Chereads / I Stand alone as the Overlord / Chapter 60 - Dungeon (1)

Chapter 60 - Dungeon (1)

At seven in the morning, the group of adventurers gathered on the western outskirts of Kandahar.

The cold morning air stung Rayliar's nose.

Two hundred and fifty people stood ready, awaiting entry into the nearby dungeon.

"Good. You're all punctual," Astalon said, surveying the crowd. His slightly reddened nose betrayed the chill of the forest.

"We'll proceed in this direction for about a kilometer. Stick to the groups assigned during the briefing, move together, and for heaven's sake, stay alert," the warrior added, stepping forward.

Rayliar struggled to locate his group.

The girl who had stood beside Astalon during yesterday's meeting leaned against a tree.

Pale morning light filtered through the leaves, casting shifting patterns of light and shadow on her skin.

"You must be... Riler, right?" she asked uncertainly.

"Rayliar," he corrected her.

"Ah, sorry! Names aren't my strong suit," she said, laughing awkwardly.

"Don't worry about it."

"You two are Edgar and Olga, right?"

"That's right!"

"Correct," the two replied in unison.

Ah... so it's just my name she forgot, Rayliar thought with a tinge of disappointment.

Tap.

With a friendly pat on the shoulder, Edgar greeted him.

"How are you doing, kid?" the man asked, a wide grin on his face.

"Good, thanks. And you?"

"Fantastic! Had the best sleep last night, AHAHAHA!"

Edgar's booming laughter echoed through the trees.

A thick blonde beard covered half of the middle-aged man's face, his bright eyes gleaming like gemstones above a large, bulbous nose. His short blonde hair crowned his massive head, and at over two meters tall, he towered over everyone present.

He's a half-giant... I've never seen one before, Rayliar thought, craning his neck to make eye contact.

Over the centuries, many races had intermingled, giving rise to hybrids. Edgar was one such example.

"You're Olga, right?" Rayliar asked the girl beside his towering companion.

"..."

Without a word, she nodded.

Short, greenish hair framed her face in a bob that just touched her shoulders. A light armor protected her torso, while leather pants accentuated her figure. A massive axe swung at her side with each step.

"I use an axe, too!" Rayliar said enthusiastically.

"..."

Timidly, Olga raised two fingers in a victory sign, holding them close to her chest.

"We're just missing one perso—"

"I've been here the whole time."

"Kyahh!"

A voice emerged from the shadow of a tree behind Astalon's right hand. A boy stepped out, literally fading from the darkness.

A bandana tied back his ash-colored hair, which jutted out wildly in all directions. Small and wiry, he looked as though he'd never trained a day in his life—let alone held a sword. A long green cloak hung from his shoulders, brushing against his waist.

Even I didn't notice him... Rayliar thought, startled.

"Hi, everyone! I'm Thomas!" the boy said cheerfully.

"S-So I guess that makes all of us. I should introduce myself now. I'm Andrea Brighton, deputy captain of Kandahar's guards," said the red-haired woman, a gleaming lance strapped to her back.

"Let's move," Andrea added, stepping forward toward the dungeon's entrance.

Among the rubble stood an imposing stone archway, its surface unnaturally intact. Thick brambles had ensnared the structure, leaving no part untouched.

At the center of the arch, a thin membrane rippled like water disturbed by a stone.

"We've arrived," Astalon announced, halting beside the overgrown walls.

Whether these ruins were part of some ancient construction was a mystery none could answer.

"We'll enter in groups of five. We don't know what's on the other side. Each group will wait exactly thirty seconds before following the next. And I repeat—do not split up. Those assigned to my team, step forward and prepare for combat," the captain commanded.

Four adventurers—three men and one woman—stepped forward, standing beside him.

Together, they moved into the membrane, their figures vanishing as if sinking into stagnant water. Without a sound, the five disappeared.

"Alright, we're next," Andrea said, gripping her lance tightly.

After half a minute, her group followed suit.

The moment they emerged, chaos engulfed them.

_________

At the center of the battlefield, a man fought against a dozen lizard-like creatures. His sword moved with a deadly grace, slicing through his foes and leaving nothing but scattered remains in its wake.

Astalon Sawyer, Swordmaster.

One of Kandahar's most renowned warriors.

Without waiting for orders, Rayliar charged forward, throwing himself into the fray.

"My team has one dead, two injured, and the girl... she's been taken. We need to move!" Astalon shouted, his blade continuing to claim lives.

I can't use Chop... it would draw too much attention, Rayliar thought, scanning his surroundings.

Darting to the side, he grabbed a shield from one of the fallen monsters, unsheathing the cleaver strapped to his thigh.

Channeling mana into his legs, Rayliar seemed to vanish for a split second, reappearing amidst the horde of lizardmen.

About fifty of them...

His knife tore through scales and flesh, leaving a trail of blood in his wake.

Shoom!

Something whizzed past his cheek.

Splat!

Five lizardmen collapsed to the ground, each with a slim dagger embedded in their foreheads.

Perched in a tree, Thomas prepared to throw another volley, clutching blades between his fingers.

"Thanks!" Rayliar called out, slashing through another beast's neck.

