Chapter 116: Ron’s Last Attempt

Dungeon’s Hidden chamber..,

Ron lay sprawled on the cold ground of the hidden chamber, his breaths ragged and uneven. The upper half of his uniform was torn to shreds, soaked in blood and dust. Above him stretched a sky tinted orange, with a single red sun hanging motionless amid the haze.

His gaze drifted to the side — his black spear rested against a cracked pillar, and on the other side, the motionless body of Arin lay still, faint ashes rising from the hollow in his chest where his heart once beat.

Ron blinked slowly, his vision blurring.

“So… dungeons really are extensions of other worlds,” he murmured weakly, voice hoarse. “Our world, Orimund… it has two suns. But here…”

He smiled faintly. “Only one. That’s so weird… hehe…”

A wave of pain surged through his body, and he gritted his teeth.

“Ouch… damn it…”

Blood trickled from his side, but he pressed a trembling hand over it.

“I have to move… have to find the others. They’re waiting for me…”

His voice lowered, almost to a whisper.

“Lia… Jax… Selene… and Professor Zane…”

A small, pained smile crossed his face.

“I have to tell him I did it without help… he’d be proud. Maybe not… but still…”

The pain deepened, forcing him to inhale sharply. He closed his eyes and focused, channeling what little mana he had left. Pale orange light flickered over his wounds — faint, unstable, but enough to slow the bleeding.

Minutes passed. With sheer will, Ron gripped his spear and pushed himself up, his entire body trembling under its own weight. His knees wobbled, but he stood.

The crimson sun glared down from above, its light reflecting faintly in his determined eyes.

Ron staggered toward the arched gate from where he had entered, each step heavy, his breath uneven. The sharp scrape of his spear against the stone floor echoed faintly in the silence of the chamber.

He stopped midway, his eyes falling upon Arin’s body once more. From the hollowed chest, ash drifted upward, fading into the crimson-tinged air like burnt offerings.

Ron’s expression softened.

“No matter how much I hated you…” he said quietly, his tone heavy with exhaustion. “I didn’t want to kill you. May your soul rest in peace.”

He turned and began limping toward the gate again, leaning on his spear like a crutch. His wounds pulsed with pain, but he pushed forward—

Until a whisper rippled through the air.

“No…..”

It was faint, distorted… yet so sinister that it froze the blood in his veins.

The sound didn’t come from his mind—it came from behind him.

A violent chill crawled down Ron’s spine. His breath hitched.

No… it can’t be…

Slowly, he turned.

The corpse was gone.

His pulse spiked. Panic clawed at his chest. His grip on the spear tightened so hard his knuckles turned white.

And then—

A soft crackle.

He swung his head back toward the gate.

There, standing in the middle of the chamber, was Arin—but it wasn’t him.

His body slouched unnaturally, head hanging low, movements jerky like a puppet’s. The gaping hole in his chest was no longer hollow; it was filling with black smoke, thick and pulsing, sealing the wound until it looked whole again.

Ron’s eyes widened as inky lightning began to spark around Arin’s body—

once dark green, now jet black with a faint red tint, flickering like corrupted flame.

Then came the final horror—

Two black horns, curved forward in an L-shape, tore out from Arin’s forehead, made entirely of that same smoky energy.

Arin raised his head.

His face twisted into a demonic visage—eyes glowing blood-red, irises slit like a beast, sclera pitch-black. A grin spread across his lips, too wide, too wrong.

Ron stumbled back a step, voice shaking.

“I–I–Impossible…”

But then, he noticed something terrifying—his hands were trembling uncontrollably.

His entire body quivered, not from fatigue, but from something deeper… instinctive.

This wasn’t fear of death.

This was primal fear—the kind that screamed from every living cell to run.

Because whatever stood before him now—

was not Arin.

Ron’s breath trembled as his voice escaped, barely audible.

“Wh–what are you…?”

Arin’s head tilted unnaturally, his mouth stretching into a distorted grin. A chilling, guttural laugh echoed through the chamber.

“Your death, Ron.”

The sound crawled into Ron’s ears, cold and wrong.

This fear… why am I feeling so afraid of that thing?

His heart pounded wildly, every instinct screaming that he was facing something beyond reason—beyond life itself.

At this rate… I’ll really die.

He drew a shaky breath and clenched his teeth.

Then, something within him shifted.

