I’m Telling You, I’m Not the Boss Monster!

The Mugan Palace, Rank 7: Shrine of Faith.
A name designed to enrage the Church to no end.
If stealing the Sunblade wasn’t enough, even the dungeon’s name now openly defied their doctrine.
The Church had undoubtedly branded me their ultimate nemesis, and I expected them to rally reinforcements from their high castles. But two days had passed, and there was still no news.
I could understand the delay. Two days was an estimate, and it was likely to take longer.
Having no knowledge of their circumstances, there was no point in rushing them—and, honestly, I didn’t want to meet Rozesha anytime soon. She made me uneasy, like she might devour me whole.
The summons for the 72 Dungeon gathering remained similarly absent.
At this stage, the odds of an invasion from either the Subjugation Command or the Church were slim.
Losing not one but two of their ultimate weapons in such a short time—only a fool would attack without meticulous preparation.
With little to do for now, I made my rounds in the dungeon.
“Kirik! Chief is here!”
“All hail the great chief!”
“Hmm. Keep up the good work.”
“I greet the supreme boss. Are you on patrol?”
“Yes. Keep up the good work.”
I inspected the dungeon, moving between levels.
The insectoid workers were busy repairing the eighth and ninth levels.
The vampire forces were stationed on the first level, diligently maintaining their guard.
“Balutak.”
“Kieek!”
Balutak was supposed to be fulfilling his duties as a sentinel but was caught slacking off.
For once, Isabella wasn’t at his side—odd, but she was probably somewhere close by.
Finally, I entered the lieutenant’s chamber silently.
Charlotte was engrossed in the
at her desk.
The room was neat and orderly, with shelves filled with magic tomes, a crystal orb the size of a human face, neatly arranged pens, and newspapers and documents stained with occasional ink blots.
One new addition caught my eye.
[Charlotte, Lieutenant of the Shrine of Faith, Rank 7 Mugan Palace]
An obsidian nameplate with elegantly engraved letters.
When had she made this?
Despite her usual impassive expression, it seemed she was the most excited about the dungeon’s new status.
“You’re working hard.”
“...Ah, my lord, you’ve arrived.”
Charlotte hadn’t even noticed me enter, fully absorbed in her studies.
It wasn’t just wishful thinking—she truly had potential.

In just two days, she’d gained an entire level.
At her current level, that was an impressive feat.
Giving her the
“You’re progressing quickly. Did you have a breakthrough?”
Her magic circle pupils widened in surprise before she bowed her head.
“I’m deeply honored that you’ve noticed, my lord. As expected, your eyes miss nothing.”
Her magical pupils shimmered, almost glowing with reverence.
“I believe our top priority is Wilhelm’s transformation into an undead. To that end, I’ve been studying Dullahans.”
Dullahans were superior versions of Death Knights.
Their base level was 70, but for heroes, they often exceeded 80. The Dullahan who served as a mid-boss in High Castle was a former hero at level 88.
The transformation had three stringent conditions:
Wilhelm’s body, meeting all three criteria, was currently preserved in ice by Charlotte’s magic.
“I’ll make sure to learn from the mistakes made with Balmunc and succeed this time.”
Creating a Dullahan, a creature on par with a high-level lich, required exceptional necromancy skills.
Even with the conditions fulfilled, success depended entirely on the necromancer’s ability.
Charlotte, now a Demonkin well-versed in the
, seemed more than capable.
“I’m counting on you.”
“I will not fail to meet your expectations.”
With that, I left her to her work, not wanting to disrupt her focus.
I was starting to enjoy some peace, but as an undead, I couldn’t eat, sleep, or indulge in any comforts.
Maybe I should study magic like Charlotte. Or perhaps focus on mastering swordsmanship.
With [Advanced Swordsmanship] as a passive trait and an EX-grade sword as my bound item, learning more about combat wouldn’t be a bad idea.
***
In the southern part of the Empire lay Solarion, a city governed by the Papal State.
Though geographically part of the Empire, the Pope wielded absolute authority over its lands.
The city itself was divided into major and minor dioceses, each managed by cardinals and archbishops like feudal lords. Effectively, it was an independent nation.
If the Empire had its capital, Solarian boasted its Holy See.
In the heart of the Holy See, within the Papal Palace, gathered the high-ranking clergy responsible for the dioceses.
The reason for this meeting was singular: Wilhelm’s death.
“Your Holiness, this is an opportunity,” a cardinal declared, his intentions thinly veiled.
Opportunity. Indeed, Wilhelm’s demise presented a chance.
Although Wilhelm officially belonged to the Empire, his role as a hero was directly tied to the Church.
Now, he was dead—killed under the Subjugation Command’s orders, and the awakened Sunblade had been stolen.
This failure could be leveraged against the Subjugation Command and the Imperial Court, demanding reparations. But this was merely the surface.
For those in the Holy See who dreamed of independence, it was a golden opportunity.
“Not just symbolic autonomy as before. This is our chance to gain formal recognition as a city-state.”
The Empire’s stance toward the Holy See had always been ambivalent.
Nominally granting autonomy, yet occasionally interfering in its affairs. Wilhelm’s deployment had been heavily influenced by the Imperial Court, practically a forced decision.
This history of imperial meddling had long irked the Holy See’s leadership, fueling their desire for complete independence.
Now was the time.
