Adventuresse
patreon
The Apocalypse Grinder - Chapter 79
🕑 Added 2025-07-02 16:54:50 +0000 UTC<< Chapter 78 | Index | Chapter 80 >>
This time he made it downstairs before Rockmore arrived. His reasoning was that if he defeated Rockmore and Vulparis in this life, he wanted Keith to be alive to continue exploring and conquering the sector with him.
There was still a boss monster to find and kill, after all. Or an alien incursion? Based on all the foxes and the mini-boss I’d put my money on there being a boss monster in this sector, though.
Keith slept soundly against one of the concrete walls of the building. Oddly, Ronan noticed nothing amiss with the shadows clinging to the dark recesses of the room.
With his mental resistance as high as it was—thanks to learn through suffering’s mutations being made permanent by his heritage—the trickster could no longer keep Ronan under its illusions. Not for long, anyway.
However, the complete lack of… oddities, for lack of a better descriptor, convinced Ronan that Vulparis wasn’t yet present. Which left only one real conclusion he could arrive at.
The fox wasn’t tracking him through some insidious soul mark that continued through his iterations, but was actually following Lord Rockmore—Ronan and Keith just got caught up in the annoying bastard’s revenge scheme.
Definitely the better outcome. I’m not sure how I’d even go about purging a weird—curse?—or whatever a skill like that might be. All I need to do is wait for them to arrive and then punch the crap out of them both, Ronan affirmed.
Almost as though summoned, the wall directly in front of Ronan, about fifteen metres away, exploded in a shower of cement dust and debris. The remnant crackles of mana told him it was Lord Rockmore who’d burst in. Although this was the first time he was seeing how exactly the man got inside so fast.
Instead of focusing on the fake aristocrat as he landed on the ground and stumbled into balance, Ronan’s mind focused on the edges of his vision; he focused on the shadows and the corners of the room, hoping to catch Vulparis the Trickster slipping into the building. At first he saw nothing and grew frustrated.
Then, so fast he thought it might have been a trick of the mind, an orange blur flashed in through the opening and then vanished into the shadows. Got you, you slippery bugger, he inwardly celebrated.
Almost immediately his perception of the world shifted. It was so slight that anyone not actively focusing on it wouldn’t have noticed. Ronan wasn’t just anyone.
Not only was he prepared for Vulparis’ illusions to take hold, but he had an almost doubled base resistance to mental influences. All the experience against the weaker fox’s illusions helped him recognise the subtle changes to his sight, proprioception, and hearing.
Even his ability to sense mana—as limited as it was without a suitable class or skill backing it up—had been subtly manipulated by the illusion. It was truly a devious trap.
However, he was going to break it with punitive force. First, he wanted to kill Lord Rockmore.
Through a number of iterations, Ronan had grown more used to not just his class skills as an adaptive martial artist—adaptive meditation could be used in battle to great effect—but also the intricacies of how his body moved. The most subtle adjustments gave him explosive results.
He planned to put all of that progress and improvement to punitive use. A shift of the pinky toe here, a minor tilt of the glute there—it seemed miniscule, almost irrelevant, but gave each blow that much more destructive force.
Lord Rockmore glanced at the sleeping Keith, before sneering and turning his gaze onto Ronan. “So, you are the thorn in my side who decided to kill four of my strongest subordinates. I can’t say I’m very impressed,” he said, standing tall and looking down at Ronan as if he were shit on his shoe.
Ronan wondered how the hell Keith was sleeping through this. Maybe it was part of Vulparis’ illusion? He didn’t have time for Rockmore’s word games, in any case. He’d lived through them too many times already.
“Yeah, your goons got in my way. They were annoying, so I killed them. Just like I’m going to kill you,” Ronan replied, before leaping into action.
Rockmore’s face twisted into one of pure, spiteful rage and indignation. The visceral emotions washing off him lasted for a half-second before the man controlled himself.
Ronan was already two steps away by then. He was fast. Seventy levels of stats would do that for a man.
Rockmore was also fast, only in a different way. Ronan was like a charging bull—large, muscular, and deceptively rapid for his size. Rockmore was more like a cat in that he was lithe, flexible, and reflexively nimble.
It had been utterly hopeless for Ronan to try and fight him the first time they’d fought. He felt as though every blow missed, every guard was penetrated with ease.
Now he knew that was mostly down to Vulparis’ illusion playing havoc on his senses, but Lord Rockmore was no slouch to begin with. However, learn through suffering was absurdly potent when combined with his heritage. The slowly stacking mental and magic damage resistances had transformed Ronan into the perfect weapon to take these two annoying bastards down.
Rockmore withdrew his rapier and deftly stepped to one side. It seemed as though he’d avoided the charge. The thin blade seemed to undulate like a snake, shifting through the air towards a gap in Ronan’s ribs.
A gratified smirk appeared on the man’s face as he struck. It looked as though he believed in his victory from that single move.
Ronan had a different belief. His body cultivation, his masteries—all had been rigorously improved for this one moment. His foot smashed into the stone, the momentum of his charge not just halted, but transferred.
