Ultimate Spin System: Ero Spin?-Chapter 142: Overpower

They slipped through the broken fence like ghosts, feet brushing against damp earth and scattered leaves. The only sounds were the rustling of cloth and the occasional squeak from the slime—quickly hushed by Lucas’s fingers.

The northern path led to the backside of the prison zone, as predicted. The building looked more like a storage shed from the outside, disguised to hide what truly lay beneath. Guard rotations were sloppy—most of them were drunk or asleep at their posts.

Sylmara signaled them to halt near a low stone wall. Peeking over it, they spotted two guards lounging near a metal hatch built into the ground. One leaned against a barrel, eyes half-closed. The other sat cross-legged, a bottle in hand and a smug grin as he watched something—or someone—inside a cage through the iron bars.

A faint whimper drifted through the air.

Lucas clenched his jaw. His eyes darted to Sylmara, who already had her dagger drawn. No hesitation. No mercy.

In one fluid motion, Sylmara was gone from his side. A silent dash, like a shadow sliding through moonlight. The drunk guard barely had time to blink before her blade sank into his throat. He gurgled once—then silence.

The second guard turned in confusion, mouth opening in protest. His eyes locked with Sylmara’s, and for a moment, he seemed to understand death had come. He reached for his weapon—but too late. Sylmara’s dagger flicked, embedding itself in his eye.

Lucas moved up behind her as she retrieved the blade from the corpse’s face without flinching.

But nothing prepared them for what they saw next.

Down the corridor past the now-unlocked bars, a faint lantern illuminated a disgusting sight. A third guard—shirtless, with his pants barely pulled up—stood grinning as he pinned a young elf girl against the wall of her cell.

She trembled beneath him, blood on her lip, her clothes torn, wrists bound.

The guard laughed as he leaned in, completely unaware of the silent footsteps approaching.

And then his laughter stopped.

Sylmara’s hand gripped the back of his head, slamming it into the bars with a crack. Once. Twice. Three times. The sound was wet and final. Blood sprayed across the metal bars like paint on canvas.

She let go when his body slumped lifeless to the ground, and only then did she exhale.

The young elf girl slid down the wall, sobbing, trying to crawl back into the corner of her cage. Lucas knelt beside her, gently placing his hand near—but not touching—her. 𝘧𝓇𝑒𝑒𝑤ℯ𝑏𝓃𝘰𝑣ℯ𝘭.𝘤ℴ𝘮

"You’re safe now," he said softly. "We’re here to get you out."

The girl blinked at him, not quite comprehending. Her lips moved, but no words came out.

Behind them, the slime peeked from Lucas’s shoulder, its glow dimmed. "Bad human... gone?"

Lucas nodded slowly. "Gone."

Sylmara stood motionless for a moment, her blade still dripping. Her usual calm was cracked—something colder had taken its place.

She looked back toward Lucas. "We keep going. There are more cages down there."

Lucas helped the elf girl sit in a corner safely, and they moved forward—deeper into the underground complex.

More cells appeared. Some empty, some filled with weak or unconscious elves. The walls were carved out of stone, damp and dark, lined with chains and stained with years of cruelty.

Then... voices.

Two guards, joking with each other about a "new batch" arriving tomorrow.

Lucas stepped forward first this time, whispering to Sylmara, "My turn."

She gave a nod, stepping aside.

As the guards turned the corner, Lucas was already in motion.

One guard looked up, confused. "Huh—"

Crack.

Lucas’s elbow shattered the man’s nose. He didn’t stop moving—spinning, he slammed the second man into the wall, then twisted his arm behind his back until it broke. The guard screamed, but it was quickly muffled as Lucas covered his mouth and finished him with a swift strike to the throat.

Sylmara raised an eyebrow. "You’ve been learning."

Lucas didn’t answer. His eyes were already scanning the next hallway.

Then they found it.

The central cell.

Unlike the others, this one was heavily barred, with extra locks and a sigil inscribed in blood across the floor. Inside—huddled together—were at least fifteen elves. Older men, injured women, and two small children clinging to their mother’s torn dress.

One of the men—an elf with silver hair and hollow eyes—stepped forward weakly. "Who... are you?"

Sylmara approached the bars, her voice low. "Allies. We’re getting you out."

Lucas examined the locks. "These aren’t standard. I need a few minutes."

Sylmara scanned the surroundings. "We don’t have much time. The outer patrols will notice something’s off soon."

Mbaku’s voice crackled through the crystal pendant on Lucas’s belt.

