Academy's Drunk Fighter-Chapter 35: First Crisis (7)

“Haah... haaah.”

I threw the bottle to draw the old man’s attention, then quickly checked the injured.

A man with both arms severed—and Noah.

Just those two, at least for now.

The man’s injuries were so severe that it wasn’t even a question of rehabilitation. It was a miracle if he could survive at all.

Even with magic, you couldn’t bring someone back from the dead.

Noah looked a bit pale, but thankfully didn’t seem to have any serious visible wounds.

“What about the others?”

“They’re somewhere else...!”

“Good.”

I wasn’t too late.

That alone was enough to ease the pounding in my chest—but looking at the old man in front of me, I felt tension coil back into my fingers.

What the hell is he doing here?

I’d only expected some magic beasts. Instead, the bishop I’d met at the Church of the Doomsday Followers was standing right in front of me.

[9th Bishop – Kolinia]

And the old man looked at me.

“You... why are you here? No—why did you throw a bottle at me just now?”

He muttered in confusion, clearly noticing how I was standing in front of Noah as if shielding her.

But the faint killing intent in his voice was more than enough to make cold sweat drip down my spine.

“Surely... you agreed to join us, did you not?”

“...People change their minds, old man. Or is that too much for your wrinkly brain to understand?”

“......”

He fell silent.

For a moment I thought about stalling or making up an excuse, but I’ve never been good at lying. He’d see through it immediately.

So I figured I’d just start cussing first.

Ssst.

The only usable weapon I had right now was my gloves.

I wanted to bring some booze on the way here, but unfortunately, the Academy didn’t have convenience stores—and even if it did, no way they’d sell liquor.

There wasn’t even time to run home and grab some.

So I’d just picked up an empty glass bottle I’d found in a trash bin and threw it as a distraction.

If it had been full of alcohol, this whole situation would’ve been over already.

“Heh heh...”

“Ah... Are you being serious? I don’t understand how your loyalty to Him just evaporated like that...”

“E-Esha! Run! That guy, he’s—!”

“It’s fine, senpai.”

I left her worried voice behind and focused entirely on the threat ahead.

Flick.

The old man raised one hand above his shoulder and wiggled his fingers.

Crunchcrackkk!

Blood-red thorns shot out of his body.

“I see now... I understand why He was in such a rush. Why He even sent me.”

“......”

“You’re... a threat.”

His eyes glowed red, and the thorns fused into a single mass and launched straight at me.

“Crimson Fang.”

I already used Fa Jing... so I can’t use it again right now.

But still—

Whiiish!

I dodged the incoming attack by a hair’s breadth and readied my fist for a counterstrike.

CRASSSHH!!

Realizing I was going to hit him, he recalled the red thorns and wrapped them around his body.

If I struck now, I’d end up taking more damage than him. I pulled back and widened the distance, watching his movements closely.

But that exchange told me one thing—

He has a pattern.

In the Dreaming World, regular student NPCs and monsters usually attack in chaotic, unpredictable ways.

But main characters, boss-tier enemies, or important NPCs always followed some kind of structured pattern.

The order might vary, but they were predictable enough to counter once learned.

[Current Intoxication: 5%]

I didn’t have the full read yet, but it was worth testing the theory.

I knew Kolinia had a total of 32 attack patterns.

He used them randomly to keep players under pressure at all times, but—

I’ve cleared the endgame. I’m what you’d call a legacy gamer.

If this was the same as the game, maybe I could pull off one of those isekai power moments, just like all those other transmigrators and regressors.

To do that, I had to provoke him first.

From what I remembered about his personality, he wasn’t hard to rile up.

Sure, people are supposed to get wiser with age—but this guy was one of those rare exceptions.

“Scared?”

“I should’ve finished you off back then... That was my mistake. Ah... Apocalypse, forgive me...”

His voice echoed through the quiet archive.

CRACK!!

Then the old man tore off a piece of his armor, wrapped it around one hand, and charged straight at me.

The 9th Bishop’s patterns could be split into two categories:

A melee charge pattern with armor reinforcement, and a ranged thorn-launching pattern.

Obviously, I had no reason to fight from range. And he probably realized that up close, he still had the advantage.

If he stuck to ranged attacks, I’d be shredded before I could get close.

So why was he charging in for melee?

He’s pissed off, huh?

“......”

A subtle tremor behind the mask.

I batted aside his ridiculously fast sword strike and slammed my fist into his jaw.

BANG!!

“Grrkh...!”

Even so, he was still a bishop. He recovered instantly and swung his sword in a quick follow-up.

SSSHHHIIING!!

“Heh...”

