Chapter 414
Chapter 414
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 414
Chapter Title: Racial War (53)
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Inside the cabin assigned to the Dusk Tribe aboard the Eternal Train, a heavy silence prevailed.
Urkan and the young warriors who had returned from the 'Station of the Forgotten God' stared blankly into space, as if still lost in a dream.
The expressions of the other warriors watching them were equally complex.
They were all veteran upper-echelon warriors who had weathered countless battles.
Yet it was hard for them to comprehend why these young warriors had followed a mere human.
The problem was, they couldn't exactly scold them for it either.
"He... gave you the tickets?"
"Without asking for anything in return?"
Their gazes were fixed on the golden tickets clutched in the hands of the young warriors, who had yet to snap out of their trance.
It was simply too unbelievable.
"Urkan. No matter how strong that human may be, he can't defy the laws of the Abyss. There's no such thing as a favor without a price. What did he demand in exchange for those tickets? Your souls? Or did you swear allegiance for our entire tribe?"
It was a reasonable question.
In the Abyss, 'free' was just another word for the trap that demanded the steepest price.
But Urkan shook his head.
His eyes held a glimmer of pity.
Pity for those who hadn't witnessed the miracle, those still trapped by outdated laws.
"He showed us the ultimate path we must follow. You saw it too, didn't you? The 'God of Shadows'."
The true essence of shadows they had wandered in darkness their whole lives to find.
Park Chan-woo had proven before Urkan and the young warriors that shadows were not mere darkness, but the records and memories of souls themselves.
The other warriors had seen it too, of course.
The overwhelming, sublime God of Death born from the sacrifice of the Forgotten Gods.
But what did that have to do with the Dusk Tribe?
"He's a human god, not ours."
"I propose an alliance with the humans."
As Urkan declared it firmly, the atmosphere in the cabin grew heavy once more.
They were barely adults, these young warriors.
However, Urkan was the son of the Grand Elder.
And those young warriors all had powerful 'backers'.
That was how they had been allowed to join the Racial War despite their lack of skill.
Shuuuung.
In an instant, their shadows stirred.
The deepest darkness in the center of the cabin welled up like ink, drawing in all the shadows of the room and etching ancient runes onto the walls.
The warriors' shoulders twitched as they read the runes.
Meanwhile, smiles bloomed on the lips of Urkan and the young warriors.
"As expected, the elders have seen it too."
The message was simple.
Urkan turned to the stunned warriors on the opposite side and asked again.
"'Forge friendly relations with the humans'... Are you still opposed?"
The elders themselves had sent their opinion.
This was essentially the will of the entire Dusk Tribe.
With the decree delivered via shadow messenger commanding an alliance, they had no right to refuse.
At that moment, one silent old warrior spoke up.
"...Just what level is that 'human' anyway?"
Level.
The absolute measure of strength in the Abyss.
A level was more than just a number.
It was the very 'rank' of one's existence.
As levels rose, the body grew stronger, the soul deepened, and the scope and depth of one's authority expanded.
A 10-level gap could barely be bridged with skill and equipment, but a 20-level difference was an abyss of despair no talent or miracle could cross.
But that was only below level 100.
Once one surpassed 100 and entered the 'Limit Break' realm, even a single level gap held meaning beyond mere stat increases.
It was the difference in comprehension and dominion over the 'laws'.
Higher levels meant deeper understanding and mastery of the Abyss's fundamental powers.
The same skill cast by a higher-level being exhibited qualitatively different power and effects, with exponentially greater resistance and insight against enemy skills.
Thus, the gap in 'rank' became all the more absolute.
A high-level being simply standing there exerted immense mental pressure on lower beings around them.
Before that overwhelming presence, the weak often crumbled without even displaying their true abilities.
This was the common sense of the Abyss.
This was the only law they knew.
Moreover, the warriors from top-seed races aboard this Eternal Train were the cream of the crop, staking their tribes' pride.
Their levels easily exceeded 130 at minimum, and the leaders from each tribe were monsters who had shattered the level 150 wall.
At such heights, every single level made a visible difference.
And with every one of them equipped in at least Eternal-grade gear, only vastly superior equipment could even dream of bridging the gap.
