Madness of the Plains
Orcs were an incredibly belligerent species of monster.
Among the countless monsters I'd encountered so far, few could match their sheer aggression.
Orcs were so belligerent that they viewed everything outside their own group as an enemy.
Even fellow orcs from different tribes were ultimately foes—or prey.
A cruel, aggressive race that didn't hesitate to cannibalize their own kind.
That was the orc.
On the 50th floor, three orc packs were locked in a brutal three-way war.
One was a standard orc group, another consisted of Red Orcs, and the last was a pack of Green Orcs.
They were fiercely contesting control of the Plains Zone territory, and it was a seriously intense battle.
Despite their different skin colors, they showed no hesitation in slaughtering what could be called their own kin.
When they started ripping into and devouring their fallen enemies right there on the spot, even I couldn't help but recoil a little.
I knew they were an aggressive species, but this went beyond aggression into outright savagery.
Truth be told, when I first entered the Plains Zone, I'd harbored some expectations.
Sure, the godawful weather shattered those hopes the moment I arrived, but I'd still been optimistic.
The Plains Zone was home to orcs, and I figured orcs living in organized tribes must have a decent level of intelligence.
At least on par with the lizardmen, so telepathic communication might allow for actual conversation.
But those expectations shattered just like all the others.
Orc belligerence far outstripped whatever intelligence they possessed.
Forget talking—they fought on sight as a matter of course.
That realization hit me hard.
Intelligent conversation with monsters was a luxury.
The labyrinth was, in the end, a world of the strong devouring the weak.
The lizardmen of the 17th floor had been the exception; this was the norm.
Thinking back, every lizardman I'd met after the 17th floor had treated me as an enemy.
Come to think of it, Wise Scale and the 17th-floor lizardmen were the real oddities.
The thought left a faint bitterness in my chest.
Would there never be anyone again with whom I could open up like back then?
Was I asking too much, hoping for casual chats with monsters?
Such thoughts crept in now and then.
What if I had no memories from my human days?
Of course, those human memories had shaped who I was now, but still, I couldn't help pondering it.
If I had only the memories of my current self, without the human Yu Jun-young?
I wouldn't be wrestling with these doubts.
I wouldn't be striving to find someone to talk to.
I could have lived as a pure monster, free of loneliness.
Futile fantasies.
Without human Yu Jun-young, there would be no me.
I shook off the drifting thoughts and refocused.
A light shake of my head, and before me stretched the sight of monsters—or orcs—lost in madness, killing each other.
The place where I belonged now, and would continue to belong.
I gazed at the brutal scene for a moment, then moved.
Today's weather was, as always, utterly miserable.
With no threatening hunters around to worry about, I plunged straight into the three-way battle without hesitation.
Normally, I'd avoid such a dangerous mess at all costs, but not this time.
I just wanted to.
For once, I craved the freedom to move without fretting over risks, numbers, or enemy strength.
I surrendered to the madness filling the plains.
I sensed my own duality.
Once, I'd clung to the scraps of my humanity, yet now I wished even those remnants would vanish.
I saw myself as a full-fledged monster, yet part of me insisted I wasn't quite there.
Stuck in this limbo.
A self-mocking smile slithered across my thoughts at my own hypocrisy.
There was no victor in what could be called a war.
All three sides had taken heavy losses, gaining nothing in return.
A fight with no winners, only losers.
And I was no different.
I gained almost nothing from the battle.
My stats, already pushed to the B-rank limit, didn't budge, and I ended up covered in wounds from clashing with the orcs.
I devoured a few mid-fight, but the energy spent regenerating outweighed what I absorbed.
No matter how you sliced it, a net loss.
I quietly left the battlefield behind.
Even after unleashing myself without restraint, a stuffy ache lingered in my chest.
The 51st floor had notably fouler weather than other Plains Zone layers.
Gale-force winds battered me relentlessly, tossing my body about.
Bad timing, it seemed.
I wanted to move fast, but the storm made it impossible.
I dug a burrow and hunkered down inside.
The storm showed no signs of letting up.
