Sleeping Beauty could have soloed this part of the dungeon herself, though. She still had yet to hit level 40, but a dungeon emperor’s level 30-something was not like a regular person’s level 30-something. She was like some OP anime or manga character.
That same logic explained why the nerds were so OP in this world—they lived and breathed anime and manga. Wall-dashing? Duh, they said. Of course that would be a thing. Slicing through a wall of flame with a sword? Elementary, my dear. Their inability to fit in back home was no hindrance here. In fact, their way of thinking was more at home in this world of sword and sorcery than the old one of school and social rules.
“You dungeon emperors are the personification of otherworldly power… Except you look like something out of The Romance of the Three Kingdoms.”
Boing boing.
“Like I’m just saying, we’ve lost the plot here. We’re no longer ye olde vaguely Euro fantasy. We’re whipping out moves from the ancient Chinese classics. Are you sure we can really call you a bog-standard isekai saint of prayers? You sure you’re not the saint of say your prayers?”
Wobble wobble.
The worst part was Sleeping Beauty’s holy halberd. It raised howling winds and roaring tempests, neither of which were particularly ideal when one was trying to use Qing Qigong. She scattered monsters, but she also blew me into the next county. I could have used a high winds warning, and so could the level 7 assassin dolls. Forecasts called for heavy routings and decapitated dolls.
For the sake of time, we split up to fight our way through a maze section of the dungeon. The problem was, the paths of the maze were connected. Huge blasts of air kept caroming down the cramped corridors and knocking me into the level 8 Kite Moths I was trying to fight. Yuck! I hated getting up close and personal with a bunch of bugs!
Less than ideal fighting situations aside, I found that I was finally getting back to normal. Everything was starting to fall into place. I was getting the hang of walking, which annoyed Sleeping Beauty—she wasn’t used to me being a self-sufficient, ambulatory member of society. Slimey, too, had to resign from his post of mentor and bodyguard. Heh heh! Early bird gets the worm, and quickest one through the maze gets the, uh, moth.
“Rules? Ha! Leaving some for others? Psh. Cooperation? Get real. Friendship? None of that here!”
There were only three universal truths. Yes, the three truths that reigned supreme across this entire fantasy world, be it in the dungeons, bargain sales, or the checkout lines in the general store! Speed wins, killing the opponent wins, and running to live another day also wins!
I centered all of my weight in my legs as I nyoomed along, then sped up even further and leaped into the air with a dancer’s grace until I was all but floating. I let my weight dissipate to nothingness and let my own speed propel me into a whirlwind of slashing and hacking. I cleaved as I cartwheeled; I sundered as I spun. I had to be fast, or else an unwanted windblast would come along and blow me away! Between that frickin’ halberd’s tornados and the incessant rain of monster blood, we were building up to an indoor hurricane!
“Oh, great! Sleeping Beauty’s already caught up with me.”
It was pandemonium on her end of the battlefield. Not to be outdone by the demon scythes, and eager to try out yesterday’s Diffusion Crystal, Slimey had split himself into three smaller slimes, which bibbled and bobbled around the room in an ultrafast sticky game of lethal pinball. The level 22 elemental spirits must have been a tasty treat, because he gobbled them down fast. He’d forgotten all about his role as bodyguard, but he was having so much fun he didn’t seem to care.
“Really? We’re barely on the 20th floor! I thought a saint would’ve been more interested in obeying the rules and not cutting ahead of me!”
I was starting to get a hang of controlling myself in thought-accelerated slow motion, but when it came to time flowing at a normal pace, I was still at the mercy of my superspeed reaction times. I tried to cheese it with the Equilibrium Ear Cuff’s Sense of Equilibrium Stabilization (major) Trait, which balanced out some of the delay between my senses noticing something and my body reacting, but it was still all I could do to not go tripping over my own feet.
“Geez! This is turning into a regular wind tunnel. At least I’m dodging…by virtue of being tossed into the walls by the wind.”
Yeah, Sleeping Beauty’s brute strength and my Qing Qigong looked like a good combination on paper, but there was only so much we could do together. This became readily apparent when I faced down a fabulous flock of level 23 elemental peacocks. Jeez, this dungeon was full of elemental enemies.
“Which isn’t an issue, except for the wind element part! Could you stop throwing wing attacks left, right, and center? You can’t even fly!”
Peacocks had a natural resistance to poison, as evidenced by their willingness to eat scorpions and other varieties of venomous creatures. Since antiquity, humanity has revered the peafowl and admired the males’ high-pitched “WAAAH, WAAAH” screech often heard at sunset.
To be technical, peacocks are not flightless birds. They can fly; they just don’t. Not that often, at least. Their striking appearances have earned them the title of messengers of the gods. A peacock in flight was breathtaking—divine, even—they just…rarely used their wings. Peacocks flew to get out of danger, and that’s about it.
“Funny how a peacock in flight is supposed to be so godly when a peacock in flight is just, like, a fugitive.”
I pirouetted on the wind. Like a willow, I swayed, and—oh for the love of Pete, could you stop flapping your flapping wings?! I’m trying to be cool here, okay? I don’t need you winging when I’m winging it! And stop making those awful WAAH noises! The only nocturnal WAAHing I want to hear should come from a dungeon emperor’s mouth!
WAAH! WAAH!
I lurched into action and beaned those birdbrains. I’d had enough of being fancy! It was time for good old-fashioned crowbarlike clobbering!
“A little peacock flapping wouldn’t faze me if not for Qing Qigong, but that’s exactly what I’m trying to practice. It’s annoying trying to get some work done when a buncha noisy birds are blowing me about and WAAHing in my ear!”
I can’t believe I’m being mocked by a couple of pea-headed birdbrains… This is all peacocked up! I’d already been strung up in the Prometheus Chains for revenge this morning, leaving me subject to merciless retributions for my academic study on the effects of tentacle growth last night, forcing me to endure heaping cruelty upon cruelty and sensuous delight upon sensuous delight, sending me on a one-way train to sweet bliss while nevertheless tormenting me and torturing me with injustices and injuries and incessant licentiousness (for what was “service” but another name for my daily morning brutalization sessions, I tell you)? And then peacocks had to come and mess with me on top of all of that?
Incidentally, my chickenatrice plucked the feathers right off the peacocks with her sharp beak. I guess she wanted them for herself—to change her image from chicken to peacock?
“Uh, you’re supposed to be a cockatrice? Queen of the snakes?”
Cock-a-doodle-doo!
Well, a cock by any other name still…smells as…sweet…? And cockatrices were derived from mongooses anyway, so really, who was counting?