The Subjugation Command, a key imperial institution, was the remnant of the old military legacy from the Unification Wars—a powerful entity fully backed by the Emperor.
But a significant failure like this shook its foundations and left a deep scar on the Church.
“Your Eminence, Cardinal, we cannot proceed with this plan,” an archbishop countered, prompting a scowl from the cardinal.
“What do you mean? If not now, then when shall we declare independence?”
“If we act now, it will not be independence—it will be division. Your Holiness, may I speak?”
The Pope, silent until now, nodded.
“The Empire is already faltering. As you all know, the newly risen Mugan Palace is the cause.
If we declare independence amidst this calamity, how will humanity perceive it?”
Declaring independence during a time of crisis would only be seen as divisive, an act of self-interest.
“Instead, we must align ourselves with the Empire. While it’s possible to exploit this failure for our gain, working with the Empire and demonstrating the Church’s contributions could earn formal recognition from the Imperial Court.”
“A sound argument,” the Pope concurred.
The Holy See’s ultimate aim was humanity’s welfare. Therefore, any move toward independence must align with that purpose.
“Let us focus on retrieving the late Sir Wilhelm’s Sunblade. That must be our top priority.”
The Shrine of Faith was now part of the newly risen Mugan Palace.
The Church’s strength alone was insufficient to reclaim it.
“We must work with the Empire to see this through.”
The room fell silent. A silence that signaled agreement.
No one dared to oppose the Pope’s conviction.
The meeting seemed to reach its conclusion.
“Yet... an undead wielding the Sunblade?”
An archbishop voiced the collective unease.
The Sunblade, once in Wilhelm’s grasp, had passed into the hands of an undead—the boss of the newly risen Mugan Palace.
Dozens of knights, all direct servants of the Church, corroborated the tale.
“That undead... could it be Lucas?”
A collective sigh spread across the room.
Lucas Diantree.
A former Solarian hero, a man once considered the brightest light of his time.
One of the knights who had escaped from the Mugan Palace had claimed:
“The Sunblade’s radiance was more brilliant than Sir Wilhelm’s... just like it was 10 years ago!”
From the Sunblade’s inception, the most dazzling brilliance it had ever emitted was in the hands of one man—Lucas.
When he awakened the Sunblade, it was said to shine brighter than the sun itself.
“I agree. This isn’t just the Sunblade—it’s the awakened Sunblade.
And only three heroes in history have ever awakened it.”
According to the knights’ reports, the sword had flown from Wilhelm’s hands into those of a Death Knight.
This suggested that the Death Knight’s connection to the sword surpassed Wilhelm’s.
“Still... could a hero really...”
“It’s plausible, isn’t it? A mere Death Knight being the boss of Mugan Palace is unthinkable. But a hero? That would explain everything.”
If the Death Knight were indeed a fallen hero, it would make sense for him to lead the Mugan Palace.
To become an undead naturally, without the intervention of a necromancer, one prerequisite was required:
A profound hatred for humanity.
Not even a dungeon core could transform someone into an undead without this condition.
And the only hero who had died harboring such hatred was Lucas.
“A tragic tale.”
“It all comes back to those witches. If not for them, Lucas wouldn’t have died.”
“Indeed. Those vile women!”
The room erupted into murmurs of disdain.
Lucas’s execution had occurred 10 years ago, during the height of the Empire’s witch hunts.
Ten years prior, a small village of witches had existed on the northern frontier.
The witches had lived in hiding, but no secret lasts forever.
Once discovered, the Imperial Court dispatched a hero and knights to eradicate them.
“Archbishop Kellen, you were dispatched with Lucas back then, weren’t you?”
“Yes. I was close to Lucas.”
Archbishop Kellen closed his eyes, recalling that day.
A burning forest.
The knights slaughtering witches.
Lucas standing against them, shielding the witches.
Rather than exterminating the witches for the Empire, Lucas had turned his blade against the knights, defending those he was sent to destroy.
“Lucas... was a pitiable man.”
Had he been at full strength, Lucas could have overpowered the knights, evacuated the witches, and escaped unscathed.
But he lost. Captured and betrayed.
“I still remember it clearly. During the chaos, a young witch lost control of her magic, devastating the forest. The knights were too afraid to approach her. I was as well.”
Lucas alone had stepped into the inferno.
He subdued the witch, but at the cost of his eyes.
Blind and vulnerable, he was captured while the witches were hunted down.
“If not for that young witch, who knows? Lucas might still be alive, living in obscurity.”
“A foolish man. He saved a witch only to die because of them. He even lost his eyes protecting a child!”
“A death without meaning, no better than a dog’s.”
The witch hunts had been at their peak.
For defending witches and betraying the Empire, Lucas’s execution was inevitable.
Kellen remembered Lucas’s final words on the scaffold:
The Emperor had been furious. He ordered witches to be executed before Lucas’s sightless eyes.
One after another, their heads rolled.
Blind though he was, Lucas had felt the horror, heard the cries, and smelled the blood.
Tears of blood streamed from his empty sockets as he uttered a final curse:
Archbishop Kellen shook his head, trying to dispel the memory.
That Lucas might have returned as the boss of Mugan Palace...
No. It couldn’t be.
The awakened Sunblade, a divine mandate, now in the hands of an undead Lucas?
No. Surely not.
The thought flickered through their faith but vanished just as quickly.
For the gods always watched over humanity.