Yet.
'What level is he?'
'Clearly far beyond other humans.'
What everyone wondered was Park Chan-woo's level.
His identity no longer mattered.
Whether human, primordial, or ancient god, his strength in the Abyss had to be proven by the number called 'level'.
But Park Chan-woo's level was shrouded in complete secrecy.
As a top-seed newcomer making his debut on the Eternal Train, his level info had never been revealed even once.
The Abyss system treated the train interior as a 'safe zone', restricting casual access to others' information.
In this frustrating situation, the warriors could only speculate based on his feats.
"He commanded the baleful god Baal as a summon. To subjugate even a bait version of such a deity requires at least level 150."
"He saved the Forgotten Gods and forged a new one. Considering the sheer mana needed for such a miracle, 150 is too low. 160, no, maybe even 170."
"Didn't Ataraxia kneel? The Dragon of Despair wouldn't submit to anyone below her. Factoring in her level, that human is definitely over 160."
"And look at the armor he wears. Undoubtedly a relic from the Mythic Age. Such divine items devour users whose 'rank' is insufficient. He might be nearing 180."
As the speculations mounted, their expressions shifted from shock to something akin to fear.
Their estimates started at 150 and climbed to 180.
200 was the transcendent realm.
The domain of the Nine Great Lords or the Twelve Sovereigns, unspoken but implicitly excluded—as were any below.
Then it happened.
The Eternal Train began slowing once more.
The heated discussions filling the cabin cooled in an instant.
"Station of the Weakest Crown?"
"A station that hardly ever appears on the Eternal Train."
"Anyone have experience with it?"
The tribal warriors exchanged glances, sharing their knowledge.
The stations the Eternal Train stopped at were completely random.
Sometimes, rarities like this appeared.
And knowledge of such stations gave a massive edge to the informed tribe.
"Ancient records mention it a few times. It's a station that grants temporary authority to the weakest warrior of the weakest tribe, turning it into an unpredictable wildcard."
"Like a bonus game?"
"No. It's the 'Crown Snatching Game'."
"Crown Snatching? Explain in detail."
Those with info on the station engaged in fervent discussion.
"It crowns the lowest-level warrior, providing the key to clear the station. But ownership isn't fixed. If the crowned one dies, the crown immediately passes to the next lowest."
"...Hoh."
Exclamations of intrigue erupted throughout the cabin.
They grasped the station's essence in moments.
If the crown went to the lowest level and passed on death...
"We need to capture them first."
"Take the crowned warrior's entire tribe hostage."
"What nonsense. Kill them."
"'Crown Hunting'..."
"The crown comes with perks. Killing is cleanest."
The weakest wearing the 'crown' would gain temporary great power.
An uncontrollable variable.
Let alone holding their tribe hostage?
If they banded together in rebellion, it could get messy.
The surest way: slaughter them on sight.
Keep passing the crown to the next weakling without letting them wield its power.
The lesser tribes would crumble in terror during the process.
That was the essence of 'Crown Hunting'.
Top tribes thought hunting, not compromise.
Hostages and deals were for the weak.
Two victory plans sparked heated debate in the cabin.
Dominate through endless hunting and fear?
Or control via hostage and profit?
Methods differed, but the conclusion was one.
The 'weakest' was merely a pawn on their chessboard, dancing to their tune.
They never doubted their perfect dominion over the game.
But curiosity stirred too.
Who would get the crown?
Who was the 'weakest'?
In that instant.
Fwaaaah!
Dazzling light bloomed in the center of every cabin aboard the train.
As the light faded, a small crown hovered there—simple yet radiating an eerie authority.
The 'Weakest Crown'.
It spun lazily in the air, seeking its owner.
It passed over the front cabins of top tribes: Dragonkin, Celestial, and the other Twelve Sovereign races.
Over Dragonkin warriors' heads.
Celestial sages' heads.
All the Twelve Sovereigns.
As expected so far.
The crown flew onward to the rear cabins.
Farther and farther, endlessly it seemed.
All eyes focused.
And then.
The crown stopped at the human cabin.
Without the slightest hesitation.
It quietly descended onto the head of Park Chan-woo, who sat with eyes closed.