“What are you doing here, you wench?”
“I’ve come as the lieutenant of a dungeon.”

Standing before Gergore again, Charlotte refused to lower her head. She stood tall, her neck straight and firm.
The dignity of a lieutenant was directly tied to the dignity of her boss.
Lowering her head here would mean disrespecting her boss’s name.

“What about this insect?”
“They’re a fellow dungeon sentry, like me.”
“Looks like your team’s nothing but a bunch of rabble.”

For a brief moment, Charlotte’s brows furrowed.

“Lord Gergore, you’d best watch your words.”
“Ha! Watch my words? Did I hear you right?”
“I am the lieutenant of the newly established Abyssal 7th Palace, the Faithful Mausoleum.”

It was a sufficient statement for the situation.
Anything beyond this would verge on insubordination.
Even if the Abyssal 7th Palace was new, a lieutenant was still a lieutenant.
Furthermore, having a “human” lieutenant threaten a 72 Lord would be a disgrace to her boss’s name.

“A pathetic human as a lieutenant, with an insect as a sentry? You wench! How dare you insult me?”
“Impersonating a Lord of the Abyssal Palace is a crime punishable by death. You know that, Lord Gergore. Why would I lie about something so grave?”

By all logic, Gergore should have believed her.

“You, a human, as the lieutenant of the Abyssal 7th Palace? You expect me to believe that?”

Gergore looked as though he wouldn’t believe it even if beaten to death.

Charlotte glanced around.
Unfortunately, there was no sign of any subordinates or sentries who could intervene.
To be faced with such hostility, without anyone to mediate, was a precarious situation.

As the 21st-ranked boss, Gergore was part of the faction led by the 8th-ranked boss.
Had he been an independent boss, things might have been different. But antagonizing a faction-aligned boss brought no benefits.

Of course, the damage comparison clearly favored Gergore suffering more than the Abyssal 7th Palace. Yet, as a newly established dungeon, the Abyssal 7th Palace couldn’t afford political losses.
Charlotte was deeply averse to causing harm to her boss on account of her actions.

“I must find a way to resolve this quietly, without causing a stir.”

Charlotte thought pragmatically and analytically.

If she could smooth things over on her own, even at the expense of the lieutenant’s dignity, she had to do so.
If this incident spiraled out of control, the consequences would be disastrous.

Even if it meant deceiving her adversary, the best course was to bury this matter entirely.
If Gergore later confirmed at the Assembly that Charlotte was indeed the Abyssal 7th Palace’s lieutenant, he would discreetly let the matter drop. It would serve both parties’ interests.

“Pretend nothing happened…”

Charlotte, being human, had an overwhelming desire for revenge.
But acting impulsively now would only shift the fallout onto her boss.
On top of that, the Assembly was only a day away. Any incident between dungeon bosses would undoubtedly snowball into a larger issue.

Closing her eyes tightly, Charlotte lowered her head.

“I sincerely apologize, Lord Gergore, for my disrespect. However, it is the truth—I am the lieutenant of the Abyssal 7th Palace.”
“...”
“It would be in both our best interests to end this matter quietly, right here.”

That should have been enough. Charlotte slowly began to raise her head.

Smack!

A sharp sound rang out as her head snapped to the side.
The gas mask covering her mouth was knocked to the ground.
Balutak’s shocked face came into view, his expression one of disbelief. Charlotte bit her lip and shook her head slightly.
Understanding her signal, Balutak remained frozen, unable to intervene.

Though the air of the Demon Realm was difficult to breathe, Charlotte didn’t falter. Her gaze remained fixed on Gergore.

Gergore’s eyes had already rolled back, his rage consuming him.
Werewolves were creatures of instinct and emotion, far removed from rational thought. That was what made them monsters.
The mere fact that a former subordinate—a human—had dared to defy him had pushed Gergore into a frenzy.

“Would this satisfy you?”

Smack!

Another slap landed, harder this time, and Gergore grabbed a handful of Charlotte’s hair.
Charlotte wiped the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand, leaving streaks of blood.
If her face suffered any more damage, there would be no turning back.

“You damn wench. You’ll die today.”

Smack! Smack!

Her vision blurred with each successive blow. His hands, as large as cauldrons, struck her face repeatedly.
The only consolation was that he wasn’t using his full strength.
Had Gergore intended to kill her outright, she would’ve died from the first blow.

This was nothing more than venting his anger.
It seemed Gergore, if nothing else, acknowledged her claim as a lieutenant of a dungeon.

