CHAPTER 13: BACK TO MANHATTAN

If there was one thing Godfrey had learned about his summon, it was that the armour made him a living fortress, a tank with the speed of a destrier.

And as he charged, Natasha’s whip struck his armour several times, the sharp cracks echoing in the cavern, but it did nothing, not even a shallow gash. He arrived before her, swinging his sword in a broad horizontal slash. She ducked swiftly, lashing at his foot to trip him to the ground, but yelped the moment her whip struck, his foot felt like a boulder.

Godfrey swung his sword backward in a savage arc, forcing Natasha to dodge again. Her whip lashed out once more, this time coiling tightly around the thick chainmail guarding his neck. She yanked with all her strength, the whip tightening like a serpent. With a grunt, Godfrey seized it with his gauntleted hand and pulled. The force was so great Natasha was ripped off her feet, hurtling toward him.

Roaring, Godfrey swung his longsword backward in a diagonal strike that tore across her body. Blood sprayed against his pauldron and helm, splattering down his cloak as Natasha’s body fell limp.

Just then, the Bloating Venomous Frog exploded. Mountain had turned the beast’s venom against it, yet an even stronger version which it was not immune to, causing the monster to swell beyond its limit and rupture. The detonation shook the ground.

Each step Mountain took afterward was like a block of wrought iron being dropped onto stone, his heavy boots pounding with merciless rhythm. The huge knight advanced, lifting his sword and shield, and stood before Godfrey, who remained frozen, staring at Natasha’s corpse.

Standing there clad in massive armour, broad golden pauldrons, and a regal floating cloak, Godfrey was a sight to behold, a knightly figure born of myth. But within the confines of his helmet, his own face twisted through a storm of emotions, horror, fear, and finally grim acceptance.

He had killed someone. Taken a life. Something he had never truly imagined doing. Shutting his eyes tight, he let the weight crash over him, his breaths ragged, his body trembling as though his very height had grown heavier under invisible chains.

He hadn’t meant to kill. But this was the brutal truth of battle within dungeons, mercy meant death. She had died because if he had hesitated, it would have been him lying lifeless in her place. The victor was always the one who survived.

Resting his longsword against his pauldron with a soft metallic clink, like a coin dropping onto stone, he turned his helm toward Mountain.

"You could speak... and you didn’t tell me?"

Mountain looked at him. For a painfully long second, silence hung in the air. Then, slowly, the towering knight gave one soft nod.

Godfrey exhaled, hot breath rushing against the confines of his helm. With a swivel of his body, he strode into the shadowed depths of the cavernous hall. Mountain followed silently behind, both of them still in Black-Out State.

The transformation drained their mana at a frightening rate, but Godfrey didn’t care. He knew he couldn’t handle whatever lay beyond without it. Now that Mountain had copied the Bloating Venomous Frog’s innate bloating venom ability, perhaps they had a little more hope against what awaited.

At the end of the cavernous hall was a ravine. It stretched downward into darkness, a pit of unknown depth. Godfrey narrowed his eyes. He had to clear this dungeon.

"Go first."

Mountain nodded and leapt. His massive form plummeted with a heavy crash, his armour groaning as he rose. At once, a werewolf lunged out of the shadows. But this one was different, rotting flesh clung loosely to its body, and half its face was stripped down to exposed skull.

An undead werewolf.

Mountain met it with a shield strike that slammed the beast into the cavern wall. Its decayed body swelled grotesquely before bursting apart into limbs and blood. Two more came rushing, but Godfrey dove down, his blade skewering one clean through the head as he landed.

Mountain deflected the second, its claws scraping furiously at his shield until its arm swelled and fell limp. With a brutal thrust, he drove his sword through its chest.

Together they pressed forward, Mountain charging with shield raised high. Any undead werewolf that came within reach fell in a strike or two, a feat impossible for him in his normal state. Godfrey’s task was to finish what Mountain left crippled but not slain.

