The Master's Floor

Isabella opened her eyes.

The wavering figure of a young girl hung before her.

Sonora.

The girl who had once been a candidate to succeed the queen — the girl Isabella had killed.

"It's true. I killed that child. The queen was a monster who sustained her immortality on the blood of young girls, and because of the curse I could not kill her myself. So I cut short that child's suffering in her place."

The Desert Queen was a monster wearing a human skin. She abducted girls whose blood carried powerful mana, drained them dry, and left them for dead.

After Sonora, it would have been Isabella's turn.

Knowing full well that her own turn would come all the sooner, Isabella had still ended Sonora's pain.

A truth she had never spoken to a living soul.

Isaac, too, looked toward Randolph and opened his mouth.

"Yes. I sabotaged every warp gate in the mining city and sank the place into the Abyss. People who couldn't escape in time were buried with it. Shameless as it is to admit — I was glad. So what? Is it a crime that I cried?"

Serengeti answered with the same flat calm.

"Honestly, when I first met Hudson, I envied his freedom. It's true I used him as a refuge from endless training. But I believe love begins differently for everyone. And Lord Wilhelm is my teacher, the commander I follow, a father I ought to emulate — the feeling I have for him is nothing like what I feel for Hudson."

They had spoken the truth.

But the trial was not over.

Even answering the remaining questions would change nothing.

And yet, in the same breath, all three of them thought the same thing.

Isabella. Isaac. Serengeti.

Every one of them spoke with absolute certainty.

"…This place and these people are all fakes."

"Come to think of it, there's no way the Star-Chosen ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠would ask questions like this. Who the hell do you think you are, throwing questions around as you please, you frauds?"

"That enough of an answer for you, you stupid dungeon?"

In that instant—

Crack—

Fissures began to spider across the dungeon.

The Will could not believe it.

The space and the people had been perfectly reconstructed. Built from their own memories, it should have been impossible for them to tell the fakes apart.

And yet, in the same breath as their answers, they had declared with total conviction that the place was false.

The Chamber of Truth.

A room where one answered questions with honesty.

But that was never the real trial.

The true content of the trial was this: that all three of them would realize the place was fake before the three questions were finished.

How…!

Humans were a species that, once they began to doubt, fell into distrust. Solidarity among them was impossible; they always fractured along the cracks. Not once had that framework ever failed.

What is this? Why are they all so certain?

Doubt was the natural response. Secrets no one else knew had been laid bare!

Expose the secrets, and as they hunted for the one who had exposed them, suspicion would naturally settle on Randolph. Doubt into rage, rage into ruin — a perfect design.

That design had shattered.

In a single moment.

Exposed on the very first question.

And still it made no sense. Faith like that. Trust like that.

What in the world had he shown them? What had they seen that let them believe so unshakably?

Even legendary heroes were black at the core. Noble humans? There were none. Only people who believed such things existed — and that belief was always easy to break.

This time would be no different. The Will had been certain of it.

"So this is where you were. You miserable Will of a so-called Great Creator."

…It had been certain.

The Will stared in panic at the end standing before its eyes.

The Spirit of the Heavenly Realm.

Master Floor.

Just as I expected. The only place that could arbitrarily rewrite a trial and snatch me out of one mid-challenge was here — the Master Floor. The seat of the dungeon's master, where absolute authority was exercised.

When the trial shattered, the Master Floor revealed itself as a matter of course, and in the process the Will had been forced into the open.

—You… what are you…? I have never seen an Irregular like you…!

The Will of a Demigod — a great half-god — looked at me in utter disarray.

Its form was a black shadow. Wearing a crown, seated at a round table, it had been surveying the dungeon and sneering down at it — as if playing a game.

But with defeat closing in, its petty true nature was laid bare.

"Did I not already tell you? I am your end."

I am your ruin.

It was time to finish this long, wretched entanglement. This absurd dungeon was better off gone.

A Trait Dungeon. The name alone made most challengers — myself included — assume you were meant to match your talents and traits against your party members, assemble a balanced team, and clear it that way.

That was wrong.

A Demigod Trait Dungeon was a dungeon you could only clear by knowing the Demigod's traits.

In other words — this thing.

You had to grasp the Will's traits, its garbage disposition, and then break every rule to reach this place.

Damned word games.

Damned Will.

And this was no longer a place of trial. The restrictions that had been binding me were gone as well.

I drew two Extreme Iron Swords.

In that moment—

The Constellations of the Hall of One Hundred Constellations had finally turned their eyes this way.

Their attention wasn't a bad thing in itself — but the fact that they were watching the Will as well as me was mildly irritating.

Kang! Kaaang—!

I swept my blades twice in rapid succession, aiming for its neck. Both strikes bounced off with dull, heavy impacts.

Physical Nullification.

Physical attacks themselves seemed to have no effect at all.

Then how was I supposed to kill it?

Zzzt! Zzzzt!

At the same time, noise began to crawl across the Will's entire body like a broken television screen.

In that state, the Will spoke.

—So. You are the servant Ruin sent. The Absolute Evil dispatched to erase me, the Great Will!

It named me Absolute Evil in the same breath as Ruin. But its condition was clearly different from before.

Phase Two.

As expected — this thing was the final dungeon boss.

—Absolute Evil. Let us play one last game. A game of rightful glory!

…Was it actually insane?

I had no idea where it found the gall to put those two words together. If anything in existence stood furthest from "rightful glory," it was the Will.

Then its crown vanished, and three figures appeared beside the round table.

They wore the exact faces of Isaac, Isabella, and Serengeti.

—Your party members will face mine. But they cannot move on their own. The only ones who move them are you and I!