Thanks to the dodge assists from my Drunken Fist, plus my familiarity with his ★ 𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ★ patterns, I countered with a clean, solid hit.

“Guhh!”

And that confirmed it—he was using the exact same patterns as in the game.

If this had been a regular gamer dropped into a dark fantasy boss fight, they’d get pancaked before they even knew what was happening. But I had health. I had countermeasures.

And with Drunken Fist helping my dodges, my chances of losing were pretty damn low.

“You little...!”

That furious glare said it all—he was going to rip me apart with his bare hands if he had to.

Truly dangerous animals don’t bark. They just stare.

And this old bastard had decided: I wasn’t walking out of here alive.

“Go ahead, try me. You psychotic freak.”

“I will kill you... I will... I will...! I will rip out your eyes, your guts, your heart, your pancreas, your lungs—your womb—and burn it all for Him...!!!”

Okay, the “womb” part was kinda gross, but whatever. I was technically a girl now. And honestly, seeing him that mad was kind of funny, so I let it slide.

CRASSSSHHH!!!

He charged at me, now covered in a blood-armor of thorny spikes like an iron beast.

He clearly thought that widening his attack radius would pressure me and finally pin me down.

But I was already recognizing the pattern.

I sidestepped him like I was dodging a rodeo bull.

“...Blood Sword.”

The old man’s hand trembled as he looked away from me, transforming his full-body armor into a single longsword with one hand.

[Phase 2]

And the moment that aged body swung the blade—

CRACKK—SHHHHHHRANG!!

As if space itself had split, every structure within the path of the slash was cleanly sliced in half.

Kolinia, the 9th Bishop of the Doomsday Cult. His second combat form: Blood Sword.

It was a terrifying level of destructive force—delivered by a body that looked like it should barely be able to lift a spoon. That blade had a slicing power so overwhelming, unprepared players usually died instantly.

I’d died to that thing three times before, back in the day.

But now? I was so used to it that there was no way in hell I’d get hit.

As I threw my body into motion to counter it—

My eyes locked onto something.

Noah and the man—still barely moving from where they’d been before.

By now, they should’ve been long gone from here.

Before I could even wrap my head around why, I swerved mid-dodge and lunged toward Noah, shoving her out of the way.

KWAANG!

Thankfully, we missed the attack by a narrow margin.

“Senpai! Why are you still here...?!”

Why hadn’t she run?

It wasn’t like the guy was that heavy—she’d barely moved a few feet. Almost crawling.

And then, I saw the reason.

“Your leg...”

Blood had soaked into the white flooring.

And under the broken lighting of the archive, I hadn’t noticed her left leg before.

Now that I was up close, I saw it clearly.

Slick.

Several massive thorns were embedded in her leg, keeping her from standing or putting any weight on it.

“...”

“I’m sorry, Esha. You should still run...”

That exhausted, pain-stricken expression.

Even in agony, she’d been trying to stay quiet so she wouldn’t get in my way. Now she looked at me with an apologetic face and told me to run.

And of course...

I wasn’t the kind of person who could do something like that.

“Don’t say shit like that.”

“...”

The moment you have someone to protect, your range of movement gets restricted.

In the game, I only had to focus on the enemy the moment combat started. But now I had to consider Noah—because any backlash could hit her, too.

The power dynamic between someone who has something to protect, and someone who just wants to kill indiscriminately, flips fast.

“......”

But giving up? That wasn’t an option.

If I planned on running, I wouldn’t have come here to begin with.

“...Haaah.”

Time to change the plan.

Everything I’d done until now was just to buy time until at least one of the professors showed up. But now?

I had to take the Bishop down.

If I didn’t—Noah would die, and so would I.

Problem was... in my current condition, I couldn’t win against him.

Rustle.

Four chocolate bonbons left in my pocket.

If I ate them all at once, maybe—maybe—I could push through to the next threshold.

If I could hit that stage, I might not only hold out against him—I might actually take him down.

But what worried me was my mental strength.

Hitting 10% intoxication wasn’t the issue. The real problem was whether my mind could survive getting there.

Like trying to cast a 10-mana spell when you only have 9 mana total—it’s not happening.

I still didn’t know the exact mechanics of this [Intoxication] system, but I did know one thing: to hit higher percentages, I needed a higher Mental Strength stat.

“How...”

And then, my eyes landed on something.

The goat-shaped mask on the old man’s face caught the sunlight—and its horns gleamed faintly.

It looked a little more elegant than the mask I’d received before... the one I had hanging in my room.

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And just like that—a wild gamble came to mind.

What if his mask wasn’t the same as mine?

What if it had similar effects?

“......”

“...Esha?”

...I had a target.