Suddenly, Clay felt he fucked up, and it came to him not as a flash of epiphany but a sudden dangerous turn of event that had already gone far beyond what he could control.
Because standing before him was not just a powerful enemy or a dangerous beast but the very king of his own kingdom, the man who had personally arranged his political marriage, the one who held authority over countless lives.
And now this same king had just witnessed one of his knights die at the hands of Clay's own maid, which meant there was no longer any room for misunderstanding or escape, only consequences waiting to fall.
He inhaled slowly, forcing his expression to remain steady even as his thoughts ran wild. And then his gaze moved toward the Minotaur, whose massive body remained tense and unmoving, its red eyes still locked onto him with something that looked disturbingly close to fear, and in that moment Clay made a decision that even he knew was reckless.
"Minotaur," he said, his voice firm despite everything, "beat that man up."
He ordered, betting that its fear could be of use for this dire situation.
After that, the chamber fell into a strange silence.
The Minotaur blinked.
Its head turned slightly.
First, it looked at Clay.
Then it turned its massive head toward Guren, who stood in the distance, blood still on his face but his presence burning stronger than before.
Then it looked back at Clay again.
Then again at Guren.
Then back to Clay.
And then again to Guren.
Clay felt his stomach drop.
Ah.
Right.
It does not understand me.
Well I'm just betting.
A faint stiffness crept into his posture as realization settled in, and for the first time since speaking, he truly felt the weight of what he had just tried to do, because the creature before him was not some obedient servant or summoned beast tied to his will but a wild monster driven by instinct, rage, and whatever strange memory it carried from its existence, and expecting it to follow a spoken command was nothing more than wishful thinking.
So Clay raised his arms.
He pointed.
First at Guren.
Then he clenched his fist and swung it forward through the air, mimicking a punch, exaggerating the motion in the hope that the meaning would somehow reach the creature.
Then he pointed again.
At Guren.
Then back at the Minotaur.
Then he repeated the motion, this time adding a stomp of his foot, as if emphasizing urgency.
The Minotaur watched.
Its eyes followed every movement.
Its head tilted slightly.
Then it looked at Guren again.
Then back at Clay.
Clay's face remained calm on the outside.
Inside, he felt like everything was collapsing.
He asked, "Maid, why is this not listening to my command even though it clearly fears me?"
Cerys blinked her eyes. "Young master… " She paused, "you don't know?"
Clay looked helpless and nodded. "Care to explain?"
Beside him, Cerys spoke.
"Young master," she said gently, her tone still respectful but carrying a faint trace of concern, "Minotaurs are not creatures known for intelligence, especially not the ones that have lived long enough to become dungeon guardians, as their minds are often consumed by battle instincts and territorial dominance, and while they can recognize threats and react to strength, their ability to understand complex intent.
"Especially something like commands given through speech or even gestures, is extremely limited, which means that unless the creature has been tamed, bound by contract, or raised under direct control from birth, it will not respond to orders in the way you might expect, and instead it will act based on what it perceives as danger, prey, or something it should avoid entirely."
She paused briefly, then continued, her explanation growing more detailed as if she wanted to ensure he understood every part of it clearly.
"In fact, young master, most Minotaurs that reach this level have already developed a form of instinctual awareness that allows them to distinguish between overwhelming threats and manageable opponents, which is why this one has not attacked you, because it has likely judged you as something far beyond what it can handle.
"And in such cases, these creatures will often hesitate, observe, or even retreat rather than engage recklessly, so even if you attempt to direct it toward another target, it will not act unless it believes doing so will increase its chances of survival, and if anything, it may simply remain still, waiting for an opportunity or an outcome that favors it."
As she spoke, Clay's situation only felt worse.
Cough! Cough!
Much worse.
Because every word she said removed another piece of the fragile plan he had just tried to create.
So my orders are useless to it, thought, and I cannot use it.
That meant it would not attack Guren just because Clay wanted it to.
"Ughh!!"
That meant it might just stand there.
Watching.
Waiting.
And that meant…
Clay's gaze slowly drifted toward Guren again.
I am the one who has to deal with this.
A cold weight settled in his chest.
He needed one week.
Just one week for his ability to return.
But right now, he had nothing.
No power.
No advantage.
Only a misunderstanding that made things even more dangerous.
And then.
Cerys spoke again. "If you want, young master, I can give you a contract beast once we deal with these…"
She asked.
"No need…" Clay answered without thinking.
Suddenly, Guren stepped forward fully.
The dust around him scattered as his aura expanded once more, stronger than before, heavier, pressing against everything in the chamber with a force that demanded attention.
His eyes locked onto Clay.
Cold.
Sharp.
Filled with authority that did not need to be spoken to be understood.
