Headed by a Snake-Chapter 879 Nothing More, Nothing Less

?"Sea god's anal beads," Krysaos cursed. "How many of these gods-damned holes are there?"

He stood at the edge of a pit trap.

A pit trap.

It didn't matter what was at the bottom-- five fulm long spikes or giant eel-things or a faceless monstrosity comprised of more teeth and tentacles than sensible parts.

After so many bells of Dungeon delving, pit traps were... boring.

"...Maybe I should just shut up and be thankful? Maybe. Stupid Dungeon..."

Krysaos took a few steps forward, bounding over with ease.

He landed.

...but he landed in a place devoid of dungeon tile and watery horrors.

"...Okay," He gulped, "So not a pit trap."

Dull grey clouds soared overhead, rushing hurriedly... maybe even like they were scared of something.

Krysaos stood in front of a white picket fence with a solitary stone well beyond-- a place nestled in the hills.

He glanced behind him. A field of green and purple flowers stretched as far as he could see.

Thus far in the Water Temple... Krysaos had been to a freezing chamber of iced-over corpses; a deep cavern with eight-fulm tall mushrooms that undulated and occasionally screamed; and an upside-down hall filled with doors and impossible staircases.

Flowers?

Looked like flowers. Smelled like flowers. Could've damn well *been* actual flowers, just to f*ck with his head.

Didn't matter.

Krysaos wasn't going to touch a single one.

He knew better.

And then the tiny fence?

It was a shite fence, really. It was low enough that literally any stray dog or whatever could crawl over it.

It was low enough that Krysaos could... just step over it if he really wanted to.

He was absolutely not going to do that.

He didn't trust a gods-damned thing in the Dungeon.

"Magic... magic..."

Krysaos opened his senses to the world... trying to discern what was and what was not.

There was magic in the air.

"Ya don't say..." He said aloud... talking to no one in particular.

Of course, there was.

There was magic in the ground... in the seemingly mundane plant growth and in... what was *supposed* to be a fence.

By what Krysaos was 'feeling', it was nothing like that.

It was a wall... a wall trying very hard to be a fence.

And it gave him a very distinct feeling... that trying to cross it would prove hazardous to his health.

--or to his sanity.

He rolled his eyes as he walked the fence's perimeter... "Alright, fence... I see your game. So uh... I'm jus' gonna look around for some kind of... yeah, here we go."

There was a tiny fence-gate...

Technically, it was part of the 'wall'... but at the same time, it was not.

It wasn't something Krysaos could apply reason to, other than... at face-value.

The fence was a fence. The gate was a gate.

That's all there was to it.

"Hrmm. How... did it go?" Krysaos pursed his lips, "Ah. Right. ?Lock Tap.?"

The Captain of the Neptune's Revenge kicked the 'gate' right underneath where the 'lock' should be.

...to no effect.

"Ahem," He cleared his throat. "That was a uh... Skill that opens locked doors and gates."

As if suddenly waking from its rest, the gate began to quiver... and swung open forcefully.

Its speed didn't match the force Krysaos had used... but it wasn't something he wanted to complain about-- besides in his head, anyroad.

It didn't seem like a good idea to question anything aloud.

"Thanks," He muttered as he passed through.

The gate shook lightly... as if it wanted to acknowledge him.

Thankfully, it did not.

Gates don't talk.

A gate is just a gate.

It was difficult to breathe in the small, fenced-off section. The air felt heavy and thick.

Krysaos opened his mana-senses... observing the miasma of water mana hanging over him.

...There was a water well-- so the water mana was a must.

It was... difficult for him to process. So maybe... it wasn't pure water?

Krysaos tapped into it... despite the apparent danger of tapping into a foreign mana source.

Usually, when he found an abundance of water mana, it felt refreshing... like a dip in the cold ocean when the weather was hot-- or a bath after an exhausting sun.

The mana in the chamber... was nothing like that.

It felt... stagnant-- water still and untouched for centuries.

Yet... it *was* pure.

It had to be.

A regular pool of water would have turned into a cesspool of muck over time.

It's just that... the water was so pure it was almost... poison.

Krysaos furrowed his brows, focusing on processing the mana in a thin, steady stream... trying to understand it more than trying to absorb it.

If he tried to take it in, he felt like he'd die, for sure. The stuff was worse than the Guardian Beast.

...It begged the question, though.

The purity... was it in the water itself?

Or...

A sudden rush of mana turned Krysaos' blood freezing cold.

Something was in the well.

He didn't want to look.

He didn't want to be in the Water Temple.

He didn't even want to kill the sea god any longer-- that's the kind of feeling that was rolling around in his gut.

Krysaos furrowed his brows and tried to shake off whatever weird magic was seeping into his brain.

He flexed his muscles and rubbed his arms, trying to get rid of that icy-inside feeling. 𝙛𝙧𝙚𝒆𝘸𝚎𝙗𝒏oν𝙚𝘭.𝐜𝒐m

Sweat was pouring down his forehead... touching upon the recent cuts and bruises on his face from his admittedly short journey.

It didn't make sense.

--not that anything in the gods-damned Water Temple made sense.

Why would he be afraid of... just *looking*?

He was in a Dungeon... not a heaven or hell. It's not like he risked looking at something that shouldn't be seen.

Krysaos entered what was probably the most dangerous Dungeon in the entire Realm... with the goal of killing the sea god.

And to get to that sea god... he had to threaten something of his-- the Lake Goddess under his protection.

Krysaos slowly drew the Heart of the Ocean from his sheath... gripping the handle tight with two trembling hands.

"Sh... show me..." He took a breath... swallowing the bile in his throat, "what... is really here."

Applying mana to the sword's edge, Krysaos pushed down... slowly cutting into the thick miasma in the air like it was clay.

--or skinless flesh.

And when it got to a certain point... he felt it give way.

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