Lexel...? thought Cresty with her teared eyes. She closed her eyes; she knew she was finished. Lexel had come too late. However, the spectral sword was withdrawn from her breath.
"Another adventurer and a blacksmith, what's a blacksmith doing here?" asked the Ghost Lord.
"Doing blacksmith thing?" Lexel shrugged before his elbow got pinched. "Hahaha, anyway, you don't look so good, you sure you're okay? You kinda.... you know... seethrough. Need a vitamin?"
Cresty snapped her eyes open, she was blinking, looking at Lexel as if something's wrong. Doesn't he know that he's facing a Ghost Lord!?
"Insolent fool, I see that you have no vast knowledge," said the Ghost Lord.
"Well, I'm not the smartest of the three," said Lexel he scratched his head, "No need to be so personal you know, I don't even know your name." he smirked.
"Are you pretending to be a fool, or you are one?" asked the Ghost Lord. "But one thing for certain, you are not strangers to death." he opened his arms, showing his creation of spectacle, the corpses of the party. "Even the death of your party doesn't concern you."
"Don't be so wholesome, one of them tried to teach me a lesson, and you give them a permanent one," said Lexel. "It was supposed to be my right to do that."
The Ghost Lord chuckled, "You reminded me of my youth. Interesting, is that the reason why I want to kill you so much?"
I have a hunch it's because of my Zodiac Heir title, but hey... whatever floats your boat.
"Well, I hope I mature handsomely like my dad rather than you," said Lexel. "Where are all your wives? Surely you can't keep living in this shithole, hire a maid for fuck sake. Take a shower, ring a bell?"
"Enough nonsense," The Ghost Lord summoned another wave of pressure.
Lexel didn't budge, not even his breathing changed. His smirk was like a mountain, and the pressure was just a passing wind.
Anthierin, however, was already three steps behind.
"RUN LEXEL!" shouted Journ as he pressed his wound.
"Nah," Lexel cracked his neck.
"Draw your sword, don't disappoint me," said Ghost Lord.
"Only a beautiful woman can draw my sword," he winked before he blinked. It was a split of a second, and he was already hovering with his leg raised.
For the first time in a while, the Ghost Lord raised his brows. It was too late for him to parry; he could only block.
*Boom!
The impact was so loud, the dead ones almost had their heart restarted.
The Ghost Lord dragged his feet to the ground before stopping. He saw his blade tingling, "You are stronger than the giant," he said.
He... he drove him back with a kick!? thought Cresty and Journ. They knew he had immense strength, but to this level at level 10.
"But not strong enough," said the Ghost Lord before he slashed his spectral sword, but Lexel parried it, and his left gauntlet broke apart.
Shit! thought Anthierin. It couldn't handle the strike!
Lexel retreated.
"Game over," said the Ghost Lord.
Lexel's eyes sharpened.
"It's over..." Cresty's heart sank.
"Oi oi oi, my dear wife bandaged this gauntlet for me, and you broke it," said Lexel.
"Huh?" Rin's face turned red.
"W-What is he saying now?" asked Journ. At this moment, he can make a joke!?
[Will of Torga] A heartbeat skipped.
"Hmm?!" the Ghost Lord blinked, confused. He looked at his translucent arm. "What did you do?!"
[̶𝙻̶𝚟̶?̶]̶ [Lv10]
Lexel approached with a leap before kicking the same way as it was before, and the Ghost Lord reacted the same. But this time, the latter was propelled away and destroyed the throne he was so proud of.
Journ and Cresty had goosebumps, but Anthierin was familiar with it.
This feeling, just like when he faced Viscoff.
"Welcome to my playing field, ghost," Lexel said, then went in like a hungry tiger.
The pressure in the room vanished.
The crushing aura of the King, the heavy weight of Aether that had forced Journ to his knees—it simply evaporated. The air felt light. Too light.
"One," Lexel counted.
He moved.
He didn't use a skill. He didn't need one. Against a Level 10 opponent, his [STR: S] was a cheat code.
He crossed the distance between the center of the room and the ruined throne in a single stride.
"You..." Valerius gasped, trying to stand up from the rubble.
The Ghost Lord reached for his Aether. He tried to summon the Blue Inferno again. He expected a torrent of divine fire that would melt the stone.
Fzzzt.
A tiny spark popped on his finger. It looked like a cheap candle being blown out by a draft.
"What?" Valerius stared at his hand in horror. His Aether pool—once an ocean—was now a puddle.
