Chapter 50

Chapter 50
The city of Lartania, a maze of stone.

This was a city built around a dungeon whose ultimate depths remained a mystery, a place where greater riches and ancient relics were said to be found the further down one ventured.

It was home to countless adventurers and hired swords.

The most powerful entities in this city were the five major guilds:

Bloody Iron, Terranomad, Arcadia, Ancient Tracker, and Kalymadra.

The might possessed by these five guilds was on an entirely different level from that of any ordinary band of mercenaries or explorers.

The gap in power between them and a common guild was immense.

The masters of these five great guilds had, in truth, transcended the realm of ordinary humanity.

Their strength was such that they were deemed superhuman.

One of them was Aldric, master of Bloody Iron, who had once earned the epithet “Butcher” for single-handedly cutting down over a thousand monsters on the 10th floor.

He was currently making his way down into the labyrinth.
His purpose today, however, was not to push toward the deepest level, but to fulfill a major contract that had been offered to Bloody Iron.

“Capture a single monster on the 20th floor…”

Aldric, his enormous axe resting on his shoulder, wore a strange look.

He had good reason—there was something off about the request.

In the Lartania labyrinth, every fifth floor featured an area devoid of monsters, a space that didn’t quite fit the conventional idea of a dungeon.

The deeper one went, these levels, referred to by mercenaries as safety zones, began to feature unfamiliar landscapes and structures.

But one rule held true—there were no monsters there.

Yet, this highly lucrative job was to capture a monster from one of these safe floors, the 20th.

It was undeniably bizarre.

Even so, Aldric was leading his subordinates down to the 20th floor because the upfront payment was considerable, and, more importantly, the client had made one point explicitly clear:

“Even if you do not succeed in the mission, you may keep the advance.”

That was the reason Aldric now found himself descending to the 20th floor.

“This could be an ambush.”

Though the thought crossed his mind, he wasn’t especially fearful.

He had spent enough time on the 50th floor, regarded as the labyrinth’s bottom, and was confident he could escape even if something went awry on the 20th.

And so, Aldric and his team descended.

“We’ve arrived at the 20th floor.”

Soon, just as the client had stated, they reached their destination.

The area was dominated by vast, ancient ruins.

“What is that?”
“A monster?”
“…Chief, there really is a monster here.”

To their astonishment, they saw a monster, exactly as described.

“But…”
“Isn’t that a goblin?”
“You’re kidding.”

And it wasn’t just any monster—it was a goblin, widely considered among the weakest of creatures.

“There’s truly a monster on the 20th floor?”
“Incredible. If we capture that thing, we’ll get even more than the advance?”
“This is like stumbling upon a golden goose.”
“It’s even wearing clothes… Eastern-style garb?”

Aldric’s subordinates laughed and pointed at the goblin, for every one of them had slain thousands of goblins during their expeditions to the lower floors.

As the group chuckled—

“Ha-”

The goblin, which had been gazing vacantly at the ruins, let out a sigh and turned around.

“Insects… you are noisy.”

The goblin spoke in a clear voice that did not match its form, its eyes holding a lazy look.

Then, it moved its finger.
From left to right.

And then—

“Wha-?”

In that instant, the mercenaries who had been jeering at the goblin were cleanly sliced in two.

That was all.

With a soft, wet sound, the five mercenaries who had fought beside Aldric for years were dead in a moment.

As Aldric, sensing an instinctual threat, raised his axe, he saw them.
The goblin’s eyes, far too intelligent for a mere goblin, were fixed directly on him, filled with only two emotions:

Arrogance and—

Thud.
—Contempt.

The last thing Aldric perceived was that, and nothing more.
There was nothing after that.

As the terrified screams of the remaining mercenaries echoed, his consciousness faded into blackness.

Not long after, he—or rather, the King of the Ghouls—who had dispatched all the mercenaries that had descended to the 20th floor, began to move toward the surface.

***

Following the debates at the academy, the friendly matches typically begin.
The format is such that the wizard designated for the match steps forward and selects their own opponent.

In other words, any wizard present as a spectator could be called out.

However, a wizard with the right to choose an opponent seldom challenges someone far beneath their own standing.

To challenge a wizard of much lower rank would invite talk that they were picking on someone weaker.

Conversely, to challenge someone much stronger could lead to a humiliating defeat and risk offending a superior.

Wizards are, by their very nature, proud beings.

Thus, it was generally understood that a wizard with the right to choose would select someone of a comparable rank, and even Alon was aware of this custom.

‘…If I recall, Baruch was around the 4th rank?’
Sensing the curious stares from those around him, Alon remembered the glare Liyan had directed at Baruch the day before.

‘He is one rank above me.’

In the world of wizards, rank creates a substantial divide.

The higher the rank, the greater that divide becomes, so the difference in power between, for instance, the 7th and 8th ranks was vast, despite being only a single step apart.

