Weapons of Mass Destruction

Chapter 639: Harvester

Most of the people here are C rank, same as me. Whenever a raid party, expedition, or whatever they’re calling it is put together, rank is one of the things they check. D ranks are straight-up rejected, even though itʼs fairly rare for someone of that rank to get this deep.

The color for the C rank identification emblem is Ivory White. So far, I havenʼt seen anyone with the Royal Blue of B rank.

As our group of over 100 attendees moves through the first floor of Beyondʼs dungeon, part of me wonders what ranks Faora and Luan are. If they truly have reached the 13th floor of the tutorial, then that should mean they’re probably at least rank A.

I donʼt think they were S-rank, definitely not Faora. She was strong and certainly skilled, and her mental abilities were undoubtedly useful, but she still felt lacking to me. Iʼve met a number of people with the Pride subclass, for example, Jean’s pride, though he himself is technically weaker, felt much stronger. Her pride just seemed a bit too… brittle.

Plus, from what Iʼve heard, there usually tends to be only around 10 people at any given time with an S rank in the entirety of Beyond. Out of hundreds of thousands of people from Hell difficulty and tens of thousands in Beyond, the fact that only 10 of them ever reach S rank is insane in its own way.

Obviously, there are levels within each rank. Itʼs nothing official, but there tends to be a huge difference between a fresh B rank and one close to turning into an A rank. But I gave up trying to classify peopleʼs power levels that way a long time ago. There are just too many factors to consider and too many variables that can change the outcome.

Our group moves deeper into the 1st floor, and once again, the monsters start attacking us. I move into position and use ranged attacks to bombard the skeletal creatures and deflect the strikes being thrown at us.

While we’re not perfectly coordinated, our sheer numbers are enough to safely deal with smaller groups of monsters that move around here. Everyone knows our estimated time of arrival near where the portal was spotted, so as that time gets closer, the mood shifts.

The tension that has been there since the start grows tighter. The weak, almost nonexistent trust built on the simplicity of a shared goal is starting to show us just how fake it always was. Just a bit more, and everyone will become the same sort of sacrificial lamb. The others are willing to throw people at the monster just to slow it down and reach the next floor.

Even if the monster turns out to be weaker, everyone will pile on it, and the survivors might just fight over the possible loot.

But I donʼt think I would have it any other way. Itʼs weirdly comforting as it is now.

The area around us starts to change slowly. We pass over a small range of mountains and move through the dozens of valleys winding between them, all following the one local who knows the way. There are no breaks, and I donʼt think there will be any. People here are high enough level to push on like this for days without sleep or food, and that is exactly what we do.

The longer this goes on, the more I appreciate the old Local who’s leading us. Not once does he use a map or any kind of sensory skill. He just guides us from memory until the point where he stops. And even then, he doesnʼt hesitate for too long. He pauses only when thereʼs a split in the terrain, like he’s taking a moment to recalibrate his internal compass. Then he moves again, always sure, always steady.

Later, I watch from a distance as he talks to the temporary leader of the expedition. Then, followed by the other locals and a few attendees acting as guards, they head back the way we came.

As their group passes by me, Duncan stops by for a few seconds and smiles, “Good luck. I’ll see you later.”

I nod in acknowledgment and follow our group, which now moves at a slower pace. Even now, no one uses wide range scans or tries to fly high enough into the air to scout ahead.

A scant ten minutes later, we climb to the top of one of the mountains and see the valley below, completely barren. Its sides and the surrounding mountains are scorched and cracked, filled with craters.

Two pillars are carved from the stone of the mountain, with a simple wooden door standing between them. A long pathway leads to the door, made of worn cobblestone with bits of grass growing through the cracks.

And in front of that door stands:

[Reanimated Harvester - lvl ???]

A twisted humanoid skeletal creature with no lower half, dragging itself with its long, uneven bone arms. Its spine and the bones beneath its rib cage dig into the ground as it pulls itself around. All over the valley and into the mountains, there are hundreds of ditches carved by its passing.

The monster itself is as big as a multi-story building, even without its lower half. Its head is skeletal like the rest of it, but the skull is unlike anything I’ve seen. It is humanoid, but there are no openings for eyes or ears. The surface is smooth, only leaving a few small openings where the nose and mouth should be.

And then there are the remains of what I guess would have to be a previous expedition. Dozens, possibly over a hundred, bodies litter the area near the portal. There is no way they all died in just that small place, so the only logical conclusion I come to is that the Harvester killed them and gathered them there.

Itʼs becoming clear that we are not the first group to attempt this route to the second floor.

They could easily have numbered more than a hundred people, and just not left enough of their bodies behind for us to recognize. Itʼs hard to estimate how long they’ve lain there. With our high levels, our bodies don’t rot all that quickly, and I’ve long since learned that for some people with high Constitution, it might take years for the process to start. It is yet another reminder that maybe we really do stop being anything that could be recognized as human.

Of course, there are still monsters above monsters, like a certain Absolute Healer from the third floor. After thousands of years, she looked like she’d just fallen asleep, and even in death, the processes continuing in her body were enough to destroy the world.

I filter out these thoughts and listen to the conversation that erupts between the participants of this raid. Unsurprisingly, everyone is blaming everyone else. I mean, seeing those bodies lying around, is it really all that unreasonable to think that some of us might have been members of the previous expedition who survived only to bring more sacrificial lambs to slow down the Harvester while they make another attempt to enter the second floor.

