Reverse Dungeon

The Pope gasped in disbelief.

“What nonsense is this?!”

From his reaction, Ian realized the Pope did not know the Demon Duke was dead.

“You thought Keith was dead, didn’t you? You assumed the Demon Duke was punishing you for losing him. But the truth is, ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) the demon is dead, and the mamool are running wild because they’ve lost their master. All that talk about sacrifices? It was useless from the start.”

“Do not lie!”

The Pope knew how powerful the Demon Duke was. Even after being struck down and drenched in blessings, the Demon Duke would only decay for a moment before swiftly restoring himself by draining someone else’s blood—a truly demonic existence.

His beautiful, powerful master was dead?

“What in the...”

Maverick’s eyes wavered, and the Pope noticed at once. Without another thought, he commanded him.

“Do not listen! Those are the whispers of an apostate! Kill Keith!”

Maverick moved at the command without hesitation, his body reacting as if it had been programmed. The Pope’s word was as good as the word of God itself. He had to obey. He had to strike Keith down and kill him.

The Pope clasped his hands together and murmured blessings under his breath. As the holy words spilled from his lips, Maverick’s movements grew as swift and fierce as Keith’s.

Clang!

Two swords collided with a deafening crash. The Pope poured his blessings lavishly over his Holy Knight. The physical abilities of the two men had already surpassed human limits. The sheer force of their clashing blades seemed to draw the surrounding air toward them, sending cracks spreading across the floor beneath their feet. The air around them froze as if time itself had stopped. The spectators held their breath, unable to look away.

But the tense deadlock lasted only a moment.

Maverick’s Holy Sword was far superior to Keith’s weapon, and in this confrontation, the difference in equipment proved decisive.

Keith’s sword shattered. Before the fragments could injure him, Keith withdrew the broken weapon and stepped back. As he reached for a new blade, Maverick pressed the attack.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

Maverick’s strikes flowed seamlessly from one into the next, like water. His style bore a striking resemblance to Keith’s own, almost as though it had been modeled after him. The two moved in such harmony that it could have been mistaken for a prearranged sparring match—if not for Maverick’s pale, tense face and the beads of sweat glistening on Keith’s neck.

‘This still isn’t working.’

Ian was sweating more than Keith, who was actually fighting.

Jumping into the fray was not an option. Ian’s skill’s aiming assistance only worked on demons. If he tried to fire a Level 6 shot at the two of them and accidentally hit Keith, it would be a disaster.

The bigger problem was the soldiers closing in. The spectators were already surrounded by troops, making escape seem impossible. Honestly, the fact that Keith was not even trying to escape was the real problem.

If Ian fired an arrow, the soldiers would try to subdue him while capturing Keith, worsening the situation even further. For now, it was better to maintain the illusion of a fair one-on-one duel.

But if things continued like this, Keith would die.

‘I can’t let that happen.’

Ian reconsidered.

Most of the enemies in Keith’s route were human.

And humans could be reasoned with.

In the game, it would have been impossible. But right now...

‘Could this work?’

If Ian shouted something, wouldn’t human enemies hear him? After all, humans could not simply turn off their ears.

“Maverick!”

Maverick showed no visible reaction, but Ian could tell he had heard him. Unless his ears were damaged, there was no way he would miss someone shouting his name.

Wasn’t there some theory about the cocktail party effect? Humans were supposed to pick up on their own names even in noisy places.

“You claimed sacrificing the weak was necessary to sustain the Vatican. But if all the weak are sacrificed, where do you think your sickly little sister would end up?”

The spectators had seen the hospital collapse. Maverick, unable to restrain himself, answered.

“She’s somewhere safe!”

“Do not answer him, Maverick!” the Pope shouted.

Ian ignored him and continued.

“Really? An old man who cleaned your house doesn’t know where his own son is after the hospital was destroyed, but your family is safe? Impressive.”

“......”

“They must be so happy. After all, as long as the weak are sacrificed for your sake, everything is fine. Sacrifices to demons have nothing to do with you, right? You’re indispensable to the Pope, after all!”

Crash!

For the first time, Maverick stumbled backward.

He was shaken.

‘This is why nice guys are the worst.’

Their mental fortitude was weak.