The noise-riddled Will produced a single sheet of paper.

—Swear the oath, you and your party both! Then you shall become a perfect unity! If you are afraid — if you are terrified — then run, Absolute Evil!

What a joke.

It had pulled out a game stacked overwhelmingly in its own favor and still called it "fair"?

From the look of the contract, I would be able to move my party members' bodies as if they were my own. The problem was that every sensation — pain included — would remain fully intact. If the pain grew severe enough, they might even defy my commands. And no matter how free the control, moving someone else's body was never going to be easy.

"Interesting."

But put another way — this was a real game.

It was exactly like a gamer moving an avatar inside a game. Of course, the feel would be nothing like a mouse and keyboard. But this was Pangenia, and Isaac and Isabella were characters I had raised myself.

The Will had no idea I had been a gamer.

I didn't know how different the control would feel — but if anything, finer control might even be possible…

—The oath is complete! Kwahahahahaha! Let's see you thrash about, Absolute Evil!

The Will laughed like a madman.

Slowly, a crowned man rose from his throne.

And then—

Whoosh—!

Candle flames began to kindle one by one through the dark. One hundred candles, including his own.

"You must have been rather curious yourselves, you fallen ones."

The Constellation of the Brilliant Hero smiled as he looked upon the other Constellations rising above the candle flames.

"A remnant of what was once part of me faces the rising hero of the present age. On whom will you place your stakes?"

The Constellation of the Brilliant Hero goaded the others toward a choice. But it was never going to be an easy one. His power to shape heroes, to craft them, to make others follow them, was truly wondrous — and that was why he had been named the Brilliant Hero. How could anyone surpass him, even if what stood against him was only a leftover scrap of his past?

Whoooosh—!

Then it came.

A vast wave of Golden Rule surged outward like a hailstorm, crashing in from every direction. The currents gathered, reshaped themselves into a golden bird, and settled calmly upon the floor.

Seeing it, the Constellation of the Brilliant Hero smiled all the deeper.

"Constellation of Adventure. You still love hardship and adversity, I see."

The one who made the impossible possible. The being also called the Indomitable Adventurer, for he never surrendered.

His choice — inevitable as it was — drew a laugh from him unbidden.

Whoooosh—!

Whoosh—!

Beginning with the Constellation of Adventure, the Constellations made their choices one after another.

When the Constellation of the Brilliant Hero saw the result, he stroked his chin at the intriguing tally.

Fifty to forty-nine.

Even knowing that the last ability was the real thing — even knowing it was only a remnant of his former self — for the result to come out nearly even…

Was it because of the miraculous mystery he had shown?

But miracles did not happen twice.

"Then I shall place my stake as well."

Behind the Constellation of the Brilliant Hero, Golden Rule began to ripple.

So this is how it feels.

My vision floated in empty air, as if I had become a pure observer. In short, it felt exactly like watching a character through a monitor.

The sensation was deeply familiar. I tried moving all three.

"…!"

Isaac, Isabella, Serengeti — their faces went blank with shock as their bodies moved without their consent. But they surrendered control at once. They knew I was the one moving them.

The feel of playing a game was intact. The problem was multiplayer. I had never controlled three characters at the same time.

"Take all the time you need to prepare. I'll give you that much."

The three on the opposite side spoke in unison — the Will's copies. Perfect replicas of stats and traits, and the Will was handling them with total freedom.

The way it acted as if this were some final act of mercy was nauseating, but it was also proof of how confident it was. Confidence that it could never lose.

I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠shook out my hands a few times, moved my legs, then drew my weapons.

The Will sneered at the sight.

"Already finished preparing? Arrogant little thing. And after I went out of my way to show you mercy…"

Even after bestowing such generous mercy, the insolent wretch still held its nose in the air. The Will shrugged.

Scream and despair.

This was a trial it could not lose.

What?

The Will tilted its head.

It had pictured itself crushing them from the opening of the trial — and at first, it had started with the upper hand, just as planned. Every wound drew a groan from them. Once real pain set in and they began to thrash, control would slip. Once control slipped, their consciousnesses would tangle and they would destroy themselves.

But after the first three attacks, the bastard was blocking everything.

He had experience observing and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠piloting something from the outside.

Did handling undead raise his control skill?

Come to think of it — when he first entered the trial, hadn't he become a Corpse Crow and taken control of the War Wolf alpha? If you could handle undead, you could learn a similar method of control.

But even so…

Kaaang—!

The moment Isaac deflected a blade and dropped low, Isabella drove her sword in as if she had been waiting for that exact opening. Behind them, Serengeti was already erasing every path of retreat.

Perfect coordinated movement.

Slash!

In the end, the Will had no choice but to sacrifice one of Isaac's copy's arms. It threw the remaining two into the fray in a rush, broke the formation, and dragged the copy free — but it still could not understand.

…What is this?

Moving something while observing from outside always produced unnatural motion. But this wasn't merely fluid. This was beyond that.

He's pulling them past their limits.

He was dragging their stats and physical traits to the absolute edge — and then expressing them beyond it. It was the same as the Will's own ability. The Will, too, could take another's body and push it past its limits.

But this bastard was doing it to all three at once.

Was that even possible?

No — more than that.

As if he has done this thousands, tens of thousands of times…

Moving another person's body was not easy. And yet he was doing it as though he had repeated the act across eons.

It made no sense. This was a different order of problem from handling undead. And at the very start, his control had been clumsy beyond words.

The longer this goes, the more perfectly he's synchronizing with them?

In this short a span? That was impossible.

He had clearly been a novice. The very act of observing and moving another body had looked like something he was doing for the first time.

And controlling three people at once?

Impossible.