Reborn In A Perverse Monster World! My System Adapts To Everything!

Chapter 135: Kaelen, Is That You? [FIXED!][07/07!]

The tavern reeked of stale ale and desperation.

Kaelen sat hunched over a chipped wooden table, his massive frame folded in on itself like a wounded animal. His scales, once a vibrant green that had gleamed in the light of countless dungeons, were now dull and cracked, covered in grime and old scars. His left arm—or rather, the empty space where it used to be—hung limply at his side, the stump wrapped in stained bandages that had not been changed in weeks. The fabric was crusted with dried blood and filth, a testament to his neglect.

The light from his eyes had drained completely. The fiery yellow that had once burned with confidence and courage was now a dim, lifeless amber. He stared into his mug, watching the amber liquid swirl. His reflection stared back at him, hollow and broken. He didn’t recognize himself anymore. He didn’t want to.

Kaelen had been a former adventurer. A leader. A warrior who had faced monsters and dungeons with unwavering courage. He had led his guild through the darkest crawls, had stood shoulder to shoulder with his comrades against impossible odds. But that was before. Before the crawl that had killed everyone he cared about. Before the the crawl had taken his arm and his will to live.

Now, he was just a drunk who had nothing to live for anymore.

He could hear the whispers around him. The patrons of the tavern, their voices low and mocking, their eyes darting toward him like vultures circling a carcass. They spoke in hushed tones, but Kaelen’s hearing was still sharp enough to catch every word.

"That’s him," one of them said, a slender lizardkin with a sneer. "The reptile who lost his entire crew. They say he just stood there and watched them die."

"Pathetic," another added, a burly orc with scarred knuckles. "He used to be someone. Now he’s just a shell. A broken, useless shell."

A third voice chimed in, high and cruel. "I heard he didn’t even try to save them. Just stood there like a coward while they were torn apart."

Kaelen did not react. He had heard it all before. The words washed over him like rain, meaningless and empty. He was beyond caring. He had given up on life, on hope, on everything. The whispers, the stares, the pity, the scorn—none of it mattered anymore.

He had seen how things were going, but Kaelen didn’t care about anything. Not the guilds. Not the dungeons. Not the world that had taken everything from him. He had become a ghost, haunting the edges of the world, waiting for the end to finally claim him.

Then one of the gossips laughed—a loud, barking sound that echoed through the tavern like a slap.

Kaelen’s grip tightened on his mug. His claws scraped against the glass.

He threw it.

The mug shattered against the wall, sending shards flying in every direction. Amber liquid splashed across the floor. The laughter stopped. The tavern fell into a heavy, suffocating silence.

The lizardkin who had laughed turned slowly, his eyes narrowing into slits. His hand drifted to the hilt of his dagger. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Kaelen did not answer. He simply stared at them, his eyes empty, his expression blank. There was no anger in his gaze. No defiance. No spark of the warrior he had once been. Just emptiness.

The lizardkin and the orc exchanged a glance. Then they moved.

They were on him in seconds, their fists flying. The lizardkin’s claws raked across his face, drawing deep furrows in his scales. Blood welled up and dripped down his cheeks. The orc’s heavy blows slammed into his ribs, cracking them one by one with sickening crunches. Kaelen did not fight back. He did not raise his remaining arm. He did not even flinch.

He just stood there and took it all.

The patrons watched, some in horror, others in amusement. A few turned away, unable to witness the brutality. But no one intervened. No one stopped the beating.

The lizardkin grabbed Kaelen by the throat and slammed him against the table. The wood splintered beneath his weight. The orc drove his fist into Kaelen’s face again and again, each blow sending blood and scales flying across the floor.

When they were done, they left him lying in a pool of his own blood. His body was broken, his face unrecognizable, his chest barely rising and falling. His remaining arm was twisted at an unnatural angle. His breath came in shallow, ragged gasps.

Kaelen stared up at the ceiling, his vision swimming. He felt the pain—distant, muffled, as if it belonged to someone else. The world spun around him, the tavern lights blurring into streaks of orange and brown.

"I deserve this," he thought. "I deserve all of it."

His eyes began to close.