"I did not expect," Guren began, his voice steady but carrying a depth of anger that echoed through the chamber, "that the Valmont family, one of the pillars of this kingdom, one that has stood beside the throne for generations, would choose this path, that you would abandon your duty, discard your loyalty, and conspire against the very crown that granted your name its weight.
"They really would go so far as to lure me into this dungeon under the pretense of a desire to cultivate my holy Mana to the higher level only to prepare an ambush in the shadows, using both beast and blade in an attempt to end my life in a place where no witness would remain to speak of it."
His gaze hardened further.
"To think that you would stain your lineage with such betrayal, that you would cast aside honor for ambition, that you would risk the stability of the entire kingdom for the sake of power, and worse, that you would involve creatures like this, turning a dungeon into a weapon against your own king, shows not only treachery but a complete disregard for the consequences that would follow, not just for you, but for everyone tied to your name."
Clay opened his mouth slightly.
He wanted to speak.
He wanted to deny it.
But before he could—
Guren raised his hand.
Holy light erupted.
It spread outward in a radiant wave, filling the chamber with brilliance that pushed back the shadows, and as it touched the fallen knights, something impossible began to happen.
Their bodies moved.
Slowly.
Their wounds closed.
Cuts sealed.
Broken bones realigned.
Blood faded.
And then—
They rose.
One by one.
The knights who had fallen began to stand again, their eyes opening as breath returned to their lungs, their strength restored as if death itself had been rejected by the will of their king.
It was not healing.
It was revival.
Clay felt his heart sink.
This is bad.
No.
This is worse than bad.
This is hopeless.
Inside his mind, he called out.
System.
Give me something.
Anything.
There was a pause.
Then the familiar response came, calm and uncaring.
Ding!
The system is currently exhausted after granting the host an extremely high level ability earlier.
Recovery is required before further assistance can be provided.
Clay's jaw tightened slightly.
So you are useless now.
Acknowledged.
That was all it said.
He exhaled slowly.
Great.
Just great.
Meanwhile, the revived knights gathered quickly, their movements sharp and disciplined despite what they had just experienced, and without hesitation they knelt before Guren, their voices unified.
"Your Majesty," one of them said, his tone filled with respect and certainty, "so this truly was a scheme by the Valmont family to assassinate you."
Another spoke.
"We will not allow such betrayal to succeed."
Then, almost as one, they rose.
"Formation!"
They moved instantly, surrounding Guren in a protective arrangement, their positions precise, their weapons raised, their auras connecting as holy energy began to circulate between them, forming a defensive field that pulsed with power.
Clay stood there.
Watching.
Everything had spiraled out of control so fast that even he could not keep up.
And then—
Cerys spoke again.
"Young master," she said, her voice calm but carrying a dangerous edge, "would you like me to deal with these insects?"
The knights reacted immediately.
"Insects?" one of them repeated, his expression turning sharp with anger, "you dare call us insects?"
Another stepped forward slightly, his voice filled with pride that did not waver even in the presence of danger.
"We are Royal Holy Knights, chosen by the crown, blessed by divine light, trained from the moment we could hold a blade to stand as the shield of this kingdom, and you think we are something that can be crushed without consequence?"
A third spoke, his tone steady but filled with conviction.
"Our power is not something you can measure so lightly, and our king stands with us, the embodiment of holy authority, the one whose light has brought countless victories, whose strength has never faltered, and whose will cannot be broken by traitors hiding behind empty words."
Their voices grew stronger.
More unified.
"We are not weak."
"We do not fall easily."
"And we will not be defeated."
Cerys listened.
Then she smiled faintly.
"Insects remain insects," she said softly, her eyes cold as she looked at them, "and no matter how loudly they buzz, they are still beneath notice."
Her gaze leans slightly toward Clay.
"To you, they may appear impressive, but to Young Master, their light is nothing but a faint glow, something that cannot compare to the purity and depth of my young master's holy light."
Her voice remained calm.
"If he wished, he could crush all of you without effort."
The knights stiffened.
Soon, their faces turned red.
One of them stepped forward, his sword lifting as he pointed it directly at Clay and Cerys.
"Then prove it," he said, his voice firm, "show us that your claims are not empty."
Clay felt it.
The tension.
The pressure.
There was no way out.
No clever escape.
No hidden advantage.
So he made a decision if there's no other choice.
I will rely on Cerys.
Beside him, Cerys revealed her dagger, the blade catching the faint light as her stance lowered slightly, her presence turning sharp and ready.
"Come," she said.
The knight moved.
His body surged forward.
But before he could reach them—
A hand stopped him.
Guren.
"Step back," the king said, his voice calm but absolute, "you will die."