The chaos in the royal capital was gradually subsiding.

  A man with a chimera tattoo on his chest couldn’t possibly miss the shift in the atmosphere.

  "...Tch."

  Clicking his tongue in irritation, he silently watched from the rooftops as monsters were sin by soldiers, restoring safety to the streets.

  Everything had gone according to pn—until now.

  He had deceived an ignorant child who held the key to the Goblin Dungeon, forcing them to create it a fair distance from the capital’s outskirts. Then, using cursed magic, he had bound a wild wyvern and released it inside.

  Originally, the pn was to slowly nurture the wyvern dungeon, breed a massive swarm of wyverns, and then crush the capital from the sky.

  "Do you have any idea how much effort it took to capture that wyvern?!"

  Provoke a disaster. Bring down the current dynasty.

  That was said to be the method to awaken the revered being whom the world called the Evil God—the one true deity to him and his fellow cultists.

  "That damn Dulhan..."

  Everything had been going smoothly up until the moment he released the bound wyvern into the dungeon, right when the ignorant brat had given up on conquering the Goblin Dungeon they had created.

  He had even taken the trouble to lead the wyvern deep into the dungeon, ensuring it would challenge the boss in peak condition.

  But then, an obstacle appeared.

  Not a person—but an undead creature drawn to the dungeon.

  "Tch, just thinking about it pisses me off all over again."

  A blunder by a fellow cultist.

  Someone else had schemed to trigger a stampede at an undead hotspot, much like this man had done.

  That pn had been discovered mid-execution by the fortress commander overseeing the area and ultimately failed.

  But not everything had been lost.

  A small-scale stampede had occurred.

  He had heard rumors of a Dulhan that had escaped extermination and gone rogue—but he never imagined it would interfere with his operation.

  He had assumed it would be defeated along the way.

  That’s what he had thought.

  "Who the hell could’ve predicted a critical hit at that moment?!"

  The moment the wyvern—whose mind had been dulled by curses, not tamed but dominated—stepped into the boss chamber and lunged at the Hobgoblin boss, that thing had slithered out of the shadows, as if lying in wait for the perfect moment to strike.

  If the wyvern had been able to rely on its wild instincts or senses, it might have countered the Dulhan’s attack.

  Fundamentally, they were on completely different levels.

  The Dulhan’s rusted greatsword shouldn’t have been able to pierce the wyvern’s scales.

  Even if it struck a non-vital spot, the wyvern could’ve simply retaliated with its fangs, crushing the Dulhan in a single bite.

  The Dulhan would’ve been little more than a snack before the wyvern moved on to the main course—the dungeon boss. And then, through their cursed magic, a new dungeon boss, bound to their will, would have been born.

  Liberta might have known this, but according to FBO’s rules, a tamed monster cannot become a dungeon boss, even if it sys the current one.

  This is presumably because tamed monsters are cssified as allied units rather than monsters.

  But the FBO developers, who love exceptions and hidden mechanics, left a loophole.

  Cursed magic.

  A skill primarily used for debuffs.

  Among them were abilities that could bind a target’s movements and dull their thoughts.

  It wasn’t as overpowered as some cheap, mind-control trick from a shady spellbook—but it could reduce a creature to a puppet.

  Though their abilities would be severely weakened by the debuffs, they could still follow simple orders.

  The higher a target’s magic resistance, the harder it was to afflict them.

  Thus, restraining powerful beings like dragonkin required high-level curses and specialized equipment.

  The Evil God cult couldn’t operate openly.

  They worked in the shadows—and profited in the shadows.

  Which meant funding was always tight.

  They were far from wealthy—to the point where even the cost of a single donkey was a painful expense.

  And that was exactly why the Dulhan had managed to nd a surprise attack, exploiting the one weak point it could reach—the neck—with a skill that boosted critical damage and had a low chance of instant death:

  Neck Hunter

  With that single strike, the weakened wyvern’s head was severed.

  The man couldn’t forget that sight even if he wanted to.