“Should I just let him keep hitting me?”

While her vision swirled, her mind grew cold and focused.
How could she salvage even a fraction of the situation?

Physical humiliation had already gone beyond the acceptable limits of dignity.
If she simply endured this, the Abyssal 7th Palace’s name would plummet.
However, if her boss were to step in, the incident would escalate uncontrollably.

“This has to end with me.”

There was only one answer: she had to act.

In terms of raw strength, Gergore couldn’t beat her.
The only reason she had tolerated this was because she didn’t want to face the consequences of harming a 72 Lord.

If the fallout from this incident became too severe, her actions could be written off as a rogue lieutenant’s decision.
That way, the Abyssal 7th Palace’s honor could be preserved, and no enemies would be made among the factions.

Perhaps there were better solutions.
But given the circumstances, there was no time to waste.

Having made her decision, Charlotte gathered her magic into her hands, carefully adjusting its intensity.
If she inflicted serious injury, the situation would spiral beyond repair.
She focused entirely on self-defense, ensuring her actions could be justified.

Smack!

Just as her vision tilted sideways again, she caught sight of a Death Knight.

“Ah…”

Its blue eyes locked onto her, glowing menacingly.
The figure already had its hand on the hilt of its sword.

***

[Lv. 74]

A werewolf with three eyes—two on his face and one on his forehead—combined with that level.
There was no doubt in my mind. This was none other than Gergore, the 21st-ranked dungeon boss.

Suddenly, a memory from the game flashed in my mind: a hint about Charlotte’s deep animosity toward Gergore.
I didn’t know the full details, but whatever their history was, I couldn’t turn a blind eye to the scene unfolding before me.

I ordered Hellbok to stay back and reached for the hilt of the sword strapped to my back.
The tightly wrapped bandages unraveled, releasing a brilliant light.

“What the…? What is that?”
“A human? What’s a human doing here?”

The commotion quickly attracted a crowd of onlookers.

Sure, I was upset about Charlotte being mistreated, but that wasn’t the only reason I was stepping in.

Charlotte was the lieutenant of the Abyssal 7th Palace—my lieutenant.
If I turned a blind eye while my subordinate was being beaten by the 21st-ranked boss, my reputation would plummet.
With so many eyes watching, how I handled this moment would define me.

If this was a conflict caused by Charlotte’s mistake—though I knew her well enough to doubt she’d do something so reckless—
Even then, there was no room for negligence.

Yes, we were just one day away from the Assembly, and creating an incident between bosses would undoubtedly invite criticism and consequences. But this was also an opportunity to assert my authority.
Most importantly, after today, no one would dare lay a finger on Charlotte again.

With a sharp whistle, the Holy Sword floated into the air and shot forward like a bolt of lightning.
The blade sliced through the air, brushing past Gergore with precise control.

A spray of blood followed as the hand he was raising to slap Charlotte again was severed cleanly at the wrist.

“Aaaaargh!”

Gergore screamed, clutching at the geyser of blood gushing from his arm.
The Holy Sword returned to me, only to fly out once more in a swift, decisive strike.

This time, the sound of flesh tearing filled the air as both of Gergore’s legs were severed entirely.
He collapsed to the ground like a crumbling tower.

Perhaps my heart was becoming more undead than alive.
The sight of blood spraying and limbs falling didn’t stir me anymore.

Maybe all of this—the justification, the logic—was just a way for me to rationalize my actions.
But my mind was already made up.

Before I knew it, I had closed the distance between us.
The last trembling remnants of Gergore’s hand quivered on the ground.
Without hesitation, I stomped on it, grinding it into the dirt like a discarded cigarette.

“No, Boss. You can’t do this.”

From the corner of my vision, I saw Charlotte shaking her head.

“You need to listen to me. Stay calm—”
“I’ll handle it.”

Her worried gaze meant nothing to me at this moment.
This incident had crossed a line far greater than anything that had happened with the Lionheart King.
This wasn’t just an insult—it was physical assault, right in front of my eyes.

I caught the returning Holy Sword and crouched down in front of Gergore.
His face, smeared with blood, spit, and tears, was a pathetic sight.
Through bloodshot eyes, he looked up at me.

“A Death Knight? A Holy Sword…?”

His blood-drenched pupils widened unnaturally.
He didn’t need me to say anything—he already knew who I was.
At least that saved me the trouble of introducing myself.

“You’ve made an enemy of the Abyssal Palace.”

The Lionheart King incident had taught me one thing:
If I killed him here and now, I had every justification to do so.