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Or maybe they discovered a weakness during the previous raid. They might be counting on this group to weaken it and slow it down. That way, they can exploit the monster’s weakness, finish it off, gather the items already on the ground, and reach the second floor. Letting most of the people from this raid die would be the most optimal solution as well, allowing for a bigger share of the already existing loot and the additional loot from the people currently here.

At the same time, it is also obvious that there is no way the expedition will just be canceled after discovering this, and we will not simply head back. No, most of the people here are cocky enough to believe they can survive and triumph over the others.

I watch as, unsurprisingly, a few attendees begin moving away from the larger groups that have gathered to argue. These are secondary members of groups, trying to make diplomatic moves and join multiple groups in defense against the others.

A few of them even reach me, but I completely ignore them and continue to observe the raid monster. After a few attempts, they give up and leave.

Someone in the back whispers a theory that the monster may be using the bodies for energy or as a medium for some skill. Another suggests it might be feeding off them slowly, draining something from them over time.

One of the more aggressive factions tries to start a vote: who fights, who distracts, who pushes toward the door. It’s a joke. Half the people ignore it, already beginning to form their own alliances, speaking in hushed voices, or exchanging dark looks.

Then someone laughs. A dry, joyless sound. It comes from a tall man in a patched brown cloak, standing at the edge of the group.

He points at the monster with one hand and says, “It’s just bones. Big ones, yeah, but bones. Out of all the guardians I’ve heard about, this must be one of the weaker ones.”

I almost admire the attempt. The stupidity. Or maybe it’s simple bravado. Or maybe it’s just plain greed.

Even after all of this, preparations slowly begin, but there’s no clear command, no single voice giving orders. Just scattered murmurs and movement. A few begin drawing the lines of various inscriptions in the dirt with mana-conductive paint, pacing out distances, double-checking their items. Dozens of skills are used, and the mana signatures of over a hundred people begin to blend into one.

At this point, there is no way we haven’t been noticed, but the Harvester still doesn’t react.

The more organized groups start forming their own clusters, separating from the rest of the crowd. Some individuals keep themselves isolated, lingering near the back or choosing high ground. And everyone watches everyone else, making sure each person moves to attack and ensuring that there are no freeloaders.

There is a disadvantage to going in for a melee, but it also puts you closer to the portal. I, however, keep myself at mid-range. Not too close and not too far, it’s the space I’m most comfortable in, where I can rush into close combat or pull back as needed.

The Harvester remains still.

I shift the movement of my mana, place my last few marks, and prepare to activate the structures I’ve created in the back of my mind.

Conversation almost grinds to a halt, and only a few short questions remain, mostly revolving around logistical issues. I filter even these out. The sounds around me fall into silence. The colors lose some of their intensity, and mana rages just below my skin.

Someone begins a countdown that echoes through the area. It isn’t planned, but everyone seems to accept it and starts getting ready.

”Five.”

”Four.”

Armor surrounds me, more durable than I usually bother with, skin-tight so it doesn’t hinder my movements. Even now, my subclass influences its shape, giving it that rough, elegant, and practical beauty.

”Three.”

The colors around me drain further as [Eclipse] activates, wrapping me in a bubble where only mana retains its color.

”Two.”

My Mana Wavelength Iris activates, locking onto the monster, which even now stands still, no longer dragging itself around. Its head slowly turns toward the largest cluster of people, and it lifts its skeletal arms.

”One!” the man shouts.

Dozens of people move. Attacks activate and fly at the monster. Some are surrounded by barriers, domains, or armor and move slowly, each step cracking the ground beneath them. Others are fast, barely more than a blur as they rush downhill, covering great distances in the blink of an eye.

Projectiles rain down. Mana, primordial energies, and enchanted items flood the space with death.

Finally, the Harvester moves and raises one of its arms into the air. Purple mana begins to seep out around it, slowly forming the shape of a strung bow. Its other arm shapes five arrows from the same mana and sets them in place.

Then, a pulse explodes with the monster at the center. It touches everyone in the area and leaves a mark on each one of us.

As the attacks start clashing against the Harvester, it releases the arrows into the sky. Trails of purple light remain in their trajectory. They twist midair like whips and dive downward.

These arrows, each one the size of a smaller tree trunk, pierce through people like they’re made of paper. They track their targets like living things. They punch clean holes through mountains and catch even the fastest runners.

And as those arrows grind into nothing after killing half the expedition, the Harvester calmly nocks and releases five more, completely untouched by the barrage of attacks clashing against that bony body.

I watch as one arrow heads toward me and don’t even attempt to block it. My eyes stay locked on it as I finally read the mark placed on me. My skills activate one after another as I unwind the mark, break it down to nothing, and dissolve it.

I shift my footing, then use a boost to move aside as the arrow tears past me, twists midair, and slams into another attendee to my left.

For a moment longer, I observe how my mana clashes against the Harvester’s. I watch how it reacts to my skill and make note of just how useless my tricolored orbs are. Even the damage from [Empyrean Lance] barely registers.

Sensing it start to release another pulse to mark everyone all over again, I use one of my stored marks to teleport myself away, back to the top of the mountain where I had stood before. From there, I watch the Harvester send out a few more pulses, but none reach this far.

The bow and arrows disappear from its hands. Then it begins dragging itself forward with those bone limbs again, gathering what remains of the attackers around the door.

Now more than ever, it looks like it’s setting out bait.

Giving it one last glance, I turn away and walk toward where the survivors have gathered.

Only nine of us remain out of over a hundred.

That clash didn’t even last a few seconds.