The Nameless Extra: I Proofread This World-Chapter 104: Through the Mountain’s Spine (2)

Of course, there was something more hiding behind that secret pathway. It was a secret, after all. And on this strange island, only a fool would expect a secret to lead anywhere safe. Ruvian lets out a long breath, eyes narrowing on the massive figure blocking the pass. Even crouched half in the earth, the golem’s frame could crush a house. Veins of dull light beamed in its stone skin. The thing shifts, shoulders grinding, and tilts its head as if it were feeling for the one who woke it.
Ruvian and his teammates huddle behind a jagged boulder. Shima peeks over the edge, then drops back down and leans against the rock.
“So? What are we gonna do? Engage?”
Ruvian didn't answer her right away. He’s seated with his back to the stone, one knee drawn up, forearm resting loosely across it, the other leg stretched for balance. His gaze stays locked on the gap between the rocks, mind running through maps, probabilities, and escape routes.
Arlok shifts his grip on his poleaxe, metal head glinting faintly in the gloom.
“I’m fine either way. I think I can break its body easily.”
Ruvian shook his head. “No. Maybe we should take another route—”
“I think we should give it a try,” but Yerin cuts in.
All eyes swung to her. Her soft hazel gaze burns with quiet certainty.
“I recognize the Voidspawn. It’s a Wretched, Gravelclad Golem. They’re strong and can assemble their bodies once destroyed. But they’re slow. And they're not immortal. Destroy the golem core, and they fall apart for good.”
Silence holds for only a second before movement snaps it. Yerin’s gaze didn’t waver from the looming shape in the pass.
“This is the best opportunity we’ve had so far to earn a large amount of points without bleeding ourselves dry in the process. Other Wretched-class Voidspawn are far less forgiving—faster, more aggressive, harder to corner.”
“But this one, despite its size, is easy to read and easy to trap if we work together. Its greatest weakness is concentrated force—an explosion, ideally, but even without that, we can cripple it. Blow its body apart, then break the golem core before it has time to recover. That’s all it takes.”
Ruvian’s brow furrowed slightly.
“And how quickly can it reassemble? A pattern like that only works if the window is large enough to act before it regains mobility.”
“The further the fragments are scattered, the slower the reassembly,” Yerin replied without hesitation.
“But yes, the rate is still fast—seconds, not minutes. I believe, however, that if we break it apart properly, Horren will have enough time to locate and destroy the core. The key is in how cleanly we execute the sequence.”
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Horren’s voice broke in, low but edged with concern. “What if there’s more than one?”
Yerin’s eyes moved to him.
“Then we reevaluate. Measure our endurance against theirs. If taking down a single one strains us too much, we don’t commit to a second.”
Shima’s shoulders rose and fell in a shrug. “Or we could just change the route now and save ourselves the trouble.”
A silence stretched. The wind moved through the pass with a faint, hollow hum. Ruvian’s eyes lingered on the jagged walls of stone. When he finally spoke, his voice carried the weight of thought already done.
“No. We try. I can’t guarantee we won’t encounter something worse if we take another route. This island has a habit of placing danger where you least want it.”
“But here… here we can see what we’re dealing with. If it’s only one or two, or three… it’s worth the risk. Not only for the voidshards point, but because clearing this pass will move us to the next region far faster than circling. We know the cost. We know the potential gain. That’s more certainty than we’ll get anywhere else.”
Yerin smiled as though the decision had aligned neatly with her own thinking.
Ruvian shifted slightly, drawing their attention back to him.
“And regarding the explosions, I think we have enough for that…. More than enough, if we use it correctly.”
His gaze swept over each of them, weighing their reactions before he added:
“I have a plan for that.”
“And for the plan to work… Arlok. You're the best person for it.”
****
The first sound was the whisper of steel sliding through calloused palms. His poleaxe turned once, twice, and then thrice in a slow, graceful dance, the haft gliding against the grain of his skin as though limbering itself for the work to come. Then, with a deliberate step forward, Arlok set his boots upon the dust and stone, and the wind itself seemed to lean away from him.
He closed the distance alone, claiming the space between himself and the towering sentinel. The last step ended in a sharp, echoing crack as the axe-head came down, biting into the ground with a force that rang up the bones of the mountains themselves. Arlok lifted his left fist, knuckles driving into his chest with a dull thud, a primal announcement of his presence.
Then he extended his arm, one finger aimed like an arrow toward the stone beast.
“You there.”
Then, four fingers curled back, a beckoning gesture to the beast to challenge him.
“Come out from your cradle of rock and fight me!”
The golem watched him first out of confusion, then it immediately answered his challenge. The first note was a grinding tremor, as though the earth had been forced to remember some ancient grief.
“Ah, you sound like my dad…”
Then came the low roar… slowly rising to a volume that shuddered the mountains under the violence of its voice.
It struck the ground, and the blow cracked the earth, the fissures running toward Arlok’s boots in jagged lines. The shock stole half his balance for a heartbeat, but he steadied himself with nothing more than a shift of weight.
The creature emerged from the shadowed cleft with the deliberation of a god descending from its altar.
Nearly twice the height of three men, the Gravelclad Golem carried its enormity in the oppressive gravity of its presence.
Its body was a fortress of jagged stone, layers of slate and granite fitted together like armor forged for war. Across its skin, veins of dull light ran like molten ore caught in eternal cooling.
The face was neither human nor beast—merely a crude suggestion of both, with hollows where eyes might be, and a mouth-like fissure that exhaled dust each time it breathed.
Every step it took scattered pebbles and sent tremors down into the marrow of the world, its limbs sheathed in thick rock.
Arlok raised the poleaxe, pointing at the sentinal creature.
The haft levelled, its weight balanced perfectly across his palms. He tilted his head, a faint grin ghosting across his lips.
“Ha! I had an epic line for this moment…”
He let the thought hang for a few seconds, then dismissed it with a shake of his head.
“Fuck, I forgot that line!”
The beast charged at him.
“You know what, scratch that! I have a new one.”
His grin hardened.
“Return to where you belong, you mud-brained bastard!”