Tenebrous Wolf
Chapter 110: Conduit of Misfortune

Chapter 110: Conduit of Misfortune

With his opponent slain, Klaus let out a low whistle and got to work. He approached the nightmare carapace’s carcass, dug his claws in deep, tore through the revolting, unnecessary organs, and finally wrenched free the essence core.

He grimaced.

Naturally, extracting essence cores was a filthy business. The more he did it, the more grime, blood, and stench clung to him. As such, a foul cocktail of dirt and gore soaked into his skin and clothes.

Fortunately, one of his companions carried a bottle filled with practically limitless water, so he could always rinse himself off when needed.

Still...

’This is disgusting. If only the advanced suit was still functional...’

He sighed.

Though the advanced suits engineered by humanity couldn’t rival the protectiveness of Nightmares conjured by Chaos, one could argue they held the advantage in terms of functionality.

An experienced Awakened could’ve made that case, if only he still had his suit. But with it reduced to scrap, all Klaus could do now was grit his teeth and endure the cold bite of exposure.

His gaze swept the area.

Corpses of fallen Night Creatures littered the battlefield, twisted remnants of monsters torn apart in a frenzy of violence. The gruesome aftermath soured his expression.

Looking back, during their journey through the labyrinthine terrain, they discovered that the nightmare carapaces were not the only creatures inhabiting it. The black forest teemed with other horrors, each more unsettling than the last. By night, many lurked unseen, hiding within reefs of jagged stone. But at the end of nightfall, they emerged to hunt.

Colonies of carnivorous worms moved beneath the surface, erupting from the crimson mud to devour the unsuspecting, flesh-eating flowers that ensnared victims with bloodsucking vines, and they had once seen a bunch of strange tentacles dragging the corpse of a colossal tree-like abomination into a deep, shadowy crevice.

Till now, they had no idea either those creatures were and they had no interest of finding out.

Not to mention, there was an unseen horror roaming these parts, capable of creating parasitic organisms that invaded and burrowed into a host’s system, seizing control while simultaneously feeding on its life essence.

Simply put, the labyrinth was crawling with horrors, each one at least Awakened rank or even above. A single misstep could mean a real, permanent death. After all, the inhabitants were more than happy to devour one another... let alone the three juicy humans.

Fortunately, these parts of the desolate lands were dominated by the nightmare carapaces. With their massive size, armored hides, and terrifying scythes capable of slicing a grown man in two, they were a formidable foe. Even so, facing one kind of monster was far better than contending with a chaos of many.

So far, it seemed the centipede creatures were the latest enemy of the carapace legion they had encountered. These vermin were unnervingly long, some stretching over four meters in length, with segmented bodies covered in a lacquered black carapace that shimmered like wet obsidian. Each segment twitched with a pair of hooked legs, allowing them to scramble across any surface, such as mud, rock, coral, even sheer vertical cliffs — quite easily.

Unlike the brute force of the nightmare carapaces, these monsters relied on speed and unpredictability. They moved in unnatural bursts of speed, making them difficult to follow with the eye and nearly impossible to strike cleanly. From above, they could coil their bodies like springs and drop upon their prey with bone-snapping impact, often dismembering victims in a flurry of serrated limbs and snapping mandibles.

Their most bothersome weapon, however, was the volatile bile that leaked from beneath their armored plates; a sludgy, black secretion that hissed on contact with metal and flesh alike. This foul fluid could melt through chainmail in seconds and left ghastly, festering wounds on the unlucky survivors.

The only consolation in facing them was that their chitin — while glossy and hard — lacked the density of the nightmare carapaces. A well-placed sword thrust or a heavy blow could cleave through it, provided one could get close enough to land the strike.

Gathering the extracted essence cores, Klaus turned and approached the group; Adrian, Seraphim and Morgan who had finished as well.

After a brief pause, he asked:

"I killed about four of them. What about you guys?"

Adrian snorted, wiping ichor from the tip of his spear with a torn strip of cloth. He tossed the bloodied rag aside, then spoke with irritation,

"Five. Though one of those bastards nearly got me with that damn liquid."

Why does he seem more frustrated than usual?

Thinking that, Klaus smiled wryly and said,

"I envy you, really. If only you knew how hard it is to kill those sons of bitches with your hands. Sure, my punches are enhanced by my gauntlets, but still..."

Before he could finish, Adrian licked his lips and cut in,

"What are you talking about? Not many Striders can go toe-to-toe with accursed beasts like you. So don’t sound so depressed. That’s something to be proud of!"

Klaus scratched his cheek, feeling slightly embarrassed.

"Even if you say that..." He paused, then shook his head. "Anyway, what about you, Seraphim?"

