Chapter 420

Chapter 420

Including Zeon, a total of ten were on the move.

Yet almost no sound was made.

Of course, moving across sand naturally muffled their steps. But the greater reason was that they spoke almost nothing as they moved.

Normally, with ten people traveling together, some small talk would inevitably slip out. But here, unless it was absolutely necessary, not a word was spoken.

It wasn’t that they were naturally quiet by temperament.

Jupiro and Corin had been at each other’s throats the moment they met—proof enough that they were far from taciturn.

It was Uslann’s presence that made them silent.

‘Uslann is clearly their center of gravity. The humans follow him with respect, and even the other races acknowledge his presence.’

Every now and then, Corin or Dempleton shot Zeon a look full of resentment. But they kept their mouths shut—because Uslann was watching.

Seeing their relationships, Zeon realized El Harun’s internal situation was far from simple.

‘Maybe it’s only natural. They all live together now out of necessity, but these races once lived apart.’

With dozens of races crammed into a single city, it would be stranger if no problems arose.

Perhaps El Harun was already embroiled in an internal power struggle.

‘I’ll have to pay El Harun a visit someday…’

Had Deiodon still lived, he would have gone there already and smashed it apart. He hated other races more than anyone else on Earth.

Zeon, however, didn’t harbor such hatred for El Harun.

Yes, Earth had become what it was because of the other races—but they weren’t solely to blame.

The greatest share of responsibility belonged to Crasias.

If Crasias hadn’t tried to terraform Earth, it would never have been reduced to such desolation.

‘Do the council leaders even know? That Crasias wasn’t completely annihilated—that fragments of its will remain scattered?’

This was something Zeon had to confirm.

If Crasias’s lingering thoughts influenced El Harun in any way, it could pose a dire threat to Neo Seoul and all humanity’s survival.

Neo Seoul had raised a hyper-advanced civilization in the barren desert. In the primordial forest, life had begun to return.

Yet all of it could be reduced to ashes, should Crasias’s remnants exert their influence.

Zeon had to confirm if those remnants truly existed in El Harun—and if they did, for what purpose they lingered.

Lost in thought, he was approached quietly by Aronia.

She had been watching Uslann at the head of the group, and now she leaned closer to ask in a low voice:

“What’s on your mind?”

“Just… this and that.”

“What kind of thoughts?”

“This and that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means just that.”

“Tch.”

Aronia wrinkled her nose at his half-hearted replies. But only for a moment. Soon she drew in a deep breath.

“Hm… There’s definitely a pleasant scent…”

“What are you, a dog? Why do you keep sniffing me?”

“No, I mean it… You’re not hiding something, are you?”

“What would I be hiding?”

“It’s just… you smell so nice.”

“Why don’t you keep a little distance.”

“What, do you hate me?”

“I don’t hate you. But it’s uncomfortable.”

“…Really?”

Her face fell at his blunt answer.

The expression stirred a protective instinct—but Zeon didn’t waver.

‘Must be because of Gaia.’

Gaia, the first spirit life born on this land. It was only natural that a druid like Aronia would be drawn to her.

But Zeon could never reveal Gaia’s existence.

The reactions of Aronia—and El Harun’s other races—were all too predictable.

He couldn’t hide Gaia forever. But at least until she was free from all external threats, he had to.

Which was why Aronia, who could sense spirit scents, was more than a little burdensome.

Just then—

“Captain!”

Corin suddenly spoke.

“What is it?”

“Can we stop for a moment? I’ve got a bad feeling.”

“Understood.”

Uslann halted at once. The others stopped too, eyes on Corin.

He closed his eyes, focusing his mind.

Everyone held their breath, watching him.

‘So the elf ranger has some special ability.’

The flow of mana around Corin shifted unnaturally.

Suddenly he snapped his eyes open.

“A dungeon’s opened nearby.”

“You’re certain?”

“Someone forcibly opened an unripe dungeon. The local mana is surging out of control.”

“Unripe, you say?”

“Yes. The conditions weren’t ready, but it was forced open. If left, it’ll blow.”

“Could be his doing.”

Uslann’s face hardened.

Corin’s nickname was Dungeon Chaser.

He possessed a mysterious sense for detecting the presence—or absence—of dungeons.

And when it came to abnormal dungeons, his ability was unmatched.

Uslann gave the order.

“Head for the dungeon. If it’s his work, be ready.”

“Yes, Captain!”