Ron forced his heartbeat into rhythm, syncing it with his mana.

He felt the surge spread through his chest and limbs—each thump a command, each pulse a flood of energy. His fear began to melt away, replaced by clarity.

Shaking muscles steadied.

Breathing slowed.

The world sharpened to a narrow point.

With Iron Pulse resonating through his body, dread turned to focus.

He straightened, spear in hand, eyes burning with determination.

Arin—or whatever was wearing his face—watched him, amusement flickering in those blood-red eyes.

“The look in your eyes changed… from fear to focus.”

In a blink, he vanished.

Ron’s instincts screamed—he raised his spear just in time, deflecting a blow that came faster than thought. The impact sent a shockwave through his arms as he stumbled back, gasping.

Arin slid away soundlessly, landing a few steps back, that same inhuman grin stretching wider.

“That technique again…” he hissed. “Interesting. But—”

He disappeared once more.

This time, Ron didn’t flinch. Iron Pulse honed his senses so keenly that he caught the faint blur of movement—but his body couldn’t keep up.

Before he could shift position, a hand wreathed in smoky black energy tore clean through his right side of chest.

The world froze.

Hot blood filled his mouth as the pain struck a heartbeat later—so intense it numbed everything.

Arin leaned close, his whisper almost playful.

“It’s not mastered.”

He pulled his hand free, letting Ron collapse to his knees.

The spear slipped from Ron’s grasp, clattering against the stone as his vision blurred red. The hole in his chest pulsed with corrupting black energy, spreading tendrils across his skin like veins of poison.

His breathing grew shallow. His fingers twitched, reaching toward the wound, but the smoke burned wherever it touched.

Arin stood over him, silent—grinning, watching ron dying.

Arin’s laughter echoed through the chamber, shrill and maddening.

“Ahahahahaha! I won! I WON! You lose—you DIE! Ahahahahaha!”

Ron’s vision blurred. The sound of Arin’s voice faded into distant noise as his chest burned from the corruption spreading through his body. He tried to channel mana, to seal the wound, but the smoky energy devoured every attempt—the healing refused to work.

“Damn it…” he thought weakly, his hand trembling. “Am I… gonna die…?”

His strength drained away, his body feeling heavier by the second. Tears gathered in his eyes as his thoughts spiraled.

I couldn’t even do this… Professor gave me one job… and I couldn’t even finish it.

I’m always such a failure… through my whole life.

I couldn’t protect Lia… Everyone always has to save me—Lia, then Sorven, the old mage who gave his life to teleport us… then Professor Zane, saving me from that assassin…

Such a failure… I am…

His breath hitched. But… I can’t die yet.

And then, faintly, Zane’s calm voice echoed in his mind—words from before the mission:

“Press the button, and all your problems will disappear.”

Arin tilted his head, mocking, his grin wide and twisted.

“Oh? Tears? Are you that scared to die, boy?” he sneered, laughing again. “Ahahahahaha!”

But Ron didn’t answer. With every ounce of strength left, he forced his hand into his pocket. His trembling fingers brushed against cold metal—the device Zane had given him.

He pulled it out slowly.

Arin’s eyes narrowed. “What’s that…?”

Ron exhaled, his voice faint.

“Hehe… this… is your… death.”

Before Arin could react, Ron pressed the button.

The device lifted from his palm, hovering in the air.

“What the—” Arin hissed, stepping back.

A low hum filled the chamber as golden runes ignited around the button. In the next instant, the device pulsed with radiant light, absorbing all the black smoke from Ron’s body. The corruption hissed and evaporated, drawn toward the floating object like a vortex.

Arin staggered, his voice filled with panic.

“What the hell did you do?!”

He lunged toward Ron—

But before he could reach him, the device flashed brilliantly. Both Arin and the glowing button vanished into the light.

The chamber fell silent.

Ron’s faint voice echoed in the emptiness—

“Done…”

Ron’s body trembled as he tried to steady his breathing. His wounds still bled, but without the corruption, he could finally channel mana to slow it.

The world around him blurred again, but this time, he heard a familiar voice cutting through the haze—soft, trembling, and filled with worry.

“RON!!!”

A small, tired smile curved his lips. He recognized that voice anywhere.

Lia…

His vision dimmed, the light fading from his eyes as he whispered—

“Guess…I..am..not dying..today…”

And everything went dark.

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