RD | Chapter 43

The remaining half fled in a panic. They screamed, tripping over each other, stepping on the backs of the mamool in front of them to escape.

The tangled mass of fur darted through the narrow passageway. The moment they entered the second room, waiting archers aimed at their heads and released their arrows.

Papapapak!

Louise had already explained that shooting their bodies was ineffective. Their large, furry bodies and comparatively small heads made headshots the focus of the archers’ intensive training. Knowing where the enemy would enter allowed them to predict their speed and direction. Some hit their targets and clenched their fists in triumph.

“Nice!”

Meeeeee!

The miryam let out sorrowful cries as they passed through the second room. Half of them were taken down by arrows and retired from the battle.

The remaining half—now only a quarter of the miryam that had initially entered the dungeon—encountered another formidable challenge in the third room.

A pack of wolf mamool rushed at them.

Meeeeee!

Naturally, sheep’s natural predators include wolves and foxes. This hierarchy remained true even in the ecosystem of mamool, and most of the miryam were devoured.

“At least I fed them.”

Even maintaining mamool costs money. Consider it a security expense.

That said, Ian clicked his tongue, thinking he might have overfed the wolves. It would’ve been better to capture more miryam alive, but this would suffice for now.

Ian personally entered the dungeon to register the surviving miryam.

Ding!
[56 Miryam have been registered on the waiting list.]
[Dungeon level increased.]
[Dungeon LV.17 → LV.18]

Suddenly, Ian remembered something and asked Louise.

“Hey, about that fur. If we shear it and make clothes, wouldn’t it help us get through the winter?”

Louise’s eyes widened.

“That’s a great idea! I can’t recall how often miryam regrow their fur, but… should we stop using them for security and turn them into livestock?”

Fur-less miryam were basically just sheep. While their pitiful appearance might lure people in, leaving defenseless security sheep out in the open seemed cruel.

“Let’s keep a few aside and experiment.”

“Understood. I’ll call the farmers.”

With an excited expression, Louise left.

Ding!
[Louise considers you a benevolent ruler!]

‘Of course, I am.’

Raise that reputation.

Ian nodded in satisfaction. A ruler who prepares for winter? What else could he be but a benevolent lord?

Of course, most people still thought of him as a tyrant, but that was another matter entirely.

Sema, Louise, and Contacca returned, bringing along the mamool pack that had been chasing the miryam. They were hawkros—beasts with hawk heads, bear paws, and lion bodies.

Sema’s magic had faltered midway, and the hawkros at the front nearly swallowed him whole. Contacca intervened and stopped it.

Screeee!

A hawkros howled as it bit into Contacca’s scruff. Contacca let out a roar of his own and shook the beast off.

Hawkros were strong mamool. Although not enough to overwhelm Contacca, they required a bit more specialized handling.

Ian didn’t personally step in. If he used , most mamool would die instantly due to its high level.

‘I need them alive for security.’

Even when caught in traps, the hawkros didn’t die easily. Their thick hides and incredible physical capabilities allowed them to struggle and climb out of traps.

They endured showers of arrows and still managed to kill some wolf mamool despite their battered state.

Watching through Sema’s magic, Ian called out.

“Keith.”

“Yes, Lord Ian.”

Keith Moore, the holy knight, responded with a devout expression.

“Can you capture them alive? No killing.”

“I’ve never tried, but yes. I believe it’s possible.”

Speaking calmly, Keith showed neither arrogance nor exaggerated confidence when facing over a hundred powerful mamool.

He would make it happen.

Ian sent him off.

“Will it be okay?” Contacca asked. He was a half-werewolf, aware that among mamool, Keith was synonymous with the Angel of Death.

However, facing an entire pack alone was a different story. Keith was also the commander of the Vatican’s Holy Knights. His achievements were made alongside comrades. How strong could he truly be without them?

“Just watch.”

Ian wasn’t worried.

Keith’s greatest challenges had always been humans. Mamool weren’t his match.

In his route during the game, as long as Keith survived until the late stages, he would almost always slay the Demon King.

After all, he was the natural enemy of all demons.

The hawkros that entered the passageway found themselves in the fourth room, facing a single, pristine knight. Compared to what they had faced so far, it seemed like a minor obstacle, but instinctively, they felt something was off.

This human was strange.

Ominous.

Keith drew the sword that Ian had imbued with. It wasn’t an exceptional blade, but thanks to Ian’s, it had even survived slaying a Demon Archduke.

‘It’s a bit shabby.’ Keith held the worn sword. But even with such a blade, it wouldn’t be an issue to kill these mamool.

Light shimmered from his sword, forming a layer like a new edge. The mamool hesitated as if sensing something and didn’t dare approach him.

In that case, he would go to them.

Keith leapt into the center of the pack and struck the neck of the nearest mamool. The long neck connecting the hawk head to the beast’s body was severed in a single blow, blood gushing from the clean cut.

Before it could splatter on him, Keith moved again. His movements were fluid, like a dancer’s. He cleaved the attacking mamool with a swing and pierced the heart of another closing in from behind.

Each movement flowed into the next as if he were drawing a single line. Dodging a strike from above, Keith slipped into the mamool’s chest and thrust upward, piercing its skull. The hawk’s head jerked, and its cry dissipated into the air.

That was one breath. Keith inhaled and exhaled, moving again.

Within five breaths, all the mamool in the room had fallen.

Only a handful had been killed outright. Seeing how quickly their comrades fell, the mamool realized they couldn’t win against this overwhelming foe.

The hawkros weren’t unintelligent. They had enough judgment to flee when encountering a superior opponent. But the dungeon room didn’t allow retreat.

They clawed desperately at the sealed doors, shrieking. Keith systematically dismantled them, severing their limbs.

Keith followed Ian’s orders, not killing the mamool outright.

Ian had expected Keith to handle the mamool with ease, but this level of dominance was beyond his imagination.

He descended into the fourth room, a slightly dazed expression on his face, and placed his hand on the writhing mamool.

“Register.”

Ding!
[101 Hawkros have been registered on the waiting list.]
[Dungeon level increased.]
[Dungeon LV.18 → LV.20]

Ding!
[Dungeon level has reached 20. New buildings are now available for construction.]

Ian looked at Keith. The dungeon level had jumped to 20 after just one battle.

His heart raced. Keith seemed more precious than ever.

At that moment, Keith sheathed his sword and spoke.

“This is how you purify the world.”

‘This lunatic’s spouting nonsense again.’

But Ian found even Keith’s absurd remarks endearing now.

‘For someone betrayed and still seeing beauty in the world… he must be a good guy. Just a bit unhinged. Poor thing….’

“Think of it as clearing a path,” Ian replied.

It wasn’t far from the truth. He was simply reorganizing the ecosystem he’d disrupted by killing the Demon Archduke, who had ruled this land.

‘If Sema gets kidnapped again, it’ll be a hassle….’

Of course, leveling up the dungeon was the real priority.

Keith, looking more handsome than usual, spoke again.

“And so humble as well.”

“That’s me,” Ian replied modestly.

‘Praise me more.’

He needed a better reputation.

“……”

[Keith wonders if you’re truly the ‘Savior.’]

“……?”