The Crow God's Forfeit

"Did you just get scared of Emperor Penguin?"

"Boooo!"

The crowd hurled jeers. For any challenger climbing the Tower of the War God, this was pure humiliation. Yet Karas simply turned his back and walked out of the arena, as if he harbored not a shred of regret over the outcome.

It went beyond shock. It was absurd. And Sancha felt the same way.

"…Has he lost his mind?"

Sancha's face twisted into a scowl. Karas had been a kind of wedge — a tool to test Emperor Penguin's limits and draw the current Champion's attention. But this accomplished nothing. Walking out without doing a single thing threw Sancha's entire plan into complete disarray.

"Why the hell…?"

No matter how he turned it over, it made no sense. If Karas had intended to forfeit from the start, he never would have entered the match at all. He had clearly recognized Emperor Penguin — and only then thrown in the towel. Had they exchanged looks and struck some kind of deal?

Karas isn't the type you can bargain with.

Sancha shook his head. The only one who could move Karas was himself. He alone held Karas's sole weakness, and that was the only leash that worked. There was no ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠way Emperor Penguin knew about it.

So what was the reason?

"…Look into Emperor Penguin."

There was something. Challengers ascending the Tower of the War God were guaranteed anonymity of identity — but with Emperor Penguin, there was clearly something Sancha needed to know.

At Sancha's command, the Tower's shadows began to move. Now that he had drawn Sancha's interest, Emperor Penguin's true identity would be laid bare down to the last detail. And whatever that identity turned out to be—

Emperor Penguin. What is your weakness?

He would seize it, and he would shake it. He wasn't worried. He had the ability to uncover even a Demigod's fatal vulnerability.

—You are…

Karas. Before he left, a voice had resonated inside my head. His voice.

—Of the Omen Clan, I see.

He had seen straight through me in an instant. The Omen Clan, though. He was clearly referring to the Dreadful Omen. I had fused with Baal and become the One Who Blooms Darkness, but the original form itself had never vanished — so perhaps that was how Karas recognized it. After all, Karas himself wore the face of a crow.

Was that not a concept? Was he an actual crow?

…I'd thought that face was just for show. Did that mean Karas was the god of the crow clan?

But neither level nor information appeared. The Tower's blessing was blocking the Hidden Trait Great Sage. That restriction, however, applied only inside the Tower. If I could drag Karas outside it, the story would change entirely.

And that Tip was no ordinary hint. It meant that raising the level of Truth-Seeking would let me see through even those who possessed godhood. This was a glimpse of the potential locked inside the Great Sage Hidden Trait.

Karas continued.

—I never expected to see the vanished Omen Clan again. Your people originally "administered" this Tower — which makes you a descendant of its king…

Wait.

The Omen Clan administered the Tower of the War God?

Crows. But they wouldn't have been ordinary crows. I suddenly recalled the crows I had summoned when I became the Dreadful Omen. Those crows I had called forth to pressure Baal — the ones that summoned a sun of flowing blood — had been on an entirely different level from common crows.

Could those have been the Omen Clan?

After that, Karas forfeited. His attitude made it clear he had no reason to fight one of the Omen Clan. If anything, there was almost a sense of kinship in it.

—Beware Sancha, the Tower's administrator. He is a very different sort from anyone you have faced thus far.

Leaving only those final words, he turned without hesitation and strode out.

The eighteenth floor.

Only two flights of stairs remained between me and the Champion. But I couldn't shake the unease.

This isn't enough.

Sancha had sent Karas to the seventeenth floor for a reason. But Karas had forfeited, and the Champion had shown no particular reaction either.

He wanted to see my real strength.

I had thoroughly toyed with my opponents, but that alone hadn't been sufficient. The crowd's response had been electric, yet I still wasn't regarded as Champion material. So Sancha had clearly sent Karas out to force a proper display of my ability — as if only defeating someone of Karas's caliber would earn the right to challenge the Champion.

Which meant, of course, that the current Champion was stronger than Karas, the Tower's master and a Demigod. A powerhouse even Wilhelm had never faced. I was genuinely curious what kind of monster he was.

There's only one answer.

If he wanted a show, I would give him one. The only question was the method — through whom I would demonstrate it.

Every opponent so far had been far too soft. Not one of them had been a proper match for my blade. Even Karas, the one I'd thought might manage it, had forfeited.

"'Rabbit Girl' challenges 'Emperor Penguin'!"

"How did this happen?"

"The two super rookies finally face off!"

Auryll.

It was time to play the card I'd been holding back.

Auryll drew a deep breath.

—Come at me with everything you have. As if you mean to kill me.

Another chance to face Randolph had been given to her.

This time, I will not make the same mistakes.

She had charged in far too recklessly. Without even trying to read her opponent, she had simply swung her sword like a brute. As a result, she had lost without showing even half her true ability.

But now…

Now that she no longer feared Randolph's desire, the outcome might be different.

My laurel leaves have grown significantly, too.

Ever since forming the contract with Randolph, Auryll's laurel leaves had been growing continuously — a miracle so absurd she could scarcely believe her own eyes. Her leaves had been essentially stagnant compared to other elves.

"Emperor Penguin and Rabbit Girl! Both are terrifying newcomers climbing the Tower undefeated!"

