A dense, skittering clamor surged abruptly into Glenn’s ears as he advanced through the corridor.

  So the thing those three mages roused hasn’t been wholly dealt with…He instantly deduced the cause of the disturbance. To react so swiftly after he shattered the prison gate, the odds were high it was tied to those dark magicians.

  The sound drew closer, a hair-raising rustle like an army of insects marching through pitch-black confines, growing louder in the suffocating dark. It was enough to unravel the nerves of any ordinary soul.

  Scarlet points of light began to bloom ahead—at first scattered, then rapidly multiplying. Glenn soon distinguished them: a swarm of bat-like creatures.

  Unlike bats, however, each was the size of a grown man, with grotesquely elongated arms that allowed them to scale the walls with unnatural speed. They possessed wings, folded tight along those limbs, unfurling only when they launched themselves into the air.

  They came at him like the deranged, scrambling and swooping in a chaotic tide.

  Had this been the open surface, their sheer numbers might have posed a nuisance. But in a space this narrow, the tactical advantage shifted entirely.

  Glenn’s body swelled as he assumed his Fifth-Tier Werewolf form. Flames bloomed in his hands as he summoned the Blazing Fangs. In an instant, the corridor—once drowned in darkness—was bathed in searing light.

  The creatures shrieked in terror. The moment the flames erupted, their murderous charge dissolved into chaos. Some smashed blindly into walls; others wheeled around in frantic retreat.

  Yet they failed to grasp that the true threat was not the blinding light, but the soul-scorching heat behind it.

  Glenn strode forward, his hands functioning as twin flamethrowers, advancing with the effortless calm of an exterminator clearing a nest.

  He didn’t count how long he burned his way through, only that he persisted until the final cluster of creatures was reduced to smoldering ash.

  Everywhere he passed lay charred remains, the dense scent of draconic flame lingering thick in the stagnant air.

  After dismissing the overheated Blazing Fangs, Glenn retraced his steps. There had been no branching paths, no valuables—only the lair of those beasts. The sole remaining route lay back toward the prison gate.

  Entering the next corridor brought no monsters, only a gauntlet of traps and mechanisms—though none capable of slowing him.

  From time to time, murals appeared on the walls, ancient depictions of a bygone era. Glenn spared them only a fleeting glance.

  The chambers spaced along the corridor were his true targets. Most held nothing of use, yet several clearly served as vaults for the relic’s original master—filled with curious treasures of impressive craftsmanship.

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Naturally, these rooms bristled with defenses: illusion mazes, psychic traps, and wards layered thicker than fortress walls. Glenn expended no small effort dismantling them.

  After breaking each safeguard, he marked the location for retrieval later.

  Another spiral staircase descended—his fourth—which meant he had now reached the relic’s fifth subterranean level. How deep does this place go? Glenn wondered as he stepped onto the downward stairs.

  At the bottom, he passed beneath a towering arched doorway—and the sight awaiting him brought him to a halt.

  There was no corridor ahead. Instead, an immense circular arena stretched out, vast as a coliseum. At its center knelt a colossal giant, several swords driven deep into its back.

  Glenn moved forward cautiously. No traps triggered. He advanced again. Step by step, after repeated confirmation, he reached the giant.

  For reasons he could not name, the figure exuded an overwhelming majesty—stirring in him a sudden, instinctive urge to bow.

  So this was the original master of the relic? With so many blades in its back… a miserable end, Glenn mused, rubbing his chin.

  Dark stains pooled on the ground—likely the dried blood of the giant, preserved by the sealed atmosphere.

  Its body was encased in armor thick as a fortress wall, its face hidden beneath a knight’s helm. Its massive hands drooped to the floor, and beside them lay an enormous battle-axe and a gigantic shield.

  Glenn inspected the battle-axe first. After studying it without discerning its material, he gripped the haft with both hands and attempted to lift it.

  Judging by the giant’s size, its weapon should not be inferior to the Blazing Fangs—at least in theory.

  Yet the axe was surprisingly light—far too light for its proportions.

  Though Glenn strained like an ant hoisting a mountain to lift it, he knew immediately something was wrong.

  Suddenly, he swung the axe downward with all his strength.

  BOOM—!

  The axe appeared intact—until, a moment later, spiderweb cracks began creeping across its surface.

  “Already ruined…” Glenn muttered, losing interest as he let the haft drop.

  He did not bother with the shield. It was almost certainly in the same state of decay.

  Circling the giant, Glenn eyed the swords embedded in its back and rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

  With a leap, he landed upon the giant’s bowed back and chose the most striking of the blades—a crimson greatsword. He grasped the hilt, preparing to heave it free.

  But even after straining until his face flushed red, the sword didn’t budge.

  He shifted into his Third-Tier Werewolf form. Nothing. Then Fifth-Tier. Still nothing. Finally, he had no choice but to assume his Seventh-Tier Werewolf form.

  Thick clouds of cursed black smoke engulfed the giant’s body.

  Glenn tightened his grip on the crimson hilt and pulled with every ounce of strength he possessed.

  The blade quivered faintly. Still, he pulled. Red arcs of lightning seeped from the wound beneath the sword, growing more violent as the blade slowly rose.

  Glenn fully understood the risks. Worst case—the giant might awaken. But even if its strength had once been godlike, after all this time, little would remain. Judging by the relic’s defenses, its master could not have exceeded Glenn’s Seventh-Tier form by too wide a margin.

  At last, the crimson greatsword slid free. No gush of blood followed—not even a stain marred the steel that had been buried in the giant’s flesh.

  Raising the blade—still massive even for him in this form—Glenn squeezed the hilt experimentally, sensing its formidable durability.

  So this one isn’t ruined…Relief washed over him. He tossed the sword to the floor, preparing to extract the others.

  But the next moment, the remaining greatswords began sliding out on their own.

  Startled, Glenn jumped down at once, bracing for the giant’s resurrection.

  Yet the swords simply clattered onto the ground—then dissolved into blue smoke, vanishing entirely. The giant remained motionless.

  Glenn exhaled.

  A pity those vanished…With a twinge of regret, he resigned himself to keeping only the crimson one.

  He had barely taken a few steps when a voice—vast, majestic, and irresistible—boomed within his mind:

  “Who are you?”