"We’ve neutralized the barracks. The orcs are getting antsy. You have ten minutes, tops."

Lucas grunted. "Copy."

The slime suddenly wriggled with excitement on his shoulder.

"Slime... help?"

Lucas blinked. "Can you?"

The slime stretched its body down to the lock, then began vibrating—emitting a strange series of pops and pulses. Within seconds, the first lock clicked open. Then the next. And another.

Sylmara’s eyes widened slightly. "Your pet is terrifying."

"Don’t call him a pet," Lucas muttered. "She’s our rogue."

The slime chirped. "Rogue! Rogue slime!"

With the final click, the gate creaked open. The elves stared in disbelief.

Lucas stepped aside. "You’re free. Follow the marked path we cleared. There are others waiting in the forest."

Some of the captives stumbled. Some cried. But all moved—guided by the faint light of hope.

And as the last of them left the cell, Sylmara turned to Lucas.

"One more thing left."

Lucas nodded. "The leader."

From the corridor ahead, the sound of armored boots echoed.

The footsteps grew louder—heavy, deliberate. A thick shadow stretched across the stone corridor, accompanied by the clinking of metal and the low hum of enchanted armor. From the flickering torchlight emerged a man nearly twice Lucas’s size, clad in blackened steel with jagged crimson etchings. His face was obscured by a helmet shaped like a wolf’s skull, and behind him trailed a massive executioner’s blade, leaving grooves in the floor.

Sylmara’s expression turned grim. "That’s their captain."

The armored man stopped a few meters from them. His voice echoed with malice through the helmet. "Who dares release my stock?"

Lucas stepped forward, slowly, the slime quivering silently on his shoulder.

"I do," he said flatly. "Name’s Lucas. You’re about to regret running this freak show."

The captain tilted his head. "You look weak."

Lucas cracked his neck. "Yeah, well, appearances are part of my strategy."

Without warning, the captain lunged—faster than expected for someone in heavy armor. His sword whistled through the air with murderous force.

But Lucas was already gone.

He ducked low, sliding forward with a burst of speed, grabbing a loose chain from the floor, and whipping it upward. The metal wrapped around the captain’s wrist, pulling his strike off-balance just enough for Sylmara to leap in and slice at the gap in his armor.

Sparks flew. Blood didn’t.

"Tch... enchanted plating," Sylmara muttered.

The captain roared, swinging wildly, forcing them both back. His blade slammed into the wall, shattering stone.

Lucas took a breath, feeling the hum of energy beneath his skin—energy he didn’t understand but had started to trust. The strange warmth in his core, the way his hands felt lighter, stronger, ever since that spa... and the pact he didn’t remember agreeing to.

His eyes narrowed.

He surged forward again, dodging a swing by inches. The wind from the blade brushed his face. But this time, he grinned.

Using a broken pipe on the wall, he sprang off it mid-air, landed on the captain’s shoulder, and slammed his palm into the helmet with a burst of force that cracked the steel.

The man stumbled.

Lucas landed behind him, panting but smiling. "Raw power... this makes me feel like an overpowered main character."

Sylmara blinked. "What?"

Lucas smirked. "Nothing. Just realizing I’m kind of awesome."

The captain shook off the hit, now visibly furious. He ripped off the cracked helmet, revealing a face twisted by dark magic—black veins, glowing red eyes.

"You’ll die screaming."

Lucas just stretched his arms. "Yeah? Try me."

And as the man charged again, Lucas’s movements flowed—not just with instinct, but precision. Every step calculated. Every dodge perfect. Like something—or someone—was guiding him.

He ducked under a swing, pivoted on his heel, and punched the man’s exposed ribs. A shockwave exploded from the impact, sending the captain skidding back, crashing into the wall with a grunt of pain.

Sylmara narrowed her eyes. "Lucas... that punch—what level are you?"

Lucas just grinned. "Didn’t check. Too busy surviving."

The captain tried to rise—just as Sylmara appeared beside him and drove her blade clean through his neck.

Blood sprayed.

His body twitched... then went still.

Silence followed.

Lucas stood over the corpse, exhaling slowly. "Okay... that one felt good."

The slime on his shoulder wiggled proudly. "Boss Lucas! Super move!"

Sylmara approached him, wiping blood off her dagger. "You’re different now."

Lucas met her gaze. "Yeah. And I think I’m only getting started."

Behind them, the hallway echoed with the footsteps of the rescued elves returning with allies, their weapons drawn.