Floor 23, The Ascent (3)

“…I'm sorry—what?”

At my sudden declaration, Comet just stared at me with a look of utter bewilderment.

“Wh-what do you mean…”

“Pretend to be asleep. Lie down and keep your head down—if you don't want to die in the middle of all this confusion for no reason. Dobby, stay next to Comet.”

“Kkiik! Got it!”

Cutting off Comet's stammering, I started walking toward where the caravan master was.

Axe gripped firmly in hand, my stride was so unswervingly deliberate that ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the mercenaries' eyes turned toward me. And since I was heading straight for the caravan master's side of the camp, the guards came at me with their weapons drawn.

“Lord Kwon Suhyeok? What business do you have?”

“I'd like to see the caravan master.”

“Ah, then please leave your weapons with me before you go in.”

“Didn't I walk in with my axe earlier and no one said a word? Other mercenaries have met him armed as well, haven't they?”

“Ah, well, that is…”

The guard was struck speechless. He had no counterargument, so there was really nothing he could say. But neither could he come out and admit that my bearing itself had unnerved him—doing that would be an admission that even he, who knew what I was capable of, felt the pressure. It would amount to picking a pointless fight with a top-tier mercenary.

Yet before long, the guard seemed to harden his resolve, his expression stiffening as he spoke.

“Ordinarily we wouldn't make an issue of this, but frankly, Lord Kwon Suhyeok, your mood right now is… not good.”

“If I were an assassin, the caravan master would already be dead. I've had more than one chance.”

“That's true enough, but… a man's thoughts can change at any time.”

The others who had been watching the exchange between the guard and me must have sensed the tension in the air as well, because they rose from where they'd been sitting on the sand.

In the brief silence that followed, armed mercenaries and guards closed in around me from every direction. Emboldened by their numerical advantage, the guard opened his mouth again.

“If you will not put down your weapon, you cannot see the caravan master.”

“Fine, fair enough. I have no intention of making a scene either. It's just that there's something I need to discuss.”

I withdrew obediently. Not because I was outnumbered—if every mercenary in this camp came at me at once, I was confident I'd win.

But the caravan master had to die first.

On this open stretch of desert, no one could outrun me, yet there was always the chance the man had insurance tucked away. A teleport scroll, for instance. People with something ugly to hide always kept at least one way to save their own skins. As someone not born of this world, I couldn't begin to guess what kind of contingency might exist—so I had to make absolutely sure and cut off the head first.

I handed my double-bladed axe and dagger over to the guard. He accepted my equipment with a visibly uneasy expression.

He won't like this one bit.

With me coming out like this, even if he suspected me, there was nothing he could do to stop me. Deep down, he'd probably be agonizing over it—what if he kills the caravan master bare-handed? And he'd also be worrying that if he needlessly antagonized me, our relationship would only sour for it.

“…Then if you would state your business, I'll pass it along to the caravan master for you.”

“A minute ago you said I could go in if I handed over my weapons. Are you messing with me?”

“The caravan master is tending to business at the moment. If you'll wait just a little, I'll deliver your message personally.”

Business? At this hour of the night?

That made no sense. I focused my hearing toward the side of the camp where the master's private tent stood.

The sounds I normally filtered out on purpose came drifting in—the wind carrying sand down over the dunes, sparks popping from the bonfire, the skitter of insects in the dark.

And threaded through it all came a woman's voice, broken and splitting. Violence was braided into every sound between her words.

“Please—ugh! Stop… agh!”

“Shut up, you bitch. You want to die?”

He violated men by day… and this was what he did at night.

My heart began to pound and my breathing turned rough.

Things that couldn't even see other people as equals.

Rage surged through me, and with it, the thought crystallized: I was done letting these captives suffer.

I used Flashstep.

I snapped the guard's right arm—the one holding my axe and dagger—broke it at the elbow, and drove it upward.

“Ghk—”

The dagger punched through the guard's throat. In the same motion I twisted his wrist and reclaimed the blade, caught the axe as it tumbled from his nerveless hand, and shifted my body toward the caravan master's tent.

“…Ugh!”

Caught inside the Flashstep, the guard hadn't even had time to fall yet. His balance had simply given out with a hole punched through his neck.

As I closed on the tent, time thickened around me, and the stretched-out sounds of violence grew heavier and closer.

I accelerated, tore roughly through the tent flap, and stepped inside.

The caravan master was straddling a woman who lay collapsed on the ground, half-conscious.

I seized him by the nape of the neck and slammed him into the floor. Then, without a pause, I brought the axe down.

The keen edge tore roughly through the soft flesh of a human body.

Crunch—! The sound of vertebrae shattering, and then, through it, I felt the texture of desert sand against my fingertips.

At the same moment, I released Flashstep.

“AAAAH! Assassins!”

“Find Kwon Suhyeok!”

“…What?”

The instant Flashstep ended, the shouts of mercenaries who'd just discovered the guard's corpse split the night air. And a moment later, the belated, dazed voice of the woman as well.

Just as I thought. The floor not ending even after the caravan master died meant my hunch had been right. Well, if I'd been wrong, my instincts would have stopped me the moment I swung the axe.

Grabbing the master by the hair, I lifted the severed head. Blood trickled steadily down from the ragged stump of his neck.

It was a gruesome sight, and the woman had gone pale with terror, so I spoke to put her a little more at ease.

“What's your name?”

“Huh? Ah… Ellen. My name is Ellen.”

“Ellen. I know it's hard, but get some rest.”

“…Yes.”

The woman, who had been staring back and forth between the dead man's head—tongue lolling out—and me, finally managed a shaky reply.

Carrying the blood-dripping head, I stepped out of the private tent.

