“What kind of sick joke is this...”

Muen stared at the man who—for the first time—stood upright before him, and his mouth twitched involuntarily.

He’d come here fully prepared, had already imagined every worst-case scenario and steeled his mind.

That’s why he hadn’t hesitated—he’d charged toward Àilùkǎ at top speed, hoping to end it all with one decisive blow.

He had almost succeeded.

But reality always found a way to exceed expectations.

He hadn’t anticipated that the man—who’d been swallowed up by Àilùkǎ—would reemerge from that grotesque lump of flesh and stand in his way.

He didn’t look like one of the hundreds of twisted faces that made up the monster.

More importantly... he was strong.

Really strong.

Just from that one exchange earlier, Muen could tell: this guy wasn’t some sloppy rush-job like himself with a handful of flash tricks—he was the real deal. A warrior forged through battle and blood, hardened over time.

And those were the kinds of people Muen feared most.

“Hey, big brother... would you mind stepping aside? I’ve got a bit of a private matter to discuss with your wife.”

Muen clasped his hands together, trying for a friendly grin.

“Don’t worry, it’s just an innocent chat about world peace and the meaning of life. Nothing that’ll mess with the harmony of your marriage. So how about letting me have a little alone time with her, hmm?”

“...”

The man remained silent. Muen couldn’t even tell if those blank, lifeless eyes were really seeing him. But he made no move to let him pass.

“Hehehe... Did you think I wouldn’t notice your little side project, Mister Muen?”

Àilùkǎ, still locked in vicious combat with Anne, suddenly shot him a mocking glance and sneered:

“I don’t know exactly what you’re up to, but my instincts say I definitely shouldn’t let you roam free. So go on—have a nice playdate with my husband, will you?”

“Oh, and just so you know—he’s a genuine B-rank adventurer. One of the strongest at that level, too.”

“...B-rank.”

Muen’s heart sank.

In adventurer terms, a B-rank generally meant at least a Tier 3 warrior—possibly even stronger.

And anyone who’d clawed their way up the ranks the hard way... wasn’t a pushover.

So let’s get this straight: he, a freshly-minted Tier 2 rookie, was about to go toe-to-toe with a hardened veteran Tier 3?

Wasn’t that kind of protagonist-only content?

Where the hell was the protagonist? Could she maybe help out here?

“...Yeah, no. Of course not.”

Muen laughed bitterly at himself.

Going by the timeline, the protagonist Ariel was probably still off in Saint Maria Academy, training hard under the guidance of some long-dead older sister’s soul sealed in a ring, preparing for her big surprise debut moment.

Which meant there was no one coming to help.

No cavalry.

Just him.

From the moment he’d made this decision, he’d cut off all retreat.

And besides—

“I really doubt you’re still in peak condition right now!”

Muen shouted, then suddenly lunged like a predator pouncing on prey.

Strike first. Always strike first!

His twin short blades slashed out at sharp, vicious angles, aiming directly for the man’s vital points.

Muen knew the difference in their power—so he didn’t hold back. This was a full-force ambush from the start!

“DIE ALREADY!”

The twin blades gleamed like ghosts. His roar echoed like thunder.

And finally—the man reacted.

His eyes flicked, as if finally locking onto Muen.

Even with twin blades flying toward his vitals, his face remained completely unchanged.

He simply lowered his stance slightly.

Then—Muen’s vision glitched.

It was like a video dropping frames. The sequence jumped awkwardly from one image to another.

One moment, the man stood motionless.

The next—he was already right in front of Muen.

Too close.

So close that Muen’s slashing arms missed entirely—and his wrists instead slammed into the man’s shoulder with a dull thud.

Wrist strikes weren’t going to do anything.

The man tilted upward slightly in response.

A jolt of pain shot through Muen’s arms—he almost dropped his blades.

“Wha—”

Muen’s eyes widened in horror, staring at the man now just inches from his face.

The man stared back. Those stagnant, dull eyes... flickered with something faint.

—In that instant.

Muen had no time to react.

His last attack had just ended—no force left, no new force started. The worst possible timing.

His aching wrists couldn’t even be pulled back in time to guard.

His whole torso was exposed.

The man reached out, gently placed his hand against Muen’s abdomen.

Then clenched his fingers—

Into a fist.

BOOM!

The punch didn’t even swing. The sound alone exploded beside Muen’s ears, deafening.

Muen reflexively looked down.

His stomach had caved in.

A clean, perfect semicircle dented into his flesh.

Then the pain arrived—blinding and brutal.

But he didn’t even get the luxury of feeling it for long. The man’s other hand seized his shoulder, twisted at the waist, and hurled him.

Muen flew like a ragged sandbag—slammed into the air with terrifying force.

“Young Master!”

Anne, who had been watching from the start, instantly went red-eyed.

She didn’t even try to maintain combat with Àilùkǎ. All the steel around her vibrated violently and lunged toward Muen’s direction.

“Hehehe... Master, did you really think I’d just let you get away with it?”

Àilùkǎ let out a cold laugh.

She no longer even glanced Muen’s way.

To her, Muen didn’t even have a chance of winning.

So now, she could devote herself entirely to her beloved Master.

And thus, their roles flipped.

Anne lost all focus on Àilùkǎ and sent all her metal spiraling toward Muen—trying to reach him in time.

Meanwhile, Àilùkǎ focused everything back on Anne. Her monstrous limbs writhed, her hundreds of faces wailed and sobbed with love and agony, crashing against the steel jungle in relentless waves.

—

“Kh... cough...”

Muen forced himself upright, his whole body flipping inside out. His organs felt like they’d just gone through a full-body blender massage from hell.

He hacked out a few wet coughs—hoping for blood—but all he got was a mouthful of acidic bile.

“Holy shit... he’s that strong?”

Muen muttered in disbelief.

He’d assumed the guy’s strength must’ve declined after spending several days as a literal dog. Maybe he had a slight chance.

Clearly... he was kidding himself.

Even if this guy was weakened, there was no way Muen’s amateur skills could punch above this kind of weight class.

“...Need another plan.”

“Still can’t face him head-on. Gotta use Shadow Step for mobility.”

“Even if he can disrupt it, that skill must have some kind of range limit.”

“If I circle wide enough... use the metal channels Anne created... I might be able to bypass him.”

“But that probably kills any shot at a quick finish... Especially now that I’ve been thrown this far.”

Being forced away from Àilùkǎ again completely shattered any hope °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° of a fast resolution.

Which meant... getting close again would be a nightmare.

“Dammit... all that talk about being different—and I’m still weak as hell!”

Muen punched the ground in frustration.

At his current strength, forget “saving” Àilùkǎ—hell, if the ground hadn’t been soft enough, that throw alone might’ve knocked him out cold.

Wait.

Soft?

...That’s not right.

If the man had thrown him, he should’ve landed on either solid earth or one of those distant metal bridges Anne had formed.

Neither of those could be called soft.

Unless...

Muen stared down in growing horror at the “ground” beneath him.

It was slick. Covered in foul, mucous-like slime.

And under its semi-transparent surface—he could see black veins... and pulsing flesh.

Of course it was soft.

He wasn’t on solid ground at all.

He was lying on one of the monster’s limbs—one of the largest appendages—that extended directly from its body.