Transferred up through the powerful muscles in his legs, twisting his hips, then allowing his fist to explode forwards like a missile. Rockmore barely had time to raise his thin eyebrows in surprise before those steel knuckles smashed into his beaky nose.
Of course, a single blow wasn’t enough to win a battle. Ronan knew that. However, he still had the advantage of surprise.
Blood spurted from the shattered nose as Rockmore staggered backwards, reeling from the force of the punch. He screeched, mana surging through his body and into his rapier. He snapped upright, posture straight as a rod, blade lancing towards Ronan’s last position.
Rockmore had recovered rapidly, and reacted just as fast. It still wasn’t enough. Like an iron whip, Ronan’s leg cut through the air and smashed into the bastard’s temple. He felt a solid connection. A burst of mana tearing into his foe. A second, ghostly kick sent the man flying and crashing into one of the concrete pillars.
He felt a constant tug at the back of his mind, urging him to believe he’d missed. The shadows shifted in the corner of the room. He heard a low whine in his ears.
Ronan forced himself to ignore it. It was made easy by his massive mental resistance buff. He raced forward, arriving in front of Rockmore as the man peeled himself off the shattered concrete.
To his enemy’s credit, he was remarkably resilient for such a slender, fragile-looking man. Even with his weak arm twisted at a truly unnatural angle and blood pouring down his face, the self-proclaimed ‘Lord’ Rockmore managed to duck and weave past Ronan’s charge. Then, an instant later, he thrust his rapier at Ronan’s throat.
The elegant blade crackled with mana. Despite its beauty, Ronan knew that this strike could melt a man from the inside out. Magic was far more horrifying than all the movies and games had made it seem.
Still, he appreciated its utility in this new world. Survival of not just the fittest, but the most willing to lay everything on the line to cling to life.
He had an advantage in that his heritage allowed him to cling to life far more stubbornly than most, giving him endless chances to try again, but still. He put everything into this battle. He was tired of losing to the arrogant bastard.
Ronan was about to crash into the pillar. About to have a magically tuned rapier pierce his throat and melt him from within. Not happening again.
He jumped off the ground and tilted his body backwards. His feet smacked against the concrete. His legs shook, absorbing the impact well.
Lord Rockmore didn’t falter. The rapier simply darted sideways, like a snake lunging at its prey. Still directly aiming at Ronan’s throat, like some strange, magical homing weapon.
He knew he couldn’t dodge it again. He didn’t need to. In a show of bravado and pure resilience, he almost wanted to kill Lord Rockmore after showing the man how little his strength mattered against someone with unfettered determination.
Ronan exploded off the pillar. It cracked, the entire building trembling as it lost one of its supports. He shot through the air. Rockmore sneered as the tip of his rapier plunged into Ronan’s flesh.
Not quite the throat. Ronan shifted and the blade struck between his collarbone and the base of his neck. With its devastating magical power, Lord Rockmore was confident Ronan would die anyway.
Ronan shattered that illusion with a heavy, well-placed right hook. Rockmore’s jaw snapped to one side. Then another punch landed. The two men tumbled head over heels.
Ronan felt the magic of the rapier burning away at him, but his magical damage resistance and level advantage kept it at bay for now.
As they fell, he felt a strange shift in his perception of the world. Rockmore crashed into the floor, sending up a cloud of dust. Ronan slammed on top of him, knocking the wind from both men.
He immediately raised his fists, preparing to deliver the finishing blow. At the last moment, he felt the tug of his trait. It told him not to punch the man he could see between his legs, but to strike a spot on the concrete floor two inches to the left. With every ounce of force he could muster.
Experience had taught him that this new world was filled with deadly and more mysterious things than he could imagine. Vulparis was clearly a master of illusion, to subtly put Ronan back into his control even while he believed he was free from manipulation.
Ronan trusted his trait and his newly reinforced mind more than his eyes. Ronan trusted his inevitability. He punched the ground, channeling all his skills into that one blow.
Before his fist struck the concrete, he felt a more visceral, crunchy, squelchy sensation under his knuckles. Then he heard the chime and saw the notification appear in front of his face.
You have killed [Ian Rockmore - Human Spellblade Lv.61]!
Experience has been split among your party members!
Party Experience Bonus has been applied!
+12 Bronze Credits
+463 Copper Credits
+11 [Pugilist II] Mastery
+18 [Pain I] Mastery
+4 [Stamina II] Mastery
+Arcane Needle Lv.50 (Rare)
+Skillbound Conduit Ring (Uncommon)
+Elite Shard Lv.42 (Energy)
+Elite Shard Lv.34 (Mind)
+Elite Shard Lv.37 (Energy)
You have leveled up to Lv.76!
You have been restored!
+1 Vitality
+2 Endurance
+4 Strength
+4 Agility
+3 Dexterity
+2 Acuity
+1 Tenacity
+3 Free Stat Points
Immensely satisfied with his rewards, Ronan turned his gaze on the writhing shadows at the edges of the room. “Fool me twice, shame on me. Can’t fool me a seventh time, stupid fox. Learn some new tricks,” he chuckled. “You’re next.”
<< Chapter 78 | Index | Chapter 80 >>
Comments
IdolTrust
He should brand the arcane needle. That would lead to unlocking that lord’s class in the future.