"Two."
Lexel arrived.
He grabbed the Ghost Lord by the face. His bare fingers didn't pass through the spirit; they dug into the translucent flesh as if it were playdough.
CRUNCH.
He slammed Valerius's head into the stone floor. The impact cratered the dais.
"Gah!" The Ghost Lord screamed. It was a wet, gurgling sound. He felt pain. For the first time in five hundred years, his nerves fired with the agony of physical trauma.
"Three."
Valerius slashed blindly with his spectral sword. The blade struck Lexel's bare chest.
Clink.
It bounced off.
At Level ?̶?̶?̶, that sword could cut mountains. At Level 10, it was a glorified letter opener against Lexel's [END: A] skin.
Lexel looked down at the scratch on his pectoral muscle. A single drop of blood welled up.
"Cute," Lexel grinned.
"Four."
He punched.
His fist drove into the Ghost Lord's spectral breastplate. The armor didn't dent; it shattered like sugar glass. Lexel's knuckles buried themselves deep in the spirit's chest cavity.
"You are..." Valerius wheezed, blue ichor spraying from his mouth. "What are you?"
"Five."
Lexel ripped his hand out, tearing away chunks of the spirit's essence. He grabbed Valerius's arm—the one holding the sword—and twisted.
SNAP.
The arm broke at the elbow. The spectral sword clattered to the floor, dissolving into mist.
"I'm the guy who's going to loot you," Lexel whispered.
"Six."
Valerius tried to fade. He tried to turn invisible, to flee into the walls. But he couldn't. His level was too low to access his own racial skills.
Lexel grabbed him by the throat and the belt. He lifted the Ghost Lord over his head.
"No escape," Lexel growled.
"Seven."
He brought the Ghost Lord down over his knee.
CRACK-BOOM.
The sound echoed like a thunderclap. Valerius's spine snapped in half. The spirit folded backward, his form flickering violently between blue and grey. The integrity of his existence was failing.
"Eight."
Valerius lay broken on the floor, staring up at the vaulted ceiling. The arrogance was gone. The regal bearing was gone. He was just a broken old man in a broken castle.
"Impossible," Valerius whispered, his voice fading. "A mortal... cannot..."
"Nine."
Lexel stood over him. The red glow in his eyes burned brighter than the sunbeam hitting the corpse in the center of the room.
He raised his foot. The [Tiger Stomp] flared.
"Go to sleep, old man."
"Ten."
[Will of Torga: Deactivated]
The logic of the world snapped back. The Ghost Lord's level tried to skyrocket back to ?̶?̶?̶.
Too late.
Lexel's heel drove through the Ghost Lord's skull.
SPLAT.
There was no explosion of Aether. No final curse. The Ghost Lord simply popped like a soap bubble. His body dissolved into motes of blue light, scattering into the air.
Silence returned to the throne room.
Lexel stood there, breathing heavily, his foot resting on the empty stone where a King had just been.
Clatter.
Something fell from the dissolving light.
It hit the stone with a dull, hollow thud.
Lexel looked down, his eyes wide with anticipation. This was a Boss. A Ghost Lord. The drop had to be legendary.
Resting on the dais was a Monster Core.
It wasn't Black. It wasn't even Gold.
It glowed with a familiar, angry crimson light.
[Item: Red Monster Core][Tier: IV][Trait: Spectral Touch]
Lexel stared at it. His eye twitched.
"Red?" Lexel muttered, poking the sphere with his toe. "Seriously? I kill a literal ghost lord, and I get the same payout as a scavenger wolf?"
He sighed, the disappointment heavy in his chest.
I guess Dad was right. Luck is a stat, but RNG is a cruel mistress. Just because you have a 99% chance doesn't mean you don't hit the 1%.
He bent down and scooped it up. It was warm, humming with a ghostly energy. It was valuable—worth a small fortune in the city—but it wasn't the Prismatic glory he had dreamed of.
"Better than nothing," he grumbled, pocketing it.
He turned around.
Cresty was still pressed against the wall, her dagger held loosely in her trembling hand. Journ was pushing himself up to a sitting position, clutching his chest. Anthierin was peeking out from behind a pillar, her jaw dropped.
They looked at him not as a savior, but as something terrifying. He had just beaten a Boss to death with his bare hands in ten seconds.
Lexel tossed the Red Core in the air and caught it with a lazy snap of his wrist.
"So," Lexel asked, wiping ghost-blood off his chest. "Does this count as finding the treasure?"