Lately, stray thoughts had been plaguing me more than usual.
In the past, survival left no room for anything else, but now that I was stronger—with some leisure—they crept in.
I wasn't sure if that was good or bad.
Even now was no exception.
Huddled in my burrow, waiting out the weather, my mind wouldn't quiet.
The topic was the same nagging issue I'd pondered sporadically.
No answers, just that familiar tightness in my chest.
Best cure was to move until my head emptied—but this damn weather blocked that.
The Plains Zone and I just don't mix.
The Forest Zone suited me best, after all...
Memories of the lizardmen surfaced unbidden, drawing a quiet sigh.
Nearly a year without real emotional connection—it was lonelier than I'd admit.
If only I had someone to talk to...
As I'd said, expecting that from other monsters was a luxury.
No, it was a luxury even for myself.
Too busy surviving and growing stronger for trivial chats or bonds.
Leisure breeds idle thoughts.
When would this storm end?
Not asking for clear skies—just enough calm to move.
Then I could do something.
The raging tempest finally subsided after three full days.
I stretched my stiff body and emerged.
It was calmer than before, but still wretched weather greeted me.
At least no orcs flying about here.
That was a plus.
The 51st floor wasn't just worse in weather; warp gates were harder to find too.
Nothing particularly hidden about them compared to other floors, yet they eluded me.
Still, diligent searching paid off—I located one.
I warped to the 52nd floor without pause.
The 52nd floor was unremarkable.
Just orcs squabbling over more territory, as usual.
Fewer hunters visible than other floors probably fueled it.
Of course, the weather remained filthy.
The 53rd floor had a layer boss.
A-rank.
One rank below the unicorn I'd seen before, but that unicorn had been the outlier.
Typically, S-rank in the Plains Zone could even claim area boss (zone lord) status.
Each zone had a rough standard for zone lord ranks.
Upper Zone: C-rank. Forest Zone: B-rank. Desert Zone: A-rank.
Plains Zone: S-rank.
These were averages, not absolutes.
Monsters far exceeding the norm—like the ones I'd faced—could become layer or zone bosses.
Those ranks were more like minimum thresholds for zone lords.
A zone lord was, after all, the strongest in its zone.
It had to meet at least that bar.
The 53rd floor's layer boss was an orc.
Not a regular one, but a variant: Black Orc.
With far fiercer visages than standard orcs, they were said to be five to ten times stronger.
Clashing with them firsthand confirmed it was mostly true.
I barely escaped being hunted by a B-rank Black Orc Warrior, thanks to my regeneration.
Among these mighty Black Orcs, the 53rd floor's boss was a Black Orc Shaman.
A spellcaster versed in shamanistic magic, as the name implied.
Normally, with it being a layer boss backed by hordes of minions, I'd have slipped away quietly.
But this time felt different.
Something clicked the moment I learned it was a shaman.
If I could devour its magic stone, wouldn't I gain new magic skills?
I had Poison Magic, but it wasn't the "proper" magic I'd envisioned, so my craving for real spells lingered.
I wanted to hurl fireballs too.
So, for once, I took the risk.
Devour that shaman.
A-rank layer boss with legions of underlings? I had a plan.
I'd risk some danger, but never my life—not like always.
I still had too much left to do, too much I wanted to do.
Poisons came in many varieties.
Mine was specialized for killing, but Poison Magic offered more.
Sleep toxins, paralytics, even hallucinogens—the types and potencies were diverse.
I hadn't needed them much, but properly applied, the possibilities were endless.
Coming to think of it, Poison Magic wasn't so bad after all...
But no, I still wanted fireballs.
The "Fireball" kind.
My Poison Magic was still B-rank.
Not low, but against this foe, not high either.
Instant kill or poisoning? Probably impossible.
Luckily, that's not what I wanted.
Slow and steady poisoning would do.
I'd have to linger here awhile.
The foul weather made me hate it, but it couldn't douse my thirst for fireballs.
Slowly, I released poison into the orc village.
The effects were gradual, but unmistakable.