A split second before the flaming sword fell, Riveria finally completed her ultimate defensive magic—the third stage of [Via Shilheim].
A translucent, near-perfect spherical barrier, constructed from countless overlapping emerald magic circles, enveloped her, Ais, and—after a split-second of hesitation, grabbing her and pulling her inside—Alise.
In the next second.
The flaming sword and the giant whale struck simultaneously.
BOOM—!!!
There was no sound.
At the exact moment of impact, all sound was completely obliterated.
Only a blinding flash of pure white light, bright enough to scorch the eyes of the gods, instantly swallowed the entire floor.
Following closely behind was a terrifying, nuclear-like shockwave that swept through the entirety of the Water Capital.
Fire and flood acted as heralds of the apocalypse, rampaging madly through the subterranean space.
The ground, walls, and ceiling of the twenty-seventh floor were pulverized into fine dust in an instant.
Triggering a massive chain reaction, the twenty-sixth floor, twenty-fifth floor, twenty-fourth floor... several floors began collapsing sequentially, tumbling down like dominoes.
Millions of tons of rock, crystal, and dirt, mixed with roaring waterfalls and magma, plummeted toward the deeper reaches of the Dungeon.
This terrifying tremor propagated all the way up to the distant eighteenth floor.
The ground of the Town of Rivira began shaking and cracking violently, like a massive earthquake. Countless buildings collapsed in a flash, the screams and wails of adventurers echoing into the sky.
In the center of the town, Bors Elder, the bald, eye-patch-wearing leader of Rivira, desperately clung to a shaking wall just to stay on his feet.
It wasn't just a simple tremor.
It was the wail of the Dungeon.
In this singular moment, from the very first floor down to the twenty-fourth, every adventurer—whether locked in combat, exploring the unknown, or resting at camp—felt the Dungeon quake.
The ground beneath their feet heaved and pitched violently. From the ceilings above, the luminescent moss and crystals that served as light sources showered down dust and debris. From the distant tunnels came the terrifying, earth-shattering roar of collapsing mountains.
"W-What's going on? An earthquake?" a young adventurer stuttered, his face stark white, his grip on his sword faltering.
"Run, you idiot!"
Beside him, a scarred, old beast-person adventurer grabbed his collar. Dragging the youth toward the stairs with all his might, the veteran screamed at the top of his lungs. "It's an 'Irregular'! The Dungeon has gone mad! If you don't want to die, get your ass back to the surface!"
Irregular.
This single phrase was like a bucket of ice water, instantly extinguishing any lingering hopes the adventurers held.
Any adventurer who had survived in Orario for more than six months had heard from veterans or tavern rumors about this phrase, synonymous with death and calamity.
Whenever an anomaly occurred in the Dungeon, the end result was always massive casualties, or even the complete annihilation of entire Familias. It was a natural disaster that even First-Class Adventurers couldn't escape.
Faced with the terror of impending death, all reason and order temporarily collapsed.
Adventurers discarded highly valuable loot, abandoned monsters they were on the verge of killing, and even shoved aside their own comrades to madly sprint toward the upper floors.
Panic spread through every inch of the labyrinth like a plague.
RUMBLE—!
As a violent tremor struck, Lefiya Viridis, sprinting down a tunnel on the twenty-fifth floor, stumbled and nearly fell to the ground.
"Careful!"
A strong hand grabbed her arm just in time, steadying her.
It was Raul Nord.
The young man, normally lacking in confidence and dubbed the "High Novice," currently wore an expression of unprecedented resolve. He had stepped up in Finn's absence, taking command as the temporary leader of this battered remnant force.
Compared to the other adventurers who were completely clueless about the situation, this team—having just barely escaped the twenty-seventh floor—was filled with a much deeper, more profound dread.
They knew their Captain and the executives were still down there, locked in a bitter struggle. And this apocalyptic tremor undeniably meant that the battle below had escalated to the absolute worst-case scenario.
"Captain... Miss Ais... Lady Riveria..."
Lefiya looked back toward the dark, yawning tunnel leading to the lower floors, her youthful face devoid of color, her lips trembling with anxiety.
"Don't look back, Lefiya," Raul said grimly. "The only thing we can do right now is get back to the surface as fast as possible and deliver the intelligence. This is the mission the Captain entrusted to us."
"Move! Faster!" Raul roared, swinging his sword as he charged headfirst into a swarm of monsters that had been disturbed by the tremors and were pouring out from the walls.
The other members of the Loki Familia gritted their teeth. With tears and fury in their eyes, they fearlessly followed his lead.
During their retreat, they had already used up every precious [Elixir] the team carried.
Anakitty, Alicia... the comrades who had been brutalized to the brink of death by the imposter had all regained basic mobility. Even Narvi, the female adventurer whose arm had been severed, had successfully reattached the limb thanks to the timely application of an [Elixir]. Though she wouldn't be able to fight freely in the short term, her future as an adventurer had been saved.
Right now, they had only one goal.
Carve a bloody path all the way to the eighteenth floor.
As long as they reached it, the wounded could be temporarily safely housed in the Town of Rivira. Those with remaining stamina could then rush back to the surface unburdened, at maximum speed, to notify Loki and bring back reinforcements.
Because of this, they didn't have the luxury to worry about what was happening below, nor why the Dungeon was quaking.
Only one thought remained in their minds.
Faster. Just a little faster.
Within the deepest underground prayer room of the Guild Headquarters.
Sitting upon his altar, Ouranos—whose ancient face rarely showed any emotion—revealed a grave expression.
He could feel the Dungeon's sorrowful wail; it was the instinctive reaction to being wounded.
He slowly opened his eyes.
Beside him, the sage Fels held a hand suspended over a faintly glowing crystal orb.
Reflected within the orb was the frantic, first-person perspective of the mermaid girl, Marie, desperately dodging collapsing rock faces and massive falling boulders. The surrounding water was murky and violent, visibility was practically zero, and scenes of absolute destruction were everywhere.
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