Upon gathering all the shattered spirit shards, Nightingale summoned the system interface to check his progress.
| Name: Nightingale
| Soul Slate: Black
| Soul Fragments: [21/1000]
"Tck. I still have a long way to go, huh?"
That much was to be expected. It was not like he was an overpowered manga protagonist and become a Knight the moment he entered the Tower. Therefore, he had to follow the same steps as everyone else before him.
Still, just how many damn creatures did he have to kill before meeting the requirements for ascension?
Speaking of which, how do I ascend into the next progression? Do I just need to get the required Soul Fragments? It doesn't matter right now.
Letting out a sigh, Nightingale turned his head and surveyed his surroundings. What had once been a battlefield was now nothing short of a massacre.
Well, his opponents had been rocks, after all, and their shattered remains were strewn across the swamp like discarded rubble.
It was almost pitiful.
A sadistic smile spread across his lips without his knowledge and he spat out,
"That's what you get for messing with me, you damn rocks! Wait... since you're already dead, should I still call you rocks?"
He paused mid-rant, realizing how ridiculous he sounded arguing with shattered stones.
Shaking his head, Nightingale brushed the dust off his coat and kicked one of the larger fragments aside. The piece skidded across the mud with a dull clatter before sinking halfway into the swamp.
"...Whatever." He exhaled, letting the irritation drain from his voice. "I should get going before something else shows up."
There was nothing else left here, so lingering any longer would be meaningless.
Besides, the longer he stayed, the higher the chance something else would crawl out to attack him.
Who knows? After fighting rock monsters, his next opponent might very well be a golem.
"..."
Nightingale froze.
It was as though he had accidentally committed some kind of blasphemy.
After a brief moment of reflection, he decided to leave immediately. His legs moved on their own, carrying him away in a hurried pace.
† †
"GRAAAAAA!!"
"Damn you bastards! Aren't you a persistent bunch!?" Nightingale shouted back in frustration, though even to his own ears, his voice sounded strange.
Six silhouettes. There were six of them in total. They were all tenacious fiends radiating violent intent.
He was still on the First Floor of the Black Spire.
Apparently, the swamp forest was far larger than he had imagined. Wandering aimlessly in hopes of finding a way to the Second Floor, he had instead stumbled upon another pack of relentless fiends much to his dismay.
To be more precise, humans would call them kobolds.
They had quite the frightening image and looked nothing like the scrawny, dog-faced creatures from fairy tales.
Just enough taller to look down at Nightingale, the kobolds had sinewy limbs, hunched backs with brown muscular bodies wrapped in grayish scales. Their eyes gleamed a sickly yellow. Sharp fangs jutted out from their snarling mouths, and their claws were long enough to tear through flesh and bone.
Each of them carried crude weapons like rusted blades, broken spears, and jagged bones sharpened into makeshift knives. Their eyes twitched with restless aggression, and the air around them reeked of wet fur and decay.
They were certainly wild, hungry, and desperate.
And judging from the way they had been chasing him, Nightingale could tell that they had no intentions of letting him leave this place alive.
'Why did I have to run into these bastards? As if those damn rocks were not bad enough! Just my rotten luck!'
He clicked his tongue.
Fortunately, most of them had been taken down thanks to his quick reflexes and rapid trigger speed. However, as a result, the ammunition in his Glock 19 had completely run dry and there was no time to reload. Unlike in video games, stopping to reload while surrounded by enemies was nothing short of suicide.
That was precisely why most war veterans found shooting games distasteful. In games, you could always respawn after dying but reality wasn't so forgiving, was it?
After all, he only had one life. Reincarnation stories might sound ideal in fiction, but in truth, there was nothing appealing about death.
Who in their right mind would ever want to die?
Putting that aside, he needed a way to clear them out without taking damage.
'Huh?'
Nightingale noticed something in the distance. It was a part of the forest that constantly looped.
Without hesitation, he darted toward the nearest corner and pressed himself against the wall.
It couldn't be helped. Only two options remained available: keep running like a madman or set up an ambush. Naturally, he chose the latter.
The moment they rounded the corner, he would strike.
Fully aware of the risk, Song summoned Fallen Glory and gripped it tightly with both hands. Close combat wasn't his specialty; he preferred to fight from a distance using his fireams. But with his ammunition nearly depleted, wasting bullets wasn't really an option.