Sounds of frantic scrambling filled the camp, and the moment I emerged, I took in the ring of mercenaries and guards surrounding me. Their gazes slid from ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠my face down to my left hand—where the caravan master's severed head dangled.

“Wh-what—the master's dead!”

“Kwon Suhyeok killed the caravan master!”

“Kill him!”

The other merchants screamed at the guards and mercenaries, but no one moved to close the distance. The memory of what I'd shown during the earlier raid had them all cowed, clutching their weapons without daring to use them.

“Kill him! I said kill him!”

“Belm! What are you doing!”

The terrified merchants, frantic with fury, shoved at the guards, but the soldiers stayed rooted to the sand. A standoff, thick with tension.

I threw the caravan master's head at the merchants' feet. Thud—tumble. It rolled across the desert floor and came to rest in front of the merchant who'd been pushing the guards forward, blood still seeping out to stain the sand black.

“I don't want to kill everyone here. Anyone who wishes to defend a man who bought and sold slaves—stay.”

“What—! Kill him! You'll all die in the end anyway!”

The merchants kept shrieking, but the guards and mercenaries didn't so much as flinch. They watched me, only their eyes darting sideways, each measuring the others. The momentum had already swung my way. Against that current, the merchants' words were wasted breath.

“Your money! If this ends like this, what happens to the money? The money's at the destination! Kill us here and you'll never collect!”

“I'll give you one final warning, and I mean every word of it. If you fight me, every one of you dies. Money can always be earned again—as long as you're alive. Only those who would defend the slavers need stay.”

The moment the words left my mouth, one low-tier mercenary spun on his heel and bolted. And starting from him, the vast majority of the mercenaries broke away and abandoned their posts.

What remained were a handful of mercenaries and the guards.

The mercenaries who stayed were the ones who'd been paid handsomely as top-tier fighters to move the slave cargo. The guards, for their part, had been in the merchants' employ from the very start. They'd helped with the slave hunts themselves—there was nowhere for them to run back to.

Well, I'd planned on killing the caravan guards and the slave-running mercenaries from the beginning anyway.

The reason I'd spared the low-tier mercenaries was simple. Comet had told me conditions in his homeland were dire—ever since the Great War ended and peace returned, the mercenaries had lost their livelihoods. So the low-tier ones, like Comet, were likely here chasing coin out of desperation. That didn't earn them absolution, but I had no desire to slaughter every last man without weighing his circumstances.

“W-we can take him! He's alone!”

“Together! Hit him together!”

As the guards and mercenaries swarmed me like moths to a flame, the remaining merchants fell back, hurriedly loading their belongings onto the camels.

I readjusted my grip on the dagger and the axe. I had no intention of letting a single one of them leave alive.

Night in the desert. At the center of the camp, the great bonfire roared while the stench of blood rode the wind and spread through the dark.

The merchants, the guards, and the pitiful few mercenaries who remained were all dead in less than ten minutes.

What was left were the enslaved captives and the low-tier mercenaries—about fifty souls in all.

While the freed captives bowed their heads in thanks over and over, I had the low-tier mercenaries undo the slaves' bindings. In the silence, the only sound that carried clearly was the clatter of iron chains falling onto the sand.

And once every last chain had been unfastened, the eyes of everyone still standing turned toward me. Gazes of gratitude tangled with fear.

Now I'm supposed to pick out whoever's tied to the hidden mission from among the former slaves…

Well, should I just look for someone who seems like a fallen noble?

No. I couldn't assume it had to be someone like that. I swept my gaze slowly over the crowd.

But no one sparked that feeling in me.

Hm… Maybe I should just forget about the caravan master and take them all the way to the original destination, like the trial intended?

Even so, just in case, I asked the group.

“Is there anyone here who absolutely needs to go somewhere—anywhere at all?”

Only silence answered me. Then a man who looked to be in his mid-forties spoke up carefully.

“We were all taken from the same village. When the slavers attacked, our village fell. So even if you ask where we'd go… there's nowhere we can tell you.”

Oh. They were all captured from the same village? And the village itself was destroyed, no less…

Then is the trial simply to deliver them to the original destination after all?

They could settle there and live like ordinary people. The slave market was a black market, after all—no one there would have any way of knowing they'd ever been slaves.

“Then let's head for Bahrein first. It's a major city—there will be ways to earn a living. I'll hold off any attacks on the road, so don't worry. And I'll shake down the merchants' seed money and divide it among you. If it falls short, I'll empty my own pockets to cover the rest.”

The haggard, hollow-eyed people bowed their heads, tears spilling freely.

“Th-thank you…”

“It's been a loud night. If we're moving again tomorrow, everyone should get some sleep now. Good work, all of you.”

After assigning the mercenaries to night watch in rotating shifts, I climbed a sand dune near the camp with Dobby.

Gazing up at the desert night sky thick with stars, I sank deep into thought over the choice I'd made today.

Confronted with a system of slavery that ran against everything I believed in, I had stepped outside the trial I'd been given. There had been reasonably sound grounds for my decision, but… honestly, if you wanted to call it hypocrisy, it was hypocrisy. I'd acted only after confirming my own life was safe.

If this happens again someday, what will I do then?

Among the trials I'd be handed, could I hold on to my principles?

After a long struggle, the conclusion I reached was: I don't know.

My goal was to climb the Tower to the very end. For ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠myself, my family, Ha Heijeong, and for Earth.

I couldn't stake Earth's survival on my convictions—not my own life alone, but the whole planet. So, like today: I'd do what I could, as much as I could, within the limits of what was in my power.

While I was still turning it all over in my mind, Comet came up beside me.

“Something has happened, hasn't it? Now that you have found your guide, I must greet you once more, properly. I am ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Comet Dret—the final Apostle of the Goddess, the Blue Dawn Wind.”