Translator: Pai_

While Ferga and his companions were engaged in battle with the monsters, Turan supported them to the best of his ability from a concealed position.

He mixed his attacks into others’ magic while remaining hidden, fought smaller monsters in close combat with a dagger, and even activated the Guardian Magic Artifact to absorb several dangerous attacks on their behalf.

Without such efforts, the nobles would have been overwhelmingly defeated.

However, despite these efforts, the nobles were gradually killed off one by one during the fight.

Under normal conditions, it might have been a different story, but with their vision obscured by the darkness and fatigue accumulated from their prolonged time underground, it was difficult for them to exert even half of their usual strength.

After a fierce and prolonged struggle, only Turan and Ferga were left standing.

The enemy, too, had lost all of its smaller monsters, leaving some room for reprieve. Watching Ferga face off one-on-one against the gigantic monster, Turan deliberated over how to bring the creature down.

[Dieeeeee!]

The labyrinth leader had lost one arm, had a mangled leg, and was riddled with countless other wounds, yet it still flaunted its overwhelming vitality.

How could he defeat that thing…?

The first thing that caught his eye were the Magic Artifacts left behind by the deceased nobles, especially the weapon types.

A bow, a staff, a dagger, and an axe.

Among them, Turan decided to exclude the bow first.

He wasn’t accustomed to using it, its efficiency was questionable, and finding arrows would be difficult in their current situation. Above all, it didn’t seem significantly more powerful than his slingshot.

The staff appeared to be a defensive Magic Artifact based on its user’s previous handling, so that was also ruled out.

The dagger had the ability to utilize the Pyromaniac Bloodline’s power, but judging by how its user had died wielding it, it was likely that its usage limit for the day had already been reached.

Lastly, the axe had already proven its powerful force a little earlier, but

‘It’s too heavy.’

When Turan secretly approached and tried to lift it, it was clear that it was far too unwieldy to swing properly.

Its excessive weight for its size seemed to be related to the magic imbued in it.

If it were a Bloodline adept at physical combat, they might have been able to wield it effectively.

At that moment, a realization struck Turan, sparked by something the eye in the door had mentioned earlier.

The ability of the Sacred Relic in Turan’s possession was Mimic.

Combining that information with the Fighter Bloodline’s magic embedded in the weapon led him to one conclusion.

‘If I use this liquid, I might be able to mimic the Fighter Bloodline’s power.’

He had a rough idea of how to use it from the moment he first saw the liquid.

It was only uncertainty that had kept him from trying it until now.

Click. Turan opened the lid and immediately poured the shimmering light-green liquid into his mouth.

‘Ugh.’

The first sensation was an icy chill flowing down his throat.

But it quickly turned blazing hot like flames, heating his entire body. Soon, an overwhelming strength he had never felt before surged through him.

It wasn’t an increase in magic power, but a pure enhancement of physical abilities.

‘So this is the power of the Fighter Bloodline.’

When he clenched his fist tightly, he even felt a faint fear that his grip might crush his own hand.

At that moment, Turan saw Ferga, perhaps due to his exhaustion, finally fail to dodge the labyrinth leader’s attack and have his stomach and chest pierced by the creature’s hooked claws.

Seeing this, Turan grabbed the massive axe and immediately leaped toward the monster.

The shift in weight distribution from the weapon and his now-enhanced leg strength slightly skewed his trajectory, but fortunately, the axe still managed to reach a vital point.

[You! Fake Night Hunter-!]

As he had suspected, just like its kin, this monster could easily see through the invisibility provided by the Zahars’ Concealment magic.

To conserve even the smallest amount of magic power, Turan dispelled his concealment and swung the axe.

Thud. A heavy sensation transmitted through his hands as the massive axe buried itself more than halfway into the creature’s neck.

‘Damn, it’s still not enough to kill it in one blow.’

[Dieee!]

Perhaps because its left hand was already impaling Ferga, the labyrinth leader swung its severed right arm to strike Turan, who was hanging onto the axe.

Turan was flung away at a speed even faster than when he had leapt, crashing into one of the labyrinth’s walls.

“Urgh….”

His whole body ached, but unlike the times when he had been struck by the magical beasts in the past, it was at least bearable.

It was thanks to the power of the Guardian Magic Artifact and the enhanced physical abilities brought by the Fighter Bloodline's power.

Of course, this was because he had been hit by the severed arm. If it had been those claws, it wouldn’t have ended so simply.

