Chapter 18: Chapter 17: The Executioner

Mo Gang staggered to his feet.

Gen’s mocking laugh echoed through the gloomy dungeon, each note slicing through Mo Gang’s already shredded pride like a rusted blade.

He had thought he knew everything about the third floor.

The Stone Men were docile, predictable—keep your distance, don’t provoke them, and you’d be fine.

But those creatures just now...

What the hell were they?

The pressure they radiated, that cold, mechanical violence in every movement... it was nothing like what he’d known.

No—this was something else. A different level. A different reality.

So absurd, it made his spine feel like it had been dipped in ice.

“I... I don’t believe it!!!”

Mo Gang screamed like a madman, eyes bloodshot from fear and confusion.

He lunged forward and kicked the cell door hard.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

The sound echoed through the stone, but the iron door didn’t budge—an unforgiving reminder:

You are nothing.

Just like Amar before him—completely powerless.

"[Muscle Strength]!!!"

He roared, trying to activate his body-enhancing skill, but only a faint flicker of light appeared—then vanished, snuffed out like a match in the wind.

Skill failed.

"[Muscle Strength]!!! [Muscle Strength]!!! [Muscle Strength]...!!!"

His voice grew hoarse. His eyes were wide, feral—like a caged beast unwilling to accept defeat.

“What... the hell is going on...”

He gasped, gripping the iron bars, his entire body trembling.

And then—

The Stone Men began to move.

No command, no roar.

They turned in perfect sync, like programmed machines, and marched straight toward Gen.

“Stay here, Dolly.”

Gen spoke softly, eyes fixed on the Stone Men stomping forward.

His voice carried no urgency. Calm—almost lazy.

“Y-You... can handle this?”

Mo Gang clutched the bars, voice trembling on the verge of tears.

“Wanna bet?”

Gen smirked. A short reply, cold enough to freeze the very air around them.

He stepped toward the monsters as if taking a casual stroll through a stone garden.

THOOM. THOOM.

The Stone Men advanced.

Massive like giant children, their heavy footsteps pounded like war drums.

The distance between them shrank.

The leading Stone Man reached out—a claw meant to capture Mo Gang not long ago.

But this time—

Gen raised his hand and grabbed the stone wrist mid-swing.

He didn’t dodge. Didn’t flinch.

Just stopped it—calmly.

The dungeon held its breath.

The Stone Man swung its other arm down, a punch aimed straight at Gen’s head.

CRACK!!!

But Gen’s counterpunch shattered its stone fist into hundreds of fragments—like smashing brittle glass with a hammer.

“Yes! Hell yes!!!”

Mo Gang lost it, screaming like a fanboy watching his idol’s ultimate move.

Gen glanced at his own hand. A piece of armor on the back had cracked.

“Tsk...”

His armor wasn’t built to handle that impact.

He looked at the Stone Man still gripping his head.

“Grabbing someone’s head like that—pretty rude, don’t you think?”

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CRACK.

A dry, sharp sound.

The stone fingers crumbled like dry clay.

Before the creature could react, Gen crouched, grabbed it by the waist, and slammed it backward into another Stone Man.

BOOM!!!

Two hulking bodies exploded into rubble, the echo thunderous.

“Aaaa!!! That was insane!!!”

“Our leader’s a beast!!!”

“He’s a god!!!”

Mo Gang shouted uncontrollably. His mind went blank—only worship remained.

Gen didn’t even glance back.

He charged the rest of the Stone Men—no magic, no skills, no warcry.

Only fists, knees, shoulders.

His entire body was a living battering ram—brutal and cold.

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

Crashes rang out like funeral bells.

Shards of stone flew, raining like bloody mist—if these creatures had blood to begin with.

The towering humanoids that had terrified Mo Gang earlier were now being crushed one after another, like cheap toys.

A punch—shattered a chest.

A shoulder slam—broke a spine.

A spin—snapped a body in two.

Gen didn’t defend, didn’t retreat.

Every step forward left another stone corpse in ruins.

No magic glow.

No skill effects.

Just raw, absolute power.

The difference in level—cruel beyond shame.

When it was over, nothing remained but debris scattered like ashes after a ritual.

Gen stood at the center, brushing nonexistent dust from his armor.

No comment.

No smile.

Only cold eyes sweeping over the stone corpses—utterly indifferent.

The silence was chilling.

Then he walked on, metal boots crunching over the rubble like stepping on nameless corpses.

He stopped.

His eyes swept toward a hidden corner—a narrow, pitch-dark path.

It looked like a monster’s throat yawning open to swallow prey.

A chill rolled out from within, whispering half-formed words—like wind or ancient spirits long unlaid.

He glanced once, then turned back—heading for Mo Gang, who was cowering behind the bars.

“...L-Leader... c-could you open the door for me?”

His voice was pitiful—like a kitten meowing in the rain.

Gen crossed his arms.

“Why should I?”

“T-That’s...”

Mo Gang stammered, desperate, like a rat in a corner.

“I believe I said—if you could defeat the Stone Men, I’d spare you. Did I not?”

“Y-Yes... But...”

His voice shrank.

How was he supposed to know those Stone Men were built like raid bosses?!

His sword snapped, his body shattered—and he still hurt all over.

While he fumbled for an excuse—

Click.

The door opened.

“There’s a path at the end of the hall. Go scout it.