Then he blinked.

Above him, a figure stood. Small, red, with black and gold eyes that gleamed with warmth. Six arms hung at its sides, and its mandibles clicked softly. It was the ant king—the creature that had once followed Jason, the creature that had saved Ylva’s life, the creature that had disappeared into the world.

Kaelen’s eyes widened. "You..." he muttered, his voice barely a whisper.

The ant king tilted its head, watching him with an expression that was impossible to read. Its mandibles clicked again, a sound that seemed almost like recognition.

Kaelen’s vision faded to black as he lost consciousness due to a mixture of pain and alcohol.

-

Kaelen remembered the day he lost it all. The dungeons and crawls became far more challenging.

It had started like any other crawl. A routine expedition into a newly discovered dungeon, nothing that his guild hadn’t handled a hundred times before. Mira had been at his side, her amber eyes sharp and her daggers ready. Helga had been behind them, her warhammer resting on her shoulder, her braided beard swinging with each step. They had been a unit—flawless, unstoppable, unbreakable. They had faced countless threats together and always emerged victorious.

The entrance had been unremarkable—a simple stone archway carved into the side of a cliff, its surface weathered by centuries of wind and rain. Moss clung to the edges. Vines draped over the top like curtains. It looked like any other dungeon they had explored. But the moment they stepped inside, Kaelen knew something was wrong.

The air was too still. The walls were too smooth. And the statues—dozens of them, lining the corridors like silent sentinels—watched them with empty, emotionless eyes.

They were carved from black stone, their features frozen in expressions of agony and despair. Some had their hands raised as if pleading. Others had their mouths open as if screaming. They lined the walls in neat rows, creating a corridor of silent terror.

"Stay sharp," Kaelen had instructed, his voice echoing through the oppressive silence. His claws scraped against the stone floor, the sound unnaturally loud in the absence of any other noise. His tail swayed behind him, a sign of his unease.

The dungeon had not been kind which was why they needed more members for their crawls.

It had tested them in ways they had never been tested before. Puzzles that had no solutions. Riddles that spoke of things that should not be known. Quizzes that demanded sacrifices. The statues had come alive, their stone faces twisting into expressions of cruel amusement as they watched the guild struggle.

"Answer correctly, and you may pass," one of them had rumbled, its voice like grinding stones. "Answer incorrectly, and you will join the walls."

Mira had stepped forward, her tail flicking with defiance. "What is the price of knowledge?"

The statue’s eyes had glowed with an eerie light. "The price of knowledge is the loss of innocence."

Mira had answered correctly. The statue had stepped aside. But there had been more, dozens more. Each one presenting a new trial, a new riddle, a new chance for failure. Some questions were impossible to answer. Some demanded blood and some required a member of the guild to sacrifice themselves willingly.

With each wrong answer, a member of their guild had fallen. Their bodies turning to stone, their souls becoming part of the walls. The statues around them grew more numerous. The corridor grew more crowded. Kaelen had watched them fall. He had watched his friends crumble to dust. And he had been unable to stop it.

The final test had been the worst.

A massive statue had stood before them, its arms spread wide, its face a mask of cold judgment. "Only one may leave," it had declared. "The rest will remain."

Mira had looked at Kaelen. Helga had looked at Kaelen. They had all looked at him. There were only three of them left now. The rest had been claimed by the dungeon.

"Kaelen," Helga had said, her voice steady. "You are the leader. You must survive."

"I will not leave you," Kaelen had growled, his fists clenched. "We leave together or not at all."

"Yes, you will," Mira had said. "Because you are the only one who can rebuild."

The statue had raised its arm, and the floor had begun to collapse. Stones crumbled beneath their feet. The walls began to close in. Helga had moved without hesitation. Her warhammer had swung, not at the statue, but at Kaelen. The impact had sent him flying toward the exit, his body hurtling through the air as the dungeon crumbled behind him.

He had landed on the grass outside, gasping, alone. The entrance had sealed itself behind him, trapping Mira and Helga inside.

Kaelen had screamed. He had clawed at the stone, had pounded his fists against the sealed entrance until his scales cracked and his blood stained the rock. But they had not come back.