So melee it was.
Clop, clop, clop! The thumping sounds of their feet were closing in.
A few seconds later, his eyes noticed they turn the corner and he immediately began his assault.
Time slowed down.
His eyes locked with the leader's and for an instant, he saw his own reflection in those sickly yellow pupils.
Without hesitation, Song swung Fallen Glory in a clean arc. The blade sliced through flesh and bone, sending the creature's head spinning into the air.
[You have slain a lesser fiend: Cursed Kobold.]
'That's one.'
The remaining kobolds rounded the corner half a breath later and recoiled in shock at the sight. But he couldn't afford to lose momentum.
Song seized the decapitated body and hurled it forward, using it as a makeshift battering ram.
The corpse slammed into the nearest kobold with a wet thud, knocking the creature off balance. Its weapon slipped from its claws, clattering against the swampy floor. Before the others could react, Song lunged forward.
He drove Fallen Glory straight into the kobold's chest. The blade pierced through its ribcage and out its back, the impact forcing a strangled shriek from the dying monster.
[You have slain a lesser fiend: Cursed Kobold.]
'Two down.'
He yanked the blade free just in time to parry a strike from another kobold's jagged spear. Sparks scattered where steel met steel, and the blow nearly knocked the weapon from his hands.
Song gritted his teeth and twisted his body to absorb the impact.
The kobold snarled, pressing forward with frenzied aggression. Its breath was hot and rancid.
With a quick sidestep, he swept Fallen Glory upward, slicing clean through its arm. A howl tore through the air as the severed limb fell to the mud. Before the creature could retreat, Nightingale spun on his heel and drove a kick into its chest, sending it crashing into a nearby tree. The crunch that followed told him that it wasn't getting up again.
[You have slain a lesser fiend: Cursed Kobold.]
'Three down.'
But there was no time to rest.
The remaining kobolds regrouped, circling him like starving wolves. Their eyes blazed with hatred as their movements grew more erratic and desperate.
However, Song only laughed and boldly declared:
"Hahahaha! This is my victory, you bastards!"
And he wasn't wrong.
Three of them alone weren't nearly enough to threaten his life. From what he had observed, kobolds weren't particularly intelligent creatures. Once faced with overwhelming strength, they fell into confusion and panic.
It didn't help that their leader was already dead. Without direction, their formation was sloppy and uncoordinated.
For instance,
"Kyaaaaaa!"
A kobold screamed as Song suddenly lunged and cut it with Fallen Glory, cleaving through its abdomen and spraying dark blood across the swamp. The lesser creature stumbled backward, clutching at its torn belly before collapsing with a guttural whine.
[You have slain a lesser fiend: Cursed Kobold.]
'Four down.'
The other two hesitated, baring their fangs in fury, but the hesitation in their steps betrayed them. They wanted to retreat, yet something, perhaps pride — or perhaps fear of whatever hierarchy bound them — kept them rooted to the spot. Whatever it was, it was meaningless.
Song didn't give them time to decide.
Kicking the ground and lunging forward, Song met the kobold's clumsy swing head-on. His Perception attribute allowed him to anticipate its sloppy movement quite easily. He sidestepped, twisted his body, and brought Fallen Glory down on its shoulder. The blade bit deep, cleaving through until the creature's arm dangled uselessly by a strip of flesh.
It wailed and stumbled back, but Song was already moving.
He drove his knee into its chest, knocking it to the ground, then finished it with a swift downward stab that pinned its skull into the mud.
[You have slain a lesser fiend: Cursed Kobold.]
'Five down.'
The last kobold shrieked and charged recklessly, blinded by rage. Its claws swiped in wild arcs, tearing through the air where Song had stood a heartbeat before. He stepped aside and watched it swing again, quite pitiful really.
Of course, that didn't mean he was going to show it mercy.
"You should've run when you had the chance."
Nightingale's eyes gleamed ominously.
In one smooth motion, he raised the sword and thrust forward, impaling the appaling creature through the throat. Its eyes bulged and at the same time, a gurgling hiss escaped as black ichor poured from its mouth.
A mysterious voice whispered with a hint of finality:
[You have slain a lesser fiend: Cursed Kobold.]