don’t! Please, don’t do it!”

As the edge of the blade pressed lightly against her skin, a sizzle echoed in the air.

The stench of searing flesh wafted up, curling like smoke.

The agony of her melting skin was a horror beyond measure.

The searing pain coursed through not just her body but also her very thoughts, a torment so intense it felt as if her soul was turning to ash.

A scream tore from Peldira’s throat, raw and desperate.

“Ahhh!”

Unbeknownst to her, she began to slip halfway out of Rheden’s body.

‘No, no! If I lose this body, I—!’

With a Herculean effort, she clung to her flesh, fighting to remain anchored.

Bellen spoke with a tone laced with mock sympathy.

“Tch, this will take a long time to heal. A burn on the skin is deadly for a lady in her prime…”

Peldira, ignoring her words entirely, fixated on a singular thought.

“I will…”

Become real.

“I will be reborn… erasing all memories…”

It was a bitter irony that her longed-for wish had led her to this wretched state.

Tears, like chicken droppings, trickled down Peldira’s cheeks.

Bellen’s expression twisted into one of incredulity at her near-whimpering words.

“What? To be reborn while erasing your memories?”

Then, with a glint of malice in her eyes, she glared at Peldira.

“…You truly are a wretched creature.”

With a derisive snarl, Bellen slammed Peldira’s head into the ground with a thud.

“Ugh!”

As Peldira pressed her cheek against the snow, Bellen pointed her sword toward the fortress.

And she shouted.

“Look at what you’ve done! There are corpses scattered along the way. All for a mere personal desire, you’ve slaughtered the innocent, and what do you say? That you’ll be reborn?”

Bellen continued to chastise with a voice full of fervor.

“That’s nothing but fleeing! You selfish wretch!!”

Bellen could not bear that point.

It was disgusting to see someone who, while fearing death and begging for mercy, remained indifferent to the suffering of others.

She must not be allowed to have her way, not for a moment.

‘When this is over, I shall owe an apology to the master of this body.’

Bellen aimed the tip of her sword at Pheldira’s thigh.

But then, from the corner of Pheldira’s mouth, a deranged chuckle escaped.

“Heh heh heh······.”

Just before plunging the blade down, Bellen asked.

“What’s so funny?”

Pheldira stifled her laughter, barely managing to contain it.

“No, it’s just that···.”

Bellen realized that Pheldira was holding something she had never seen before.

It was a statue of a sparrow.

“···Now that I say it, I’ve come to realize what I truly desire.”

As she clenched her hand tightly, a flash of light erupted.