Seeing Turan get back on his feet unharmed, the labyrinth leader threw Ferga’s impaled body aside and charged toward him.

[Fakeeee-! Dieee!]

Despite its ferocious roar, the way it limped toward him was far from threatening.

The flame within its body, visible through the Sacred Relic, had long since dimmed compared to before.

From the blood gushing out of its neck where the axe had been embedded and then pulled out, it was clear that it would eventually die of its own accord if left alone.

‘But I can’t let it end like that.’

Not only was there no need to fear a creature so sluggish from its excessive injuries, but there was also the matter of the conditions for escape that the eye in the door had indicated: the elimination of the labyrinth leader.

What if the door judged that the leader had merely bled to death on its own and refused to open?

Accelerating his thoughts with the secret technique of the Arabions, Turan focused on the five hooked claws flying toward him at a slow pace.

‘First, avoid them….’

Using the short footwork he had learned from Haram for close combat, Turan narrowly dodged the claws as they brushed past his face.

What was revealed next was the creature’s left side.

Instead of aiming for its torso, Turan swung the axe upward with all his strength. With a heavy thud, the labyrinth leaders’s forearm was half-crushed.

[Aghhhhhh!]

‘Not enough in one strike, huh.’

Then he would simply strike it multiple times.

Pulling the embedded axe out, Turan swiftly swung it down before the creature could raise its arm again.

Like chopping down a tree with swings from either side, the arm was cut clean off after the axe struck the same spot twice more, once from above and once from below.

[Agh! Evil! My children! You killed them all! Night Hunter! Fake!]

As if it had completely lost its mind, the labyrinth leader rambled nonsense while thrusting its final remaining weapon at Turan, its jagged, blade-like teeth.

Of course, biting was a highly risky move for any creature, as it meant exposing its most vulnerable part: its head. When Turan dodged to the side, the labyrinth leader’s head slammed into the ground instead.

It was the perfect position to sever its neck.

Crunch! The axe landed squarely on the monster’s glistening, blood-slick neck with a single strike.

Its body slumped as if its nerves had been severed, but it still clung to life.

Turan struck the same spot a second time, then a third, then a fourth.

[F...ake...my...chil...dren...]

How resilient was it, that it managed to speak even with its neck half-severed?

Though, since it wasn’t opening its mouth but rather projecting its voice mentally, whether it could truly be called speaking was debatable.

But when Turan swung the axe one last time and completely severed its neck, the flow of magic that had coursed through the labyrinth leader’s body came to an abrupt halt.

Only then did Turan feel certain that the monster was truly dead.

“Phew….”

Letting out a deep sigh, Turan tossed aside the heavy axe.

Perhaps due to the release of tension, it felt as though all the strength in his body was draining away,

No, when he focused inwardly, he realized it wasn’t just a feeling. The magic of the Fighter Bloodline coursing through his body was genuinely fading.

Judging by the pace, it seemed it would take about thirty minutes for all the power to vanish completely.

Well, as impressive as the Sacred Relic was, permanently acquiring Bloodline abilities in such a manner would have been absurd.

Even just being able to store and use power this way was remarkable enough.

Swallowing his slight disappointment, Turan approached the last remaining survivor, who was lying sprawled in the distance.

Ferga Zahar.

He coughed up a mouthful of blood and stared blankly at the ceiling.

‘One pierced the lung… the other near the heart. There’s no saving him.’

While Wizards generally had greater vitality than ordinary people, surviving injuries of this extent was unlikely.

Of course, just as he had borrowed the power of the Fighter Bloodline earlier, it would have been possible to save Ferga by absorbing magic power from a Noble with the Healer Bloodline and using it to heal him. But there was no reason to go to such lengths.

"You, who are... you...?"

Ferga’s gaze turned toward Turan, but his eyes were so unfocused that it was obvious he couldn’t see clearly.

He likely couldn’t even make out Turan’s face, let alone recognize whether he was a person or not.

“Should I make it easier for you?”

Although Ferga was a relative much older than him, Turan didn’t feel inclined to use honorifics.

He had seen the corpses of knights and vagrants who had died miserable deaths while exploring the labyrinth over the past few days.

Surely, they too had wanted to live just as much as, if not more than, Ferga.

“Please… save me…”

“That’s a request I can’t grant.”

Turan shook his head, but Ferga, seemingly unable to comprehend his words, continued to mumble his pleas for survival.

