The Skeleton Soldier Failed to Defend the Dungeon

With@# $% do&§

Once indecipherable, the handwritten letters at the end of the book gradually became readable as I stared at them.

With$%broken do&§

With broken fragments do&§

With broken fragments do interact

Yet, their meaning remained elusive.

Broken... fragments? Interact?

What fragment? And what kind of interaction?

I couldn’t guess. I kept flipping back through the pages, unable to let go of the phrase. It was a sentence tied to the assimilation rate that bothered me. It felt crucial, as though it might hold answers about my ability to rewind through time.

I searched the book for any mention of ”broken fragments.”

Nothing.

There were no clues. The book contained nothing but details about trolls. There were no mention of fragments.

I closed the book.

Ding!

[Wisdom has increased by 1.]

The notification was the same as when I read Kevin Ashton’s other books. I opened my status window for the first time in a while.

[Skeleton Soldier Lv. 16 (135)

Health: 61

Strength: 61

Agility: 62

Wisdom: 33 (New!)]

Every time I rewound after death, my level reset to one. Since fleeing from Rena, I had regained fifteen levels with Gith-Za-Rai’s help. Absorbing the remains of the imperial guards at the emperor’s assassination site further boosted my stats.

I closed the status window.

I set the book I had been reading down on the table. The phrase about fragments intrigued me, but I had other priorities. I searched the lodge thoroughly. There may have been another book by Kevin Ashton.

Nothing.

Instead, I found nothing but tawdry paintings and explicit illustrations. There were no detailed records, not even a hunter’s log. I did, however, find a few maps. They detailed the mountain precisely, including valleys and water flow depths.

There was a complete map of the area and several segmented ones with meticulous detail. One of them even marked troll routes with winding red lines. As expected of a hunter’s lodge, there were abundant portable traps. I placed the maps and Kevin Ashton’s book on the table and sorted through the traps to find anything useful.

What should I do?

I debated.

The map indicated several caves where I could hide. Should I leave and head to one of them? Yet abandoning the lodge felt wasteful. The lodge’s location—near the mountain’s peak—was strategic. It offered an unobstructed view in all directions. I could monitor anyone approaching from the mountain. Staying here seemed wiser than hiding blindly in a cave. I made my decision.

I’ll stay in the lodge.

I gathered the portable traps and went outside.

***

I recalled how Rena had set traps. I had never placed one myself, but I had watched her do it dozens of times. Drawing on those memories, I placed traps along the paths leading to the lodge. It took a little over three hours to set around twenty traps.

Thud.

I sat on the chair on the second-floor balcony. It was like a watchtower with a clear view of the paths leading to the lodge. I felt reassured, knowing I could spot anyone approaching first. The crisp autumn wind blew past. I reopened the book I had set aside earlier, hoping for more insight.

Still, there was no mention of ”broken fragments”or ”interact.” Occasionally, I raised my head to scan the paths below. The traps were simple. Anyone clumsy enough to get caught in them wouldn’t pose much of a challenge. But having traps and watching from a high vantage point provided a psychological sense of security.

Clack! Clack!

The Skeletal Wolf Cub climbed onto my lap, seemingly bored.

[The Skeletal Wolf Cub wishes to go scouting. Would you like to allow it?

Ignoring its wishes repeatedly may result in the following:

— Decreased Affection.

— Potential development of a timid personality.

Allowing its wishes may result in the following:

— Increased Affection.

— Potential development of an independent personality.

Current Affection: 14

— The Skeletal Wolf Cub follows you faithfully.]

I granted the Skeletal Wolf Cub permission to scout. ”Alright... go ahead.”

The wolf cub had died tethered to a trap. Even in its skeletal form, I didn’t want to confine it further. While I had set traps along the paths to the lodge, they were primarily for humans. The Skeletal Wolf Cub had followed me as I placed them, so it knew their locations.

Clack! Clack!

The Skeletal Wolf Cub clattered down the stairs.

”Ah, should I open the door for it?”

The lodge’s main door was heavy, far too much for its small frame to push. Just as I reached to set Kevin Ashton’s book on the table, the sound of small bones snapping echoed briefly.

Clack! Crack! Crack!

Ding!

[Your connection with the Skeletal Wolf Cub has been forcibly severed.]

”What?” I exclaimed.

An all-too-familiar sound followed.

Tap.

