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Chapter 307: The Twisted Jura
"Your caliber… it doesn't end here, does it?"
At Finn's words, the three bodies—which should have still been in deep comas—twitched almost simultaneously.
The first to react was Tiona.
"Waaahhhh! I'm reeeviiived!"
She launched herself up from the ground like a spring that had been compressed to its absolute limit, letting out a vibrant, incomprehensible roar of vitality.
Right behind her was her sister, Tione.
She struggled, using her bent dagger to prop herself up, staggering unsteadily to her feet.
"For… for the Captain… I… I can still fight!"
Finally, it was Bete.
Clutching his forehead as if it were splitting open, he slowly sat up. A feral, beast-like growl of pure frustration and rage rumbled from the depths of his throat.
"Tch… That bastard… I'm gonna… I'm gonna crush him with my own two hands."
Seeing the trio standing there, swaying precariously but with the fire of battle reignited in their eyes, Finn and Gareth exchanged a look. Both saw a gratified smile reflected in the other's eyes.
The next generation of the Loki Familia—the ones they had placed their hopes in—had not disappointed them.
The vitality of First-Class Adventurers was already a hundred times more tenacious than that of ordinary people.
Even if they had been lingering at death's door a second ago, as long as their will was strong enough, as long as the unyielding fire in their hearts hadn't extinguished, they could break through the shackles of their "limits" and erupt once again with terrifying, earth-shattering power.
Until someone was pushed to their absolute breaking point, they would never truly know where their limits lay.
The Twenty-Seventh Floor of the Dungeon. The Water Capital.
This was supposed to be a world woven from flowing water and crystalline rock, but right now, it was dominated by a far more primal, blood-soaked aura.
The air was thick with the heavy scent of rusted iron, mingled with the foul stench of monster viscera and the sickening, bone-crunching sounds of an unknown creature feeding.
"Haha… Hahahaha… Found you… I found you!"
Jura's laughter rang out abruptly in the oppressive space, carrying a manic, almost delirious joy.
His gaze was locked onto a figure in the distance like a magnet—the Juggernaut.
It was a sight that would shatter the sanity of any normal adventurer.
The colossal monster was crouched over a mangled pile of corpses, greedily devouring the mutilated remains of its own kind.
With every vicious bite and swallow, the horrific wounds across its body squirmed and healed at a visible rate. A deformed arm suddenly burst from its shattered shoulder blade, thrashing wildly in the air. Immediately after, a bone-spiked tail regrew, scraping harshly against the hard rock floor with every whip-like thrash.
This was the Calamity. This was the Destroyer. This was the walking natural disaster that had completely erased the Astrea Familia from Orario four years ago.
Yet, in Jura's eyes, it didn't inspire terror. To him, it was the pinnacle of supreme beauty.
In stark contrast to Jura's fanatical obsession was the reaction of the werewolf youth standing behind him.
Every hair on his body stood on end, and cold sweat had completely soaked through the leather armor on his back.
Even from nearly a hundred meters away, the pure, undisguised will of destruction radiating from the Juggernaut pierced into the depths of his soul like countless freezing needles.
His legs trembled uncontrollably. Every instinct of survival was screaming at him, urging him to turn around and run away as fast and as far as he could.
But… a sickly thrill wrapped around his heart like a venomous snake.
He glanced at the twisted silhouette of the man in front of him.
If… if Lord Jura could actually tame a monster of this caliber… did that mean they could finally leave this damned Dungeon?
Would they no longer have to scurry around like rats, hiding in the dark, living out their days without ever seeing the sun?
The moment the thought sparked, it spread through his mind like wildfire. Fear and hope—two completely opposing emotions—collided violently within him, leaving him in a state of agonizing anticipation.
"Hahaha… Come here, my precious… let me… tame you!"
Jura spread his arms wide, as if trying to embrace the entire world. His face was contorted with extreme ecstasy, flushed with an eerie red hue.
He felt absolutely zero regret for violating Evilus's strict orders and slipping out of their stronghold with only a single lackey just for this moment.
Hand the Juggernaut over to Evilus? What a joke. Such a perfect work of art, such overwhelming power—it must, and could only be, his and his alone.
He would never forget that day four years ago.
When that overwhelming silhouette first appeared before his eyes, he had indeed been terrified out of his wits, scrambling away pathetically like a stray dog.
But once he dragged himself out of the mire of terror, what replaced it was a bone-deep infatuation.
He had watched with his own eyes as the Juggernaut tore the Astrea Familia apart piece by piece—the very people who constantly paraded their self-righteous "justice," a concept that disgusted him to his core.
The bloody spectacle, the despairing screams—far from making him sick, they had granted him an unprecedented surge of euphoria.
In that moment, he fell deeply, madly in love with it.
To him, the Juggernaut's embodiment of pure destruction and chaos was millions of times more beautiful than any so-called Goddess of Beauty or Virgin Goddess residing in the heavens.
As a tamer, a man whose lifelong pursuit was to command the inhuman, the mere thought of taming an existence like the Juggernaut and bringing it to his heel… just visualizing it made Jura feel as though his body was going to be torn apart by sheer pleasure.
"Slaughter… destroy everything… that overwhelming presence, I want it… I want that thing… I want to make it mine!!"
Jura hugged himself tightly, writhing in place as he let out incoherent moans, fully immersed in his delusional fantasies as if he had already reached an ecstatic climax.
Seeing his superior act like this, the werewolf youth felt a wave of revulsion wash over him. He quietly took two steps back, putting a little more distance between them.
He had always known his boss wasn't right in the head. He was an absolute monster fetishist.
Compared to human girls, beautiful elves, or even lofty goddesses, this bastard preferred the grotesque monsters in the Dungeon, even going so far as to harbor the most primal desires for them.
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