She finally looked his way and replied with a casual shrug.

"Six."

...Tsk. Showoff, he thought bitterly.

But Klaus already knew the reason why. It was her Silver Blade — a Nightmare weapon capable of conjuring azure flames that could one-shot any Awakened beast and reduce them to ash.

Of course, without her striking prowess, their journey through the labyrinth would have been far more difficult.

He exhaled, then shifted his gaze to the last member of the group. For some reason, the girl was smiling.

What could she be planning now? he wondered, eyeing her curiously.

Finally, he asked,

"What about you, Morgan?"

The brunette girl puffed out her modest chest, grinning with enthusiasm.

"Hehe, I managed to kill ten of them!"

Klaus already expected this answer. For that matter, even Adrian and Seraphim were not surprised.

In unison, their gazes shifted toward the Crimson Slayer, still tearing apart and munching on monster flesh with evident delight.

Though it was an Awakened creature like the others that lay slain around them, their carcasses scattered like trash across the battlefield, the gruesome beast stood in a league of its own. Not only did it possess strength far surpassing that of a regular nightmare carapace — not to mention a level of intelligence that bordered on eerie, including a near-impenetrable chithin — it also exhibited behavior no normal Night Creature should have.

It flanked enemies. Drew them out. Broke formations. And once its prey was vulnerable, it struck with a merciless glint of madness in its eyes.

The tamed beast didn’t need to exert much effort. By the time it arrived, the other monsters had already exhausted themselves. All it had to do was attack without fear or restraint. What followed was a blood-soaked massacre. Compared to it, the four of them looked like ants armed with sticks and daggers.

Its maw crunched through another chunk of carapace, gore trailing from its jaws as it let out a low, almost contented growl.

Klaus shuddered at the sound. No matter how many times he heard it, he could never quite get used to it.

Meanwhile, Adrian shot Morgan a sidelong glance.

"Ten, huh. Not bad. Though let’s be honest, more than half of those kills go to that thing."

Morgan shrugged, unbothered.

"Well, if you’ve got a monster, might as well put it to good use, right?"

Klaus chuckled under his breath.

"That’s certainly true."

On the downside, they had once again failed to receive a Nightmare. Klaus wasn’t sure if it was just his rotten luck, but neither he, Adrian, Morgan, nor Seraphim had managed to acquire a single one in the past two weeks. It was almost as if <Chaos> had suddenly decided they’d already had their fair share.

He frowned.

’Tsk. Rotten luck, as always. Is it too much to ask for a sword-type Nightmare?’

That was wishful thinking. Even if, by some miracle, he managed to claim a Nightmare from some wretched abomination, there was no guarantee it’d be the one he wanted. It could end up being something completely useless.

Who knew? With his luck, anything was possible. Maybe the moon would fall on his head next. Or worse — that damn storm would return.

"!?"

His entire body tensed.

Gripped by a sudden and terrible premonition, Klaus bolted toward the dead nightmare carapaces and began stripping them of their precious meat. He moved quickly, carving through chitin and sinew, then stuffed the hunks of flesh into the seaweed saddlebags strapped to the scavenger.

He had made the bags himself to boost the group’s carrying capacity. After all, the scavenger was supposed to be absurdly strong — not using it properly would’ve been a waste. Or as Morgan had once said, "an unforgivable oversight."

If they were back in the Living World, this would’ve been considered free manual labor.

But why the sudden panic? Why did fear seize him so completely?

Well, the answer was surprisingly simple.

Klaus had terrible luck.

And no — that wasn’t a metaphor or some exaggerated joke. His luck was so catastrophically awful, he sometimes wondered if the entire universe had it out for him. No matter how he tried to spin it, anyone with half a brain would agree: his misfortune ran deep.

All of it stemmed from his Fateless attribute, a curse that doomed him to relentless, inescapable bad luck.

He didn’t fully understand it himself, but he knew for certain that his streak of bad luck didn’t begin with his infection by <Chaos.>

No, it had started long before that.

What were the odds that both of his parents would die in the same inexplicable accident? That he’d be left alone with no answers and even fewer people who cared to find them?

What were the chances that his girlfriend — the one person he thought he could rely on — would cheat on him with someone who had the personality of wet garbage?

And what were the statistical odds that, out of every Awakened on the battlefield, he would be the one teleported into a cursed cavern overflowing with venomous monsters and worse, an Awakened Tyrant that nearly crushed him to death?

No matter how he sliced it, his life had always been a string of misfortune tied together with the universe’s cruel sense of humor.

And now he’d gone and done it. The foolish boy had thought about something terrible actually happening.

Had he just accidentally doomed them all by raising a death flag?

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