The team answered in one voice.

In this party, Uslann’s orders were absolute.

No matter the tension between humans and other races, when Uslann commanded, they obeyed.

Zeon admired his charisma, even as he revised his opinion of Corin.

Not just some rude elf—he was actually a competent ranger.

‘He can sense dungeons opening?’

Zeon could detect dungeons too—if they were in contact with the sand. But he couldn’t tell if they had opened.

Corin could sense both occurrence and opening.

At least in this area, he outclassed Zeon.

Corin took the lead.

“This way.”

He advanced without hesitation.

After nearly two hours, the dungeon entrance came into view.

A massive hole gaped in midair, five meters above the ground.

A portal into the dungeon had opened in the sky.

Zeon frowned.

Even at a glance, this dungeon hadn’t opened naturally.

The mana flow was unstable—on the verge of exploding.

Uslann seemed to sense the same thing. He called out sharply:

“Hold! This dungeon is about to blow.”

“Yes!”

A dungeon almost never exploded on its own.

A dungeon was a separate world, cut off from reality.

Like the conservation of energy, its mana circulated and remained balanced.

That was why its environment stayed stable.

Only one thing disrupted that stability—outside interference.

One intruder, or ten—it made no difference.

Like a drop of water rippling a still pond, any intrusion altered the whole.

When that happened, the dungeon would collapse—or explode.

Just like now.

This was no natural opening.

Someone had forced it open with power, throwing the mana into chaos.

Had they destroyed the core at once, it might have stabilized. But instead, the core had been left intact, accumulating pressure.

Now the dungeon teetered on the brink of rupture.

“If it bursts…”

“The beasts inside will flood out.”

And then—

CRAAAASH!

With a shattering sound, the dungeon’s entrance broke apart.

Beasts poured out like a waterfall.

“What the hell?”

“Damn it, of all things…”

Uslann and his men grimaced.

For the beasts spilling out were undead—reek thick in the air.

Rotting flesh, bare bone—bodies long since dead.

Human corpses, beast corpses, all had become undead.

Even in Kurayan, the undead were despised.

Necromancers who raised corpses were hunted down and given horrific deaths.

Yet some survived, grew into high-rank powers.

Such beings always brought calamity.

Zombies, ghouls, knights, and mid-tier beast types—hundreds poured out.

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Their eyes locked on Uslann’s party and Zeon.

The dead hate the living.

Their only goal: to drag the living down into undeath with them.

The undead charged madly.

But Uslann did not flinch.

He drew the massive greatsword from his back and roared:

“Prepare for battle!”

His cry carried a resonance that struck their very souls.

It was the skill—Warrior’s Shout.

It inspired courage in comrades, banished fear.

The unease they’d felt at the sight of undead vanished, replaced by burning resolve.

“Let’s go.”

Uslann charged like a true warrior, greatsword cleaving the first ranks.

With not a shred of hesitation, he plunged into them. His allies followed, courage fanned by his example.

CRASH!

Each swing of Uslann’s greatsword shattered or severed undead like brittle reeds.

Corin and Jupiro guarded his flanks, while the others unleashed their might.

Against their relentless assault, the undead seemed to falter.

Already a third of those that spilled out had been cut down.

But Uslann’s face was grim.

He knew well the nature of undead.

CRACK!

The ones felled rose again.

Bones reknit, severed flesh restored.

The undead rejected death and revived.

That was the true terror of the undead.

No matter how many times they were killed, they rose again.

The only way to end it was to find their master—or destroy the core.

Uslann shouted to Corin:

“There will be a boss. Find it.”

“Just give me time.”

“Don’t worry, focus.”

“Yes!”

Corin concentrated, while the others encircled him for protection.

The undead shrieked and hurled themselves forward.

Uslann asked Aronia, the druid:

“Can you control them?”

“Not with dead beasts. My power won’t work.”

“As I thought.”

Uslann clicked his tongue, swinging his blade.

A massive undead beast split in two—only to reform in moments.

Corin still hadn’t located the boss.

It was hiding cleverly among the horde.

Uslann was about to unleash his full power when—

“Everyone, clear out.”

Zeon’s calm voice cut through the chaos, unusually distinct.

Only then did they turn and truly notice him.

He stood with his gauntleted right hand raised high to the sky.

All eyes fixed on him as he shouted:

“Fire Rain!”

FWOOSH!

And fire poured down like rain upon the undead.