The Great Sun

What on earth was this person saying—someone who'd just moments ago smashed through walls and scorpions alike without breaking a sweat?

The chat exploded at words that were a walking contradiction, but I simply crouched down and rapped my knuckles against the floor a few times.

Only then did the chat flip completely.

The floor—and the ceiling a good three meters above it—was perfectly fine, apart from some old worn marks. I hadn't swung with everything I had, but I'd certainly put my back into it, fully prepared to bulldoze the whole place. And this was the result. Granted, I probably could smash through it if I actually committed my full strength…

Which means we're still on the 2nd floor.

Down in the underground levels, I doubted even my current power could punch a hole through a floor.

THUD! THUD! THUD!

Glancing over, I found Pharaoh slamming his fist into the ground with all his might. He managed to scratch it, but a scratch was exactly what it was—not nearly enough to put any real strain on the floor.

"Insolent, the lot of you."

"What on earth is this place made of?"

"The material itself is nothing but sand. Something has merely been mixed into it."

With those words, Pharaoh dissolved into sand and vanished in an instant. All that walking around had apparently just been him playing games—and the place he reappeared was the entrance leading down to the 3rd underground floor.

The entrance, like the floor and ceiling, hadn't been destroyed either. Above the doorway, a scorpion wearing three golden bands glared down at me.

Stronger than the gate captain, at least.

One band around its neck, and one each on its two pincer-arms. As I drew closer, the Scorpion General began to flush gold. It didn't show as a number, but a considerable surge of energy was rising from below, empowering the General.

I shifted the White Savior into spear form. The Scorpion General raised its pincers at the sight of the spear, but it was useless.

Spear's Roar.

The storm launched from the spearhead tore straight through its hardened shell and blasted the entire area apart. The tempest shredded the General utterly, leaving only three bands rolling across the ground where it had stood.

The bands, still unbroken, holding their shape as they clattered across the floor.

Grace?

"Hold on."

"Yes?"

"Let me have a look at one of those."

Pharaoh took one of the Graces from me. He fiddled with it a few times, then—actually wearing it around his own wrist—handed it back.

"Do you happen to know what this is?"

"You know it better than anyone."

"I beg your pardon?"

At my question, Pharaoh turned his gaze to the Grace. And just like before, it flushed gold.

My brow furrowed on its own.

A legacy. A legacy steeped in Pharaoh's power.

After his defeat at the hands of the Demon Kin thousands of years ago, Pharaoh had lost his original body and transferred himself into a statue. And when I smashed that statue, the vessel he'd inhabited was gone—but not everything he left behind had perished with it.

The Demon Kin's invasion of Pharaoh's empire had been for the pettiest of reasons: to build themselves a personal villa. Nine-tenths of the empire was erased, but one-tenth had remained. It was wartime, and I hadn't had the luxury of inspecting every last monster—but still.

Barring any catastrophic surprises, something like a legacy should have survived.

With Karabus's hammer still floating around out there, it wasn't particularly strange that something like this would turn up here. Except—

Why didn't I notice?

Pharaoh's power was no ordinary force you'd find lying around on some roadside. His authority was singular in its magnificence, and he'd ranked among the five strongest of the countless monsters I had ever faced. Before we entered the ruins, fine—but the moment we set foot inside, I should have sensed it.

"Why, though?"

Even Pharaoh himself—the very owner of that power—hadn't known until he touched it with his own hands.

Pharaoh gave a conspicuous ahem! and strode toward the entrance. He'd crowed about his "great authority" at every turn, yet couldn't even distinguish his own power when he held it. For a man who styled himself the Great Emperor, the very master of that power, it was a monumentally embarrassing situation.

Only now did I understand why Pharaoh was even more on edge than before. To see his own strength—undeniably his—wearing a completely different form and slipping beyond his control would have left anyone unsettled. Unsettled, and frankly disgusted.

I nodded and pushed open the door to the 3rd underground floor.

"We need to find the boss."

"Agreed. I confess I've grown curious to see the creature's face."

Just who was this audacious someone, using Pharaoh's power as their own?

The 3rd floor's quest was scorpion hunting. Unlike the 2nd floor, where the beasts had swarmed in dense numbers, the monsters here were spaced far apart—but Pharaoh moved fast and cleared them all anyway. I could have demolished them all in one blow like before, but there might be a merchant down here, and now that I knew this place was special, I couldn't go around breaking things carelessly.

The murals. I studied the ones on each floor with care, and the viewers in chat, having developed some interest in the story by now, voiced all sorts of opinions.

The murals told of a king of scorpions wearing a golden crown—Scorpio—and the saga of the followers who served him. How this Scorpio one day obtained a great power, cast off his lowly origins, and rose toward godhood. Pharaoh expressed considerable displeasure at all of it, but gathering information took priority, so we left the murals untouched and descended floor by floor.

"Oh."

So we descended for quite a while, down to the 8th underground floor. After taking out the mid-boss of the 8th floor—the level 130 Scorpion High Priest—I leveled up. The first level I'd gained since Primordial Island.

Feeling the absurd amount of experience in my own body, I opened the door to the 9th floor.

"Finally, the 9th underground floor. Ans said the 10th was the last, so there's a good chance the next one down is the boss floor."

"One never knows. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠There may be more to come."

"Fine by me if there is."

It would mean more chances to level up, after all.

Ring!

The 9th floor's quest had appeared. The objective was a complete mystery—nothing but question marks—but it hardly mattered. Every quest I'd seen so far had been a hunt, an exploration, or a destruction, and I could simply attempt all three. Besides, the reward wasn't one token but five, which made it all the more likely this was the floor just before the boss.

"Alright. First, the murals—"

The murals.

It may have begun in squalor.

A being no different from the vermin everyone scorned—that was what Scorpio had been. But after it grasped the Great Sun, everything changed. It became the ruler of this desert, a god to every living creature of the sands. It has vanished now, but its legacy endures still. Someone must carry on its great will.

Someone like me, that is.

The inheritor who received the power of a great existence—Scorpio would now become the ruler of the desert. It would shed the shell of vermin and be reborn as a being of greatness. It would molt, drink deep of the great one's light, and ascend into the heavens. Yes—that is the path forward. Onward and onward it would go…

Until it met someone with wings.

'Great One. Hast thou returned?'

"……"

A man with golden wings was approaching. Unlike every scorpion I'd seen so far, he was humanoid, draped in a black robe. And most notable of all… he wore a mask.

A mask much like Pharaoh's.

"Insolent wretch."

Pharaoh's authority coiled around the man. The man buckled to one knee under the sudden pressure, trembling—but he did not break.

Crrrack…

In fact, he was resisting the power, straining to rise back to his feet. Pharaoh laughed at him.

"You believe you can withstand it?"

"…!"

KRA-KOOM!!!

The surrounding walls dissolved into sand. The black robe crumbled away entirely, and cracks began spidering across the mask. Behind ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the crumbling mask, golden eyes flashed.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

"Uncle Inom—"

"I shall capture that wretch myself. I cannot cede this to—"

"Dodge!"

I yanked Pharaoh backward. He flared with outrage, radiating heat, but swiftly grasped my meaning and drew the heat back in.

Wings.

Golden feathers punched clean through the space where Pharaoh had just been standing.

Ring!