  Nor could he forget how the Dulhan—now evolved into a Css 4 Dulhan Rider—summoned the headless, zombified wyvern from the shadows, mounted it, and charged straight at him.

  "At the very least, I should’ve recovered the key!"

  Frustrated, the man stomped his foot on the rooftop, seething with regret.

  Not only had his expensive wyvern been sin—it had also dropped the dungeon key. And he hadn’t been able to retrieve it.

  But facing a higher-tier opponent head-on in a cramped dungeon was suicide.

  His only option had been to flee for his life.

  As a st resort, he had hoped the stampede would overrun the capital on its own.

  So he had continued monitoring the dungeon, suppressing any information leaks.

  His efforts paid off—the stampede had occurred.

  The horde of undead goblins paled in comparison to the sky-darkening swarm of wyverns they had originally pnned for—but overwhelming numbers were still a viable strategy.

  He watched the battle unfold with quiet satisfaction.

  Occasionally, he even interfered, subtly aiding the goblin forces.

  Thanks to his efforts, the kingdom’s army was pushed to the brink.

  When he spotted the dragon zombie breaching the southern gate, he couldn’t help but pump his fist in triumph.

  All’s well that ends well.

  The phrase crossed his mind.

  If things continued like this, the kingdom would fall.

  And with this achievement under his belt, a promotion within the cult’s hierarchy wouldn’t just be a dream.

  Despite his earlier foul mood, he was now in excellent spirits.

  Or so he had thought.

  There had been no clear turning point.

  At first, the chaos had simply begun to subside.

  Then, specialized units emerged, efficiently countering the enemy.

  Soon, the effect spread across the battlefield.

  "How the hell did they recover this much in just one day?! This doesn’t make sense!"

  The capital’s rapid restoration pushed him to the brink of madness.

  "What just happened?! What did I even witness?!"

  The kingdom’s forces mounted an overwhelming counterattack, reorganizing with such speed that he couldn’t even comprehend the mechanism behind it.

  It wasn’t that they couldn’t defeat the zombie goblins before—it was just that their methods had been inefficient.

  Conflicting intel and poor judgment from field commanders had only exacerbated the chaos.

  But now, the debuffs pguing the entire army had been purged.

  The dysfunctional gears had been oiled—and now, they were turning at full speed.

  "It’s not over yet!! The northern forces are still coming. Once they arrive, these bastards—!"

  Monsters that had infiltrated the city were being systematically hunted down and exterminated.

  If the man were spotted by one of these squads, he’d be questioned as a suspicious individual. His tattoo would be discovered, and he’d be arrested on the spot.

  So, though he wanted to scream, he forced himself to keep his voice low.

  Just moments ago, he had been reveling in the sight of panicking soldiers—but now, watching them move with purpose and precision made his skin crawl.

  "Calm down. There’s no need to panic yet. They’ll show us something far worse soon enough."

  The dragon zombie at the southern gate was still alive and kicking.

  And the main force—a thousand-strong horde of Ogre Zombies—was about to descend upon the northern gate.

  Ogres were an evolved form of goblins, specializing in raw physical power.

  A thousand of them—enhanced further by zombification—would smash through the gates in an instant, painting the streets in blood.

  And surrounding them were even more zombie goblins.

  This was the true main force.

  Though frustrated by the kingdom’s sudden recovery, the man knew it would all be undone soon.

  He reached into his coat, pulling out a forbidden item—

  "Huh? What’s that?"

  —when his eyes caught a squad pulling a cart through the main thoroughfare.

  They weren’t even trying to hide it.

  Their destination? The southern gate.

  "......"

  A bad feeling crept over him.

  Experience told him that cart carried something very inconvenient for him.

  For a moment, he considered interfering—but quickly dismissed the thought.

  The squad escorting the cart was too rge, and the risk of exposing himself outweighed any potential gain.

  So he shook his head, forcing the idea out of his mind.

  "Tch."

  But doing nothing didn’t sit right with him either.

  He moved across the rooftops, tailing the cart.

  Sure enough, it was headed straight for the dragon zombie’s rampage zone.