"The Rage-Inducer versus the Rabbit Girl who ends every opponent in under three seconds!"

"Ah… I honestly can't call this one at all."

The announcers stoked the hype. The audience, eyes wide, hung on the coming clash between the two.

I'm not afraid anymore.

Auryll looked at Randolph. That colossal, overwhelming desire no longer frightened her. And the terrible "scent" she always caught from other humans was absent as well. Randolph was truly different from other humans — so different that it only made her more conscious of him.

I'm going to win. Without fail.

Auryll raised her sword.

It's time I let go of this attachment.

The Champion was still gazing down at the lower floors of the Tower. For an entire year he had watched the floors below, waiting for Wilhelm — hoping he would climb the Tower once more and challenge him again.

But Wilhelm would never return. He had died on the Great Expedition. How could a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠man slain by the Demon King ever ascend the Tower of the War God again?

According to this Star's Memory… Wilhelm's death is certain.

Wilhelm's memories, engraved upon the star. Not all of them, but several had flowed into him. One was the scene of Wilhelm dying at the Demon King's hands, his body seized. And buried among them was a single memory related to the "final sword technique."

Wilhelm's swordsmanship. Creation of Heaven and Earth — Byeok, the Wall.

It wasn't complete. But even seeing only a fragment sent a shiver through him. Wilhelm's sword style, Creation of Heaven and Earth — and of its stages, the final "Byeok" was a blade that could kill a god.

To use "Byeok," however, he needed the rest of Wilhelm's stars. Only by gathering every star could "Byeok" be wielded in its perfect form. And if the star he currently held — this fragment of Wilhelm's star — were ever taken by the Demon King, the result would be catastrophic.

The ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Demon King is searching for Wilhelm's stars.

The Champion was certain of it. The Demon King was hunting Wilhelm's scattered stars. Instinctively, he would know the location of the star that had once nested in his own flesh. Even if the Champion did nothing, the Demon King would find him soon enough.

How did he know? He simply did — an instinctive certainty that rose unbidden. And when that time came… this Tower would fall as well. Neither Sancha, nor Karas, nor the Champion himself would be able to stop the Demon King. No one alive could stop the Demon King as he was now.

So he had said nothing. Of course, he had no intention of handing anything over easily.

That aside…

The Champion closed his eyes. The remaining grace period before the Demon King found him. He had decided to cast off his attachment. That meant he needed to decide what to do next.

So Karas forfeited.

Yesterday's news surfaced unbidden. In the history of the Tower, a being of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Demigod rank like Karas forfeiting to someone was unprecedented. Even under Sancha's control, once Karas entered a match he always gave his all. His pride would never allow him to surrender.

And yet that same Karas had surrendered the moment he laid eyes on Emperor Penguin.

Why?

Had he been certain he couldn't win? Or had he seen something else entirely in Emperor Penguin?

Either way, the fact had stirred the Champion's interest.

I should take a look.

The Champion opened his eyes. No attachment remained in them. Waiting for someone who was gone — someone who no longer existed — was the height of foolishness. He had sustained that foolish attachment for a full year, but it was time to let it go.

For the first time in ages, the Champion descended to the lower floors of the Tower. He was mildly curious about the Emperor Penguin who had forced Karas to yield. After a full year, he had finally moved of his own accord — to watch the match between Rabbit Girl and Emperor Penguin.

An elf?

But the Champion's gaze locked onto Rabbit Girl rather than Emperor Penguin. He had recognized her as an elf. She was concealing it, but she could not deceive his eyes.

Why is an elf climbing the Tower of the War God?

They were, without question, the most reclusive race in existence. It was a truly strange and fascinating sight.

As for Emperor Penguin—

That one is strange as well.

Something odd was mixed into him. Not one or two things — many. He already felt as though he had crossed a line that no human should cross. That was why the Champion couldn't properly read him. This, it seemed, was why Karas had surrendered.

Still, he won't measure up to Wilhelm.

The one who had made his heart race. The knight among knights, whose matches alone had driven his pulse into a frenzy.

…Strange.

But why, then? Why did Emperor Penguin's stance look so familiar? That knight's movements — the ones he had recalled countless times over the past year. The Champion was certain no one had replayed their duel in their mind more times than he had.

But that was impossible. It was simply that he still hadn't fully cast off his attachment.

And then the match began.

"That… sword style…?"

The Champion's expression hardened.

Auryll reviewed their previous fight.

Lord Randolph's swordsmanship is a technique that seizes space.

Step inside his domain and you are seized, dominated. Every movement is read; your body feels as though it has turned to stone, endlessly sluggish.

But Auryll had looked at the technique from a different angle.

The true nature of that swordsmanship is reading the opponent's consciousness.

It wasn't a technique that literally seized space. He simply read the consciousness of whoever faced him and struck according to that consciousness. If her theory was correct, there was only one way to face him with a sword.

The unconscious.

A realm where the sword is not conscious. A technique that does not think through every movement — that simply extends wherever the hand reaches. And that unconscious technique was not something you could use simply because you wanted to.

The unconscious, in the end, means letting the body react on its own.

But among the Laurel Warriors, she prided herself on being the finest swordsman. She had trained harder than anyone — she was the sword itself, for all practical purposes.

Auryll slowly closed her eyes.