Chapter 37: Dungeon (11)
The mansion's interior grew stranger with every step. There were no rooms—only corridors—leading the party ever deeper into the estate. Each hallway boasted an ornate design that reflected its owners' wealth, lined with portraits of the same family members.
Suddenly, a scream pierced the corridor.
"Ahhhh!" the healer cried, darting over to the tank with her eyes squeezed shut. She looked like a lost puppy sniffing around for its owner. Throwing caution to the wind, she clung to the tank, causing his cheeks to redden more by the second.
By now, it was evident she had a crush on him, and even the tank himself was starting to notice.
Blake swore under his breath. 'Why abandon her position to run to the tank? She's the healer. Being near him doesn't necessarily mean it's safer.'
Silver Dash voiced the obvious question: "Why'd you scream?"
"The painting's eyes moved! She was staring right at me!" the healer gasped, still hiding behind the tank and refusing to face the others. Only one trembling finger emerged from the tank's embrace, pointing to the artwork.
Everyone turned their gaze to the painting. It showed a white-haired woman clad in snow armor, gripping a sword seemingly made of ice. Yet nothing about her features appeared animated. It was, unmistakably, just a painting.
Scarlet Tornado chuckled. "You probably imagined it. I get that this mansion feels like a weird labyrinth, but we're walking in a straight line under decent light. No need to freak out!"
Armed with a battle ax, she radiated confidence—though she might have benefited from the same courage if she ever fought on her own.
While the others teased the healer and the tank, Blake carefully studied the painting, in case there was more to it. The woman in the picture didn't blink or move, but he wasn't about to dismiss it outright.
She smiled only after everyone went past her.
As they continued down the corridors, Blake noticed the mansion's temperature steadily dropping. He glanced at his teammates' status windows, confirming that he alone remained unaffected, thanks to Sol. The painting might really have moved, and the cold seeping through the corridors only lent credence to that possibility. Was the dungeon simply testing adventurers' readiness and crushing those who weren't prepared?
Regardless, the party pushed on.
After passing several more ornate doors, they reached a boss chamber that stretched out like a gigantic gym. Overhead rails supported numerous ice sculptures peering down at them, as if observing their every move. These sculptures, however, were nothing compared to the arena's main threat.
At the chamber's far end stood a statue carved from the same ice. A tall man in sleek armor, with a scabbard at his hip, containing an ice sword within. His armor complemented a handsome face, giving him the aura of a fabled hero.
Alas, heroes in paintings are usually depicted at their zenith. This one, however, had a spectral form of the same man—seemingly molded from icy vapor—hovering over the statue like a dormant prince, yet his eyes remained open. Above the boss loomed a grand portrait of him in his prime.
Blake allowed himself a faint smile.
This was a formidable opponent indeed. Though its HP was lower than the minotaur's, that only meant its skills and mechanics would be more complex—meriting its Epic rank.
From what he could piece together, the ice sculptures overhead seemed to keep the temperature low. A quick glance at their stats showed they had minimal health, meaning a few strikes would knock them down. The giant portrait of the boss's prime likely held significance. Blake decided to remain alert for any sign it might factor into the fight.
But for now, he intended to help his teammates, even if they didn't entirely deserve it. Without warning, Blake slipped his hand behind his back and made a few quick gestures—he hadn't prepared them beforehand, but he hoped Beatrix would understand. The idea was for her to strike once he engaged the boss, taking out each ice sculpture. Whether this plan would work, he'd soon find out.
He still had to handle the frigid atmosphere himself, since Sol refused to share his warmth with "trash" players. Blake shared Sol's sentiment, though he couldn't openly admit it.
After weighing all the clues and briefing his familiar, Blake fell silent. A tense hush descended, as if Silver Dash and his friends awaited his signal. So much for the mage who insisted he could do the same.
Clearing his throat loudly, Silver Dash pulled everyone's attention. "We'll use our usual formation… Let's see what this boss can do! We've got this!"
They took their positions for the final showdown. Silver Dash hopped in place and practiced a few thrusts, as though psyching himself up. He silently vowed that, after this fight, his life would turn around and he'd become rich.
"Let's go!" he shouted.
The tank marched forward, leading the charge toward the boss.