It was the same steady footsteps that had pursued me through the cave. Now, they were climbing the lodge’s wooden stairs.

Tap.

The footsteps ascended slowly—one step at a time. Unlike natural human movement, these steps sounded mechanical, each one deliberate, like a cold piano key being played repeatedly with robotic precision.

Tap.

I needed to rise—to shout, to ask who it was, or to draw my sword. But I couldn’t move. The footsteps that echoed so close paralyzed me. Cold fear climbed my spine, and damp questions filled my mind.

How?

I hadn’t seen anything. I kept checking the paths leading to the lodge when I read the book. I wasn’t careless. In fact, I had been almost obsessively vigilant, staring down the trails for any sign of an intruder. Anyone approaching the lodge should have been noticed.

Even the sound of the heavy main door opening hadn’t reached me. A door like that should have groaned loudly as it swung open. But there had been no sound.

Tap.

Another footstep echoed, sounding like someone was stepping on the final stair. I turned, ready to draw my sword.

I should have drawn it.

Thunk.

The sword didn’t come out. It was blocked. I tried again to draw it.

Thunk.

Again, the sword didn’t budge more than the length of a single finger. A finger clad in a blue gauntlet gently tapped the sword’s hilt every time I tried to draw it, forcing it back into the sheath.

The precision was unnervingly perfect. The finger struck just enough to reseat the blade without overexertion and not so weakly as to fail to stop me. It felt like I was possessed, deliberately drawing the sword and then resheathing it.

I sat with the sword sheathed at my left hip. A sense of dread told me not to turn my head to see who was behind me. The finger had reached over from my left rear. That’s where the figure must be.

I need to strike.

Overthinking would slow me down. I emptied my mind and focused. If I wanted to attack from this position... I moved instinctively, pivoting on my left foot and driving off my right, spinning up from my seat like a top. At the same time, I drew and swung my sword in a motion I had practiced tens of thousands of times.

Iaijutsu.

This was the technique I had honed endlessly in the cave. With utmost desperation, I drew the silver blade and swung. The sword moved as though it shared my resolve faster, more precise, and more powerful than ever before.

Swish!

The blade sliced cleanly through where the figure had stood. A sharp sound of tearing flesh filled the air. I felt the weight of the impact on my fingertips.

Got them.

It had worked. The figure behind split in half and fell.

Thud!

The bisected chunks of flesh toppled to the ground, one to the left and the other to the right. However, no blood spilled, and no entrails spilled out. Instead, only wet, chemical-soaked cotton tumbled limply from the split halves onto the floor.

I looked down at the corpse. It was the taxidermied troll from the first floor, crudely stitched together with wires and now perfectly bisected, revealing its insides. Someone had brought the troll’s remains to the second floor, their intent was clear. They were mocking me.

An intense feeling of humiliation weighed down on my bones. The world suddenly felt stiflingly narrow, and the floor beneath my feet became unbearable.

”Is there nothing else?” someone asked.

Their voice came from behind and chilled me like a cold droplet of water, echoing and refusing to dissipate.

I turned to see a sword descending slowly toward my head. Still in its scabbard, the sword moved so sluggishly that I could see its trajectory. It felt less like an attack and more like a shadow dragging itself forward.

The deliberate nature of the scene seared itself into my mind—the same environment, the same enemy, the same way of dying, and a shattered Skeletal Wolf Cub lay on the floor. The moment before my armor and body were split apart, a powerful vibration emanated from my waist.

Hum!

—Kill.

The black dagger at my hip trembled, creating a tiny crack in the space that confined me. I gritted my teeth and rose through the black fissure. I drew the dagger and swung it against the descending scabbard.

”Oh?” the blue-armored knight uttered.

For the first time, his eyes widened—not at me, but at the dagger.

Crackle!

As the dagger collided against the blue-armored knight’s scabbard, a translucent barrier surrounded the scabbard, making it visible. White cracks formed in the barrier, rippling like splinters across the air.

Whirr... Whirr...

The dagger hummed while a letter etched on its black blade rose like a living thing. I had never seen such a phenomenon before. The letter wriggled, trying to pierce the transparent barrier. It straightened itself and attempted to drill through.

Bzzt! Bzzt!

The barrier tore open with white fissures like claws raking across the glass.

Crackle! Crackle!

Other letters on the blade came to life, attaching themselves to the cracks in the barrier, gnawing and tearing through it.