  His eyes locked onto an elderly woman swinging a metal staff, hammering the dragon zombie with brutal force.

  She was dealing significant damage, but it wouldn’t be enough.

  Though the dragon zombie’s defenses were lower than a live wyvern’s, its durability was still high—and it had regeneration.

  It was resistant to sshing and blunt attacks alike.

  Given its innate draconic stats, it was practically a physical attacker’s worst nightmare.

  The fact that this old woman was holding her own—even preventing it from unleashing its breath attack—was impressive.

  But the man knew her efforts would be in vain.

  The northern horde would arrive long before she could finish the job.

  So why did he still feel uneasy?

  The closer he got, the stronger the feeling grew.

  He wondered if they had brought a light mage—but that was impossible.

  He had confirmed there were no high-level light magic users in the capital right now.

  The so-called "Saintess" was bedridden, too ill to move.

  And he knew she was too old and frail to walk properly anyway.

  So what was it?

  Just as he began to ponder, the soldiers yanked off the cart’s covering.

  "What the—?"

  He had expected some kind of magical artifact, but all that sat there were ordinary barrels.

  Maybe the contents were special? He stared intently.

  "Wine? Ale?"

  A deep red-purple liquid.

  Wine.

  The man was an adult—he’d drunk it before.

  Though he preferred ale, he wasn’t so unfamiliar with wine that he’d mistake it.

  Why would they bring alcohol here?

  Just as he tilted his head in confusion—

  "Wait, no—that’s...?!"

  A faint magical aura.

  "Potions?!"

  A liquid resembling wine, yet red-purple—if it was a potion, it had to be a Curse Purge Potion.

  The soldiers hoisted the barrels, shielded by a wall of armored troops, and charged.

  Their intent was obvious.

  He didn’t know why—but his bad feeling skyrocketed.

  Instinctively, he drew a throwing knife, ready to intervene—

  But the soldiers were faster.

  A barrel of Curse Purge Potion hurtled toward the dragon zombie.

  To the man, it seemed to arc through the air in agonizing slow motion.

  The dragon zombie barely reacted, as if it didn’t consider the barrel a threat.

  As if it believed it could tank the impact without consequence.

  "Dodge it!!"

  The words burst from his lips before he could stop himself.

  He didn’t know why—but he knew this was bad.

  But the dragon zombie’s mind was dulled, far less discerning than a live wyvern’s.

  His warning went unheard.

  The potion spshed over its head.

  ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■！？

  The skin melted away.

  Like a viscous sludge, the Dragon Zombie's flesh began to dissolve.

  It wasn’t an instant death.

  But the grotesque sight of its body melting was more than enough to make the man’s eyes widen in shock.

  Had Liberta been here, she would’ve reacted just like him—Huh!?—her eyes bulging in disbelief.

  According to Liberta’s knowledge, sprinkling a Curse-Dispelling Potion on an undead creature should temporarily weaken their regenerative abilities and lower their defense.

  This effect worked because undead thrived on curses, using them to strengthen their bodies.

  That was why she had suggested it as a way to chip away at the Dragon Zombie’s endurance—but she never expected it to produce this kind of effect.

  "Hahahaha!! Now this is good!! Feels like I’m actually making a dent now!!"

  Completely oblivious to the mechanics behind it, the old woman cheerfully swung her iron staff, sending chunks of melted flesh flying as the Dragon Zombie’s body began to break apart.

  "Stop it."

  And now, there was a clear difference in its movements before and after being doused in the potion.

  At this rate, the Dragon Zombie would be defeated.

  "STOOOP!!"

  So, in a desperate attempt to halt its destruction, the man screamed again.

  "Don’t you DARE fade away!!"

  But the old woman wasn’t kind enough to listen.

  In a battle where the tides had turned in an instant, her final strike nded—and the Dragon Zombie crumbled, colpsing into a pile of bck ash.

  The violent force that had rampaged at the southern gate had now been sin.

  "Not yet… Not yet!"

  The scales of fate were tipping.

  But the man refused to accept it was over—and so, he turned and sprinted toward the northern gate.