Do well... and I’ll consider sparing your life.”

“R-Roger!!!”

Without hesitation, Mo Gang sprinted like a dog with a firecracker up its tail.

He bolted down the uneven corridor, not daring to look back.

Items dropped on the ground—gear, enhancement stones, and more...

He didn’t even glance at them. The thought of looting now felt suicidal.

No way he was reaching into a lion’s mouth.

Gen watched Mo Gang vanish around the corner.

Then looked down.

Amid the shattered Stone Men lay a giant black hammer, leaning sideways.

Its shaft was long, the head massive, forged from obsidian-like metal, rough like mountain rock tempered in hellfire.

Was it once a living thing turned to stone, or stone given life by magic?

Gen bent down and slung it over his shoulder.

A soft clang rang as it touched his armor—light, sharp, like a death knell.

“Not bad…”

He murmured, and signaled Dolly to start collecting the loot.

Dolly obeyed wordlessly—clean, swift, precise like a military-grade AI sweeper bot.

Gen strode toward the dark hallway at the far end.

The path was narrow and dim.

Walls of black moss-lined stone on either side, cracked like old wounds, twisting like exposed veins beneath flesh.

The faint torches flickering along the wall did little—only casting eerie, dancing shadows like creatures slithering in the dark.

A strange stench floated in the air—dampness, rusted iron, and something decaying.

As if the walls themselves were rotting from within.

No wind stirred, yet the cold felt like it burrowed into his bones.

Each footstep echoed—and didn’t fade. It rebounded—like someone else was walking just behind him.

Gen didn’t care.

He whistled a low tune—a strange lullaby for lost souls, something from an old horror movie.

Steady, mocking the dead silence around him.

He stopped, tilting his head.

Mo Gang appeared, breathless, cloak flickering from stealth. His eyes darted, paranoid—like he feared something was still watching.

“Well?”

Gen voice was calm, as if he already knew.

“Heh... L-Leader, there’s another prison block up ahead... but this time... there are survivors.”

Mo Gang chuckled nervously, still glancing over his shoulder—afraid they’d awakened something they shouldn’t.

“Oh?

Aside from you and me, others made it this far?”

“Yes... and at the end of the corridor, there’s a strange room. I... I think there’s treasure inside...”

His voice dropped, but the greed in his eyes shone clear.

As if he could smell gold, rare gear—and a way out.

“You want to go in?”

“R-Really? You’d let me?”

“If you dare, I won’t stop you.

But whether you come back out alive... that’s on fate.”

“U-uh... N-no... I-I’ll pass. I’m just grateful to be alive…”

Gen chuckled beneath his helmet, saying no more.

They continued forward.

Light spilled from the next cell block—dim and yellow, like a bleeding soul.

The air felt heavier, like hundreds of suppressed breaths trapped inside the stone walls.

And then—it began.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

Someone was pounding a cell door.

Relentless, desperate.

A last plea before falling into the abyss.

“From a prisoner?”

“Yes.”

Mo Gang nodded. “Someone’s locked inside.

But other than them... I’m not sure if anyone else’s alive.”

Without pause, Gen walked to the entrance—standing between flickering light and the stretching dark behind him.

He looked down at the cold floor—then raised his hammer and slammed it down.

BOOOOOOM!!!

The earth trembled like thunder had struck.

A roar erupted—shaking walls, echoing deep into the dungeon.

The Stone Men guarding the cells all turned.

Their stone necks cracked with grinding echoes, their eyes glowing like red-hot coals.

Inside the cells, the captives stirred.

Princess Charlotte curled up in her tattered rags, blood and dust tangled in her hair.

She looked up, startled.

Was it salvation—or the devil come knocking?

Fay, the elderly knight, awoke from a long stupor.

He didn’t speak—just sighed, too weary to be afraid.

Amar, the vice-captain, stared toward the gate.

His heartbeat spiked, cold sweat dripping down his back.

“It’s time for an execution,” Gen said.

Flat, emotionless—like a verdict read from Hell’s court.

Charlotte froze.

Memories flooded in—those early days of captivity, the silent tears.

She looked up, red-eyed, lips trembling.

“N-No way...”

One of the seven knights screamed:

“I don’t wanna die! AAAAA!!!”

“Please don’t! My mother’s still waiting for me! Please, spare me!”

Cries echoed—an orchestra of despair.

Some bashed their heads. Some prayed, gibbering.

Mo Gang stood behind Gen, wide-eyed.

“One sentence... and they all went mad...”

He almost laughed—until he remembered who was standing beside him.

The grin died on his face.

Fay looked down, lips tightly shut.

“...So it’s come to this,” he muttered.

Charlotte whispered, self-blaming:

“This is all my fault... I dragged everyone into this...”

Her tears hit the stone floor. No echo. No response.

Only cold.

Only shadow.

Amar said nothing.

He closed his eyes, his last spark of resistance flickering out.

Gen?

He didn’t care about their identities or emotions.

To him, they were background.

The real targets—were the Stone Men.

He raised the hammer onto his shoulder, gazing at the creatures preparing to charge.

“Executing prisoners feels... too bland.”

He grinned.

“No... how about today...

...I execute the jailers instead?”

A smirk with no mockery. No anger.

Only the apathy of eternity—and the cruelty of a being once perched atop the pinnacle of destruction.