After more than twenty kills, they stumbled into an underground circular hall. Six towering pillars ringed the space, and in its center, a crimson core pulsed atop a small stone platform. Above, the ceiling shimmered like a sheet of crystal-clear water suspended in midair. It somehow remained unfallen, glowing faintly and casting the only light, a phantom moon that illuminated the shadows.

As Mountain advanced, something darted from behind a pillar, a black blur that smashed into his shield with colossal force, driving him backward. The blur twisted and slashed toward Godfrey, who raised his blade but was sent crashing into a pillar.

Revealed in the crimson glow, the blur was a towering werewolf. Unlike the others, it stood fully upright on two legs, its massive chest and arms bulging with muscle, long lupine ears twitching, yellowed fangs bared, and claws black as obsidian.

The werewolf king.

Mountain roared and slammed it against the wall, debris raining down from the ceiling. He swung in retaliation, but his blade cut only shallowly. The beast retaliated, its claws raking across his helm and leaving three jagged gashes before hurling him into a pillar. The stone cracked like spiderwebs before collapsing.

Godfrey charged, gathering momentum, but the beast’s palm swung with terrifying speed. He activated Exchange, switching places with Mountain. The knight blocked the blow, while Godfrey slashed from the other side. His sword bit into the werewolf’s arm, breaking skin but halting against muscles so dense they felt like steel cords.

Not even the venom of the bloating frog worked.

The werewolf king had speed, power, and a natural defense far beyond anything they had faced. This wasn’t a skill, it was raw, natural construction. Something Mountain could never copy.

Godfrey’s eyes shrank in dread as he retreated, but the beast was faster. Its massive foot slammed into his cuirass, the impact hurling him through a pillar. His armour saved his life, without it, he would have been crushed.

"Come... to me!" Mountain roared. His voice scraped the air, forced from his throat like jagged steel grinding over stone.

The werewolf king halted, tilting its head curiously at the knight who, by all rights, could not wound it.

Mountain charged. Expecting the usual shield bash, the beast swung, but Mountain ducked, his blade glowing. For the first time, he unleashed a strike not of steel, but of mana. A beam of light erupted upward, tearing into the werewolf king, cutting deep, almost cleaving its body in two.

Godfrey squinted, stunned. An adaptive skill. A skill not born but created to overcome weakness.

His armour crumbled as his mana was spent. On the floor, he stared at Mountain, battered and dented, yet unbroken.

"Prince Godfrey," Mountain rasped, kneeling on one knee.

"If it hurts to speak, then don’t," Godfrey answered, realizing how much strain it caused him. "Go. Take the core."

Mountain nodded, stepped forward, and grasped the crimson core. Mana coursed through his body in glowing streams. His frame grew slightly, taller, broader and heavier.

Godfrey blinked as the tablet updated, his lips curling.

Summon: Knight-Captain of the Golden Order

Type: Hybrid

Tier: 3.4

Potential: 6.0

Mountain had reached the pinnacle of the low tier in only days.

***

Three weeks later, Godfrey stepped once again into the hallway of Manhattan High School, a bag slung casually over his shoulder.

The moment he appeared, the hallway crowded with freshmen and sophomores fell into silence.

"It’s him. The hero’s son, he’s back!"

"Why is he here? I thought he ran with his tail between his legs after realizing Manhattan wasn’t for him!"

"Something’s changed. Look at his eyes."

"...You’re right."

Godfrey’s gaze locked onto Snow, who leaned against the wall. A beautiful first-year shyly stood before him with a present in her hands, while his cronies, Siegfried and Maldred, lingered like bodyguards.

The conversation had clearly been about Snow and the bold freshman. But the instant Godfrey entered, everything shifted.

Snow raised an eyebrow, his smile as sharp as it was radiant. "How’s your head? Siegfried hit it really hard. I hope it’s... okay."

His angelic grin was like an arrow, piercing straight through the hearts of every girl watching.

...

A/N: I hope you enjoy this novel. Support by adding to your library and giving a power stone or two. Thank you.

I will also appreciate a review to keep me motivated.