Moments later, through the senses of the Sacred Relic, Turan felt the flames remaining in Ferga’s body dissipate and converge.

‘He’s dead.’

Turan stood up and looked around.

Over a hundred and twenty small monsters lay dead, along with a dozen Nobles, and even the labyrinth leader.

Setting aside personal gain, it was time to collect what he could to prevent all of them from being resurrected as Undead Spirits.

*

Turan started by absorbing the magic power of the small monsters first.

For Wizards, the stronger their power, the more meaningless it became to absorb magic power from weaker beings. Therefore, it was more efficient to absorb power from the weakest first, moving upward in order.

As expected, even after absorbing power from all 145 monsters, his strength showed little growth.

The monsters possessed such small amounts of magic power relative to their abilities that their level was barely on par with something between a knight and a Noble. There was no helping it.

Next were the dead Nobles.

The Sacred Relic’s detection ability allowed him to see the magic power of the deceased, so he could absorb them one by one in order of their strength without needing to recall how strong they had been in life.

As he absorbed the Nobles’ power, the Sacred Relic also began separately absorbing and storing their magic power.

Barrier Master, Illusionist, Berserker, Healer, Hunter…

Depending on the Bloodline, the magic-infused liquid in the Sacred Relic was neatly layered, making it easy to extract specific powers through magic if needed.

What would happen if he consumed multiple Bloodlines’ powers simultaneously?

The thought crossed his mind momentarily, but considering that he might need them in the future, he decided against experimenting recklessly.

With each step of absorbing magic power, Turan's body and soul were tempered to become increasingly stronger.

Five of the Nobles were far weaker than him and provided little benefit.

However, four of them were either slightly weaker or comparable in strength, making their contributions meaningful.

The real game changers were the labyrinth leader and Ferga Zahar.

The moment he absorbed the magic power of these two, each possessing about twice Turan’s own strength, an intense wave of euphoria struck his mind.

This sensation was on a completely different level from the temporary acquisition of the Fighter Bloodline’s power earlier.

Focusing inward, Turan could feel that his magic power had grown to nearly double what it had been when he first entered the labyrinth.

This was a level of power that ordinary Nobles would have to spend decades, or even a century, building up under extraordinary circumstances like war.

Of course, most would hit their growth limits long before reaching this level of accumulation.

‘Now that I think about it, I might not have much room left before I hit my own growth limit.’

Typically, the growth limit of magic power was several times, or at most dozens of times, one’s innate capacity.

He didn’t remember exactly how much magic power he had back when he stayed at Hisaril Hill, but by rough estimation, the power he now possessed was about eight to ten times what it was during that time.

By this point, it felt like the time had come for that dormant Bloodline to awaken. But did it really require him to grow as strong as the head of a great Noble House to trigger it?

He thought about it briefly before shaking his head and standing up.

It was time to leave this labyrinth.

‘I guess I’ll have to abandon the Magic Artifacts.’

After all, it would be the House Zahar, renowned for their expertise in tracking, investigating these deaths.

Having used a fair amount of tracking magic himself, he knew that while it wasn’t possible to locate just any Magic Artifact, it was entirely feasible to pinpoint Magic Artifacts of a specific type.

If dozens of Zahar Nobles scoured the land to find them, he would be captured within days no matter where he hid in the Enril Desert.

It wasn’t a choice he could make unless he wanted to live his life constantly on the run.

After making that decision, Turan wandered through the now-empty labyrinth, using tracking magic multiple times to locate and erase any traces of himself, strands of hair, drops of blood, and all other possible remnants.

Finally, he headed toward the door with the eye embedded in it.

“I killed the labyrinth leader.”

He spoke to it, but the eye didn’t respond.

Had the door opened wide and deactivated entirely?

Turan tried speaking to it a few more times, but when no response came, he shook his head and stepped inside.

“Oh.”

The space beyond the door resembled a grand hall. At the center of the room was the same pitch-black swirling void he had seen when he first entered the labyrinth.

That must be the exit.

Instead of heading straight for it, Turan decided to take a closer look around.

‘Mostly useless decorations… No, there’s something over there.’

Next to a throne-like chair was a small book.

It was less of a proper book and more like a few sheets of paper loosely bound with thread…

The title on the cover, written in rather crude handwriting, caught his eye.

[Night Hunter Job Change Process Recreation Experiment]