System Mission: Seduce the Strongest S-Class Hunters or Die Trying!-Chapter 61: [DESTROY THE GARGOYLES]

Caelen’s smirk lingered, molten cracks across his frame pulsing in rhythm with his ragged breaths.

He shifted his sword in one hand, golden light seeping from the fissures in his skin like a halo of fire, the fractured glow painting him in something almost divine.

"So, strategist," he drawled, tilting his head toward Eli, voice low, amused, "how do we start?"

’Ugh. I know he’s going to give me hell for this, but this is the only solution I can see right now...’

Eli swallowed, his throat dry, but forced his tone steady. "We... stick together. For this to work, we can’t separate. I don’t have your speed or leg strength—if I move alone, I’ll get hit before I can even dodge."

Caelen’s brows rose, a spark of mischief flickering in his molten eyes. "Oh? What are you saying, then? You want me to carry you around... like Kairo did? My, you really are a pervert."

’I knew it.’

Heat exploded across Eli’s face before his brain caught up. "Wha—No! Absolutely not!" His voice cracked, ears flushing crimson. "You know what I mean, it’s just—"

But Caelen didn’t wait. With a sharp shift of his stance, he hooked an arm under Eli’s knees and another around his back, lifting him with the same ease he’d draw his blade.

The motion was smooth, practiced, infuriatingly casual—like Eli weighed nothing. Like exhaustion wasn’t bleeding through every jagged crack blazing across his golden-lit skin.

"Hey—! You don’t have to carry me this way specifically—!"

Caelen’s lips tugged into a smirk, golden light licking along his jawline as he leaned close enough for only Eli to hear. "Perverted sweetheart. You’re enjoying this more than you’re letting on."

"With all due respect, I am not!"

Eli’s face burned hotter, chest twisting with indignation, embarrassment, and something he refused to name. His jaw snapped shut before he could stammer again.

’Ignore him. Ignore him. If I react, he wins.’

He forced a steadying breath. He had no choice—focus, or die here.

"Listen carefully." Eli’s voice sharpened. "I’ll keep thinking about the priest. That’ll make him move, force him to attack. When that happens—don’t lose sight of the gargoyles. Stay close to them. The priest’s strikes are massive but slow. He can’t redirect once he’s committed. I’ll call it out—you jump where I tell you, keeping eyes on the ones that won’t be in the priest’s swing."

Caelen hummed, low and approving, his smirk fading into something colder. His battlefield face. Golden light pulsed brighter across his fractured frame as his grip adjusted, holding Eli securely like he was nothing but an extension of his weapon.

"Alright," Caelen said, gaze cutting to the hulking priest that loomed above them. "Make him look at you, then. I’ll handle the rest."

Eli exhaled, lungs tight, blood pounding in his ears. ’We just need to pull this off. Then we can clear this damn dungeon.’

He nodded once.

And looked up.

The priest was already staring.

Those glowing eyes burned down at him, unwavering, merciless. Its chain swayed idly in its massive grip, links grinding like rusted gears, as though it had been waiting all this time—for him.

A shiver shot down Eli’s spine, but he held the gaze.

"Come on, you bastard," he whispered under his breath.

’I’ll make sure Caelen destroys you.’ Eli’s thoughts burned, his eyes narrowing at the priest.

The stone giant’s lips curved—an unnatural, deliberate smile.

Immediately, Danger Detection flared like an explosion in his skull.

The priest moved.

"Right—hard right!" Eli barked.

Caelen’s boots detonated against the fractured floor, cracks spiderwebbing outward in a ring. His body blurred, golden fissures searing brighter as he propelled them both aside with explosive speed. Eli’s stomach lurched from the force, but Caelen’s grip was iron, unshakable.

The priest’s arm came down like a falling tower.

BOOOOOOM.

The colossal palm smashed into the ground, the impact ripping through the chamber like a quake. Stone buckled, entire slabs of flooring upheaved as half a row of gargoyles disintegrated in the shockwave.

Their bodies fractured like brittle shells, wings snapping, jaws shattering into rubble that clattered across the ruined ground.

Dust boiled into the air. The survivors twitched violently—stone claws gouging trenches, wings shuddering as if they would tear free from their bodies—

"Eyes—left! Keep them locked!" Eli shouted, head snapping. His gaze locked hard onto the next cluster before they could finish their lunge.

The effect was immediate. The gargoyles froze mid-motion, teeth bared, wings spread wide like predators frozen in amber.

Caelen’s laugh rumbled low in his chest, edged with the rush of battle. "Hah. This is working."

Eli’s chest heaved, lungs burning, heart pounding like a war drum. For the first time, their chaos had order. ’It really is working. The priest’s own power... it’s thinning his army for us.’

But he wasn’t satisfied. His mind churned. "Yes, but—he didn’t use the hand holding the rosaries. What do you think that means?"

"Hm?" Caelen didn’t take his eyes off the gargoyles. His voice was steady, practical. "I assume it’s because he uses that to block and counter incoming strikes. He’s only been using the free hand to attack you, hasn’t he?"

That... made sense. Perfect sense.

’So that’s it. He’s dividing his purpose between them. The rosary hand to defend and punish direct aggression. The free hand to target me. He isn’t random—he’s calculated.’

Eli’s mouth tightened. He kept his voice low. "That’s interesting."

He forced himself to drag his gaze back to the gargoyles, his focus cutting like a blade.

The survivors trembled faintly, their stone muscles flexing against the invisible lock of his eyes. The tension was unbearable—but he couldn’t waver.

Finally, his lips parted, a sharp breath steadying him.

"...Let’s go again."

Caelen’s smirk returned, sharp and reckless. "Alright then."

He adjusted his hold on Eli, crouched low, and then—

BOOM!

He launched forward, a streak of blinding gold cutting across the chamber, straight toward the cluster of waiting gargoyles—positioning them right in line with the priest’s looming shadow.

The priest’s burning eyes locked onto Eli at once, unerring—like it knew he was the one pulling the strings.

’You stupid, ugly priest. Don’t fool yourself—you’re not a god. You’re nothing but a messenger, a puppet dressed in stone. I don’t know why you think you’re such tough shit... but you’re not—’