If Maverick had been more shameless, he might have replied, “So what?” He could have justified his actions by convincing himself that his survival and peace of mind were essential to the Vatican and its people.

But Maverick was not that kind of person.

His stance wavered.

Crash! Crash! Crack!

Maverick and Keith’s blades collided again, but Maverick’s posture was too unsteady to properly withstand the force of Keith’s strikes. He was pushed back, step by step.

“Do not listen! Those are the whispers of a demon!” the Pope cried.

“Isn’t that exactly what a demon’s whisper would sound like? The Demon Duke is dead. The fact that we’re here proves it.”

“Lies! The mamool... They clearly obey the Pope’s orders...”

Maverick’s voice trembled miserably.

Ian remembered something.

‘The Pope had a demonic artifact.’

Among the items the Pope dropped after his defeat in the game was Belial’s Earring.

“Masterless mamool followed your Pope?” Ian asked, his voice thick with suspicion.

“......!”

Maverick did not want to listen, but with both hands occupied, he could not cover his ears. Ian’s words made it sound as though the Pope were a servant of demons. And yet... was that really wrong?

Offering humans to the demon tribe and acting as their manager was not much different from being a demonic noble.

Maverick staggered backward, his steps faltering until his back struck the wall.

Ian did not miss the opening.

“Disarm him!” Ian ordered, and Keith did not hesitate.

Keith’s broken sword pierced Maverick’s distracted shoulder. The blade shattered his collarbone, tearing a scream from him and forcing him to drop his weapon.

“Phew.”

Keith picked up the Holy Sword and pointed it at Maverick’s neck. Now returned to the hands of its rightful owner, the blade seemed to radiate a renewed and menacing aura.

Maverick could not meet his gaze. He lowered his head.

“Surrender, Maverick. You’ve lost,” Keith declared.

‘Of course this guy wouldn’t go for the kill.’

Ian sighed as he nocked another arrow. He was prepared to shoot Maverick if necessary.

“Capture them!”

The Pope’s shout rang out, and Ian wondered why the Holy Knights were nowhere to be seen. It had puzzled him even back when he played through Keith’s route in the game.

The soldiers did not move. Instead, the murmurs from the crowd grew louder.

“Servant of demons.”

“Demon’s dog.”

The whispers swelled into a roar.

“Apostate!”

“Devil’s lackey!”

The Pope’s face turned pale.

He realized everything was over.

In a final act of desperation, the earring in his palm began to glow, and every door leading into the Vatican’s halls burst open.

From every room, grotesque mamool flooded into the corridor.

“Kill them all!” the Pope commanded.

As the people screamed, the nearest mamool lunged—and sank its teeth into the Pope.

Mamool were cunning creatures. They knew who the weakest prey was. Though the earring granted a weak form of control, they preferred to avoid soldiers imbued with divine energy and knights wielding holy swords. Instead, they targeted the feeble old man whose blessings had been drained dry.

Time had not been kind to the Pope. Between managing rebellious Holy Knights and struggling to control the mamool, he had worn himself out. Unlike in the original game route, Keith’s early escape had shortened the timeline. The Pope had not had enough time to fully consolidate his power.

Dozens of mamool swarmed him, leaving not even his bones behind. His iconic tall hat, soaked in blood, rolled across the floor and stopped at the feet of a horrified spectator.

“Ugh... Ahhh?!”

“Sir Keith!”

The soldiers looked to Keith for orders. Though he held no formal authority, the only figure who could command them was now dead. The other candidate was slumped against the wall in shock.

Suppressing his ragged breathing, Keith gave the order.

“Protect the people! Move them into the rooms, shut the doors, and have the soldiers deal with the mamool!”

“Yes, sir!”

The well-trained Vatican soldiers responded swiftly to the words of a “Servant of God.”

Screech!

The screams of dying mamool echoed through the halls.

Ian lowered his bow and glanced out the window.

The Pope was dead—in Keith’s route. For players, this signified the transition into the next chapter.

The endgame.

With the Pope’s death, the Vatican would collapse. The barrier that hid humans from the mamool vanished, leaving the sky above clear.

‘Is this... okay?’

Ian broke out in a cold sweat.

He had thought he loved games with a lot of freedom.

But wasn’t this progression a little... too fast?

Was this really okay?

Something felt wrong.