‘…To be 4th rank at his age, even if he isn’t as skilled as Penia, he is clearly a prodigy.’
As Alon considered this, observing Baruch, who did not appear very old despite his high rank—

“Surely the great wizard who aided in subduing a mighty outer god isn’t frightened, is he?”

Baruch’s voice suddenly cut through the air.

His words, a transparent taunt, startled even the wizards who had been watching the proceedings with interest.

Baruch’s statement was an obvious insinuation that Alon’s reputation might be built on rumors, and Alon immediately understood his intention.

‘He is attempting to provoke me.’

Though he couldn’t be certain of Baruch’s precise motives, Alon found them irrelevant.

To him, this was reason enough.

‘If someone tries to provoke you without cause, give them a cause.’
Alon was not one to tolerate disrespect, particularly from someone who did not appear overwhelmingly powerful.

‘It seems I’ll get to test this in a real fight sooner than anticipated.’

Sliding a magically-enhanced glove onto his index finger, Alon spoke.
“I accept.”

And with that, the duel was arranged.

***

“Everything is proceeding as planned.”

Baruch, the son of the Violet Tower Master and a fellow 4th-rank wizard like Liyan, smiled inwardly under the collective gaze of Alon and the surrounding wizards.

Provoking Alon to enter the arena had been his objective from the start.

More precisely, it was his scheme to draw a greater share of the spotlight onto himself.

While being the son of the Violet Tower Master already granted him significant influence within the academy, Baruch desired more.

That is why he had decided to make use of Count Palatio, who had only arrived at the academy the previous day.

Count Palatio, a man who seemed to bring a storm of gossip wherever he went.

Smirking to himself, Baruch shot a glance at Alon.

He was well-informed of the rumors surrounding Alon.

It was said that Alon had played a crucial part in dealing with an outer god in the northern regions.

More recently, he had supposedly assisted a ‘golden flash’ in subduing two ambushing Baba Yagas in the desert city of Colony.

And then, as of yesterday, the most incredible rumor of all was spreading—that he had somehow managed to tame the infamous troublemaker, Penia.

Consequently, the wizards of the academy had inflated Alon’s reputation based on these tales.

In other words, if the rumors held any truth, Baruch had just made a grave error by challenging him.

But Baruch had not acted without forethought.

He subtly raised his right hand and channeled a trickle of magic into the plain ring on his finger.

Bzzz—
The ring emitted a faint hum, perceptible only to the most attentive, and then projected a number:

3.

A grin spread across Baruch’s face as he saw the digit.

The ring he wore was an artifact capable of projecting a weak pulse of magic to roughly assess a person’s rank and magical strength.

‘Just as I suspected, he is weak.’
Just like the day before.

And just like the last check he had performed before the provocation, the ring indicated Alon’s rank as 3.

Baruch’s confidence stemmed from this ring.

While it wasn’t particularly useful in most situations, within the academy it was invaluable for exposing wizards who inflated their claimed power.

Thanks to this ring, Baruch had managed to climb the academy’s social ladder by targeting those individuals who boasted of strength they did not possess.

‘And now I’ve hooked a very large fish.’
Baruch had been able to provoke Alon without a second thought because of his absolute faith in the ring’s assessment.

“Are both participants ready?”
“Ready.”
“Yes.”

Replying to the query, Baruch summoned his magic with practiced ease.

‘…That rumor about him taming Penia is a little worrying, but the ring has never failed me. There’s simply no way his magic is that potent.’
Baruch contemplated how to handle Alon.

‘Should I end this quickly? No, if it ends too fast, the impact will be lessened. Perhaps I should toy with him a little. But if I drag it out too long, it could look bad. Once it’s clear that this Count’s abilities are mere fiction, my own reputation, which should be rising, might suffer needlessly… Yes, it’s better to conclude this somewhat promptly.’

He gripped his staff, already picturing the method of Alon’s defeat.

“As both of you know, the use of magic that could threaten your opponent’s life is forbidden, so please control the output accordingly. Now—”

Thud!
“Begin.”

The match commenced with a light tap from the referee’s staff.

Baruch, his confident smile firmly in place, began to move into action when—
“Huh?”

He noticed a white plume of breath escaping his lips.

Stunned by this sudden development, which occurred too swiftly for his mind to properly process, Baruch soon registered the chill filling his lungs.

Just as he started to question it—
“What?”

Crack—!
He belatedly realized the ice solidifying around his calves.

Crack—crack—!
And it wasn’t just his calves.

“I-”
Looking around, he saw that the entire arena was freezing over.

A white frost raced across the ground, rapidly claiming the territory and transforming the entire vicinity into a frozen landscape.

And at the heart of this frozen wasteland, he saw him.
A man, standing imposingly in the arena, his face a blank mask, devoid of emotion.

Clad in black, ominous armor, from which a dark, chilling magic seeped forth, freezing everything it touched.

“Ah.”
And in that moment, Baruch understood.
Something had gone horribly, terribly wrong.

However, by the time this realization dawned—
“Glory of the Snowy Mountains.”

—Alon had already uttered the incantation.