"No problem!" Thomas replied, grinning.

"Banzaiiii!"

Edgar's roar shook the battlefield as he swung a massive war hammer.

His bulging arms tensed, muscles like granite.

Boom!

The hammer came crashing down, obliterating a monster's skull and sending shockwaves through the ground. Without pausing, he swept the weapon across, smashing two more beasts into the dirt.

"...Ah...ah... AHAHAHAHAHA!"

A green-haired woman let out a maniacal laugh.

In her hands, an oversized axe gleamed under the sunlight. Olga dashed forward, her feet digging into the earth.

Shoom!

In a flash, she appeared behind a group of monsters.

Her axe fell, tearing through flesh and bone.

Splat.

Splat.

Splat.

Her once-gentle gaze had turned feral.

"AHAHAHA!" she cackled, blood staining her face and arms.

Four lizardmen, sensing an opportunity, lunged at Andrea, mistaking her for the group's weakest link.

But her lance showed no mercy.

Swift and precise, it pierced their hearts one by one. Before their bodies hit the ground, their lives were extinguished.

Tack.

Tack.

Tack.

Footsteps echoed from the portal.

Rayliar, having dispatched the last of his foes, turned to see five more adventurers emerging.

Thirty seconds.

That was all it had taken to eliminate more than fifty enemies.

Not bad... Rayliar thought, wiping the blood from his face with the back of his hand.

__________

"W-W-What just happened?!"

The leader of the third group stammered, his voice brittle with panic.

"A damn ambush. We barely got out alive—they were already waiting for us," Astalon replied, his tone sharp and unyielding.

His face betrayed nothing, as if it had been carved from stone.

It didn't take long for the entire platoon to gather near the dungeon's entrance.

"All healers, tend to the wounded immediately," the captain commanded, his sharp gaze scanning the group.

"The rest of you, listen up. The lizardmen tracks head in that direction."

He pointed toward the dark, murky expanse of the swamp.

"Stay vigilant. We have no idea how many more are out there."

He gestured toward Rayliar and his companions. "You five, with me. We'll scout ahead and assess the situation."

With no hesitation, the six warriors turned toward the marshland, moving with grim resolve.

The squelch of boots sinking into mud echoed softly as they advanced.

Ancient cypress trees towered above them, their twisted roots sprawling like grasping claws over the edges of a sluggish river. The water was a murky, unnatural green, its surface coated with a film of moss that seemed to pulse faintly in the dim light.

Overhead, the canopy filtered what little sunlight could penetrate, bathing the world in an eerie, emerald glow.

"There. Look," Thomas whispered, his voice barely audible as he pointed to a spot further ahead, across the river.

A cluster of stilted huts rose from the swamp, their decayed beams swaying as though one wrong breath would send them crashing down.

Even at a distance, the structures exuded an air of dread.

Around them, hundreds of lizardmen moved about, going about their lives with an unsettling sense of normalcy.

"Is it just me," Thomas muttered, his throat dry, "or are these ones... way bigger than the ones we fought earlier?"

The realization settled like a weight on their chests.

"D-Damn it…" Astalon muttered, his expression darkening. "We need to head back. If those were the juveniles…"

He stopped, his voice tight with dread.

"Then the adults are probably out hunting for them right now."

Suddenly, the fate of their comrades felt far more precarious.

"Man, this job's been a cakewalk. Haven't had to lift a finger," a mercenary said with a grin, revealing teeth yellowed from years of smoking.

"Yeah, I'm not complaining," his companion replied, his eyes lingering a little too long on the female adventurers nearby. "The company's not half bad, either."

"Seriously. They wiped out fifty of these things, and everyone's acting like this is some big deal," the first mercenary scoffed, nudging a fallen lizardman with his boot. The corpse slid a few meters before stopping.

"Oops. Guess I don't know my own strength!" he laughed, his voice echoing across the swamp as he bent down to scavenge from the body.

Crack.

The sound of a snapping branch cut through the stillness.

The laughter stopped abruptly.

From the dark waters nearby, something stirred.

A massive, crocodilian snout broke the surface first, followed by a pair of glowing, reptilian eyes that fixated on the mercenary with unblinking malice.

The man froze, his heart pounding. He wasn't small, but the creature before him was immense, its head alone larger than his torso.

Green scales shimmered like polished armor in the dappled sunlight, while its pale yellow underbelly looked tough enough to turn a blade. Behind it, a thick, muscular tail lay motionless, like a coiled spring waiting to snap.

"G-Gruagh!"

The beast roared, a guttural sound that rumbled through the swamp. Its slit-like pupils narrowed, and its claws dug into the mud as it prepared to strike.

The mercenary barely had time to scream.

The creature's claw shot forward, slicing through his throat in a single, fluid motion.

Splat.

A spray of blood painted the swamp crimson, the metallic scent hanging heavy in the air. The mercenary staggered back, clutching futilely at his neck as the life drained from him.

He fell to his knees, his vision darkening. The last thing he saw was the creature's gaping jaws lunging toward him.

Then—nothing.

"We're under attack!" a voice shouted from behind.

The camp erupted into chaos, the swamp's eerie silence giving way to cries of panic and the unmistakable sound of approaching death.