The White King's Proclamation

And yet that very being was himself.

Defeated by a mere crow?

But the White King's next words left Dae-to-ryong speechless.

"He may be the only existence capable of killing me."

"······!!!!!"

It was the first time the White King had ever said such a thing. If someone could kill the White King, then for Dae-to-ryong there was nothing further to argue. The other Four Pillars felt the same.

"What the Fifth Lord desires is an equal seat. In other words, he has no wish to make an enemy of me either. Now that we have reached a mutual understanding, there is no reason not to accept the bargain."

"B-but, my lord! We cannot even be certain where the Fang is!"

At the end of their exchange, the Fifth Lord had proposed a deal. The White King's Fang, lost to Wilhelm. He claimed to know where it had gone after Wilhelm's death.

"No. The Fifth Lord's words are true."

Had ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠he simply said it was somewhere in the Labyrinth, they would have dismissed it as a lie. But the Fifth Lord had added a detail that carried real weight.

—After its bearer died, the Fang was transferred to a special place. Caw.

—Even if I told you, it is a place none of you could ever reach. Caw.

Transferred to a place that even the great White King and the Four Pillars could not reach. That meant someone had deliberately moved it—after Wilhelm fell in the Great Expedition.

Randolph was certain that only he knew of it, and only he could reach it. And so he had asked what they would offer in exchange for the Fang's return.

Equal value. I will not trade for anything less than something of matching worth.

But something equal in value to his own Fang? No such thing existed. The White King's Fang was the most precious thing in the world. How could he surrender something equally precious?

"What must I give to reclaim the Fang?"

"You mean… you will accept the bargain…?"

Dae-to-ryong spoke with a half-dazed expression, overwhelmed by the sudden flood of impossible revelations. The White King merely shrugged.

"Accepting it is not the problem. The true problem is what to offer. It must match the Fang's worth, and it must also satisfy the Fifth Lord."

After a stretch of silence, Dae-to-ryong finally spoke, half in surrender.

"…There is one thing, is there not?"

"······ One thing? Don't tell me you mean what I think you mean."

"Yes."

"You are speaking of my daughter?"

"Yes."

"······ Hmm."

The White King stroked his chin. He did have one precious daughter—a child he would not trade for the world, a daughter he cherished as much as the Fang itself, if not more.

"Is Randolph a male?"

"Would he not be?"

"Hmmm. The boy is still in training, is he not?"

"Have you not heard that the Black King's forces are gathering at the Mountain of the Cultivator? We would have to extract her regardless."

"As schemes go, it is a scheme… but…"

The White King sighed deeply. Randolph—the sole being who might one day kill him. Bind that man to his daughter in marriage, and every danger would vanish. He would also gain a powerful ally for eternity.

The problem lay elsewhere.

I am not certain she will listen to me.

Whether that tomboy would obey him was another matter entirely. He had sent her to the Mountain of the Cultivator for discipline and training, but blood was blood. She took after her brothers—a will of tempered steel. He held no hope that her stubbornness had softened in the slightest.

And yet, if it could be done, no better solution existed.

"Huuuuuuum."

The White King's deliberation deepened.

After the Abyss Labyrinth had been cleared, the winds of change were blowing through Player Talk as well.

An article published in Korea under Kim Hana's name. Beyond the Dimension Warriors who had crossed over to this world, it had caused an uproar by covering Randolph—the one still fighting alone in another dimension.

Of course, the content itself was nothing special. It amounted to little more than the fact that someone named Randolph existed in another dimension. The problem was the mere mention of the name Randolph.

That was when it happened. Right in the middle of the article-related uproar on Player Talk, players who had just logged out began flooding the chat with news from Pangenia.

The White King, out of nowhere. There was not a single player who did not know that name.

The Mountain of the Cultivator.

A stage that began automatically upon reaching Level 7 and clearing Main Quest 6. You could climb it only once, and if you failed to raise your class-related proficiency to Level 15, you could not even descend—a semi-compulsory training ground.

The key will be how high a proficiency level I can reach.

While the White King deliberated over the price of his Fang, I intended to climb the Mountain of the Cultivator. But I would have to prepare thoroughly and see it through to the end. One chance. There would be no second try. From the moment I entered until the moment I left, I needed an exceptional result.

The maximum proficiency level granted differs by class.

For a standard class—an Archer, for example—you could raise bow-related proficiency to Level 15. Level 15. That was the baseline. Naturally, classes of a higher caliber came with higher maximums. In that regard, I already held the high ground.

Supreme Sword Saint. A Hidden Class that can raise sword proficiency all the way to Level 30.

The Hidden Class, Supreme Sword Saint! I had claimed a class elevated by the recognition of both the Supreme Dragon and Sword Saint Ryleigh. I had never heard of a class whose maximum proficiency approached Level 30. There were cases of surpassing the max by devouring related stars—but starting at Level 30 from the outset!

I need to hit at least Level 23 before I come down.

But past Level 20, the real hardship and adversity began. With Baal's Helm and my craftsmanship, I could probably push it to Level 23 somehow. And the number of people who had ever hit Level 23 on the Mountain of the Cultivator could likely be counted on one hand.

"Let's go."

"Yeees~"

Saintess Seia answered from beside me. She seemed a little unfocused, but she was the only one among us who had never set foot on the Mountain of the Cultivator. Unlike Isaac or Isabella, she was not a player's character—she had been born a Saintess of Pangenia, and so had never needed to climb it.

A small smile touched my lips. The one standing before me was not a Saintess.

Infinite Heal Shuttle.

A being who would restore my exhausted body and mind on the Mountain of the Cultivator. For the sake of endless training—just a heal shuttle. And the strongest heal shuttle of all, one who possessed terrifying holy power.

That was not all.

If things go as planned, I might even push past Level 23.

If everything proceeded according to my design, I could plant my name at the very peak of the Hall of Fame for Main Quest 7. Perhaps even beyond that.

The Star of the Beheaded.

The Volcano—a place called the Sanctuary of Fire.

Kreeeeaaak!

There, a colossal bird of pure flame screamed. A Phoenix—a being said to stand on a different tier even among Mythic species! But now it could not move, swords driven through both wings.

"Quietly hand over the star, Star Guardian."

Before it, Gracia spoke as he spun his Heavenly Swords. The Phoenix was the Star Guardian that protected the Star of Fire—a special existence that tested those who had earned the right and bestowed the star upon them. Yet the Phoenix looked at the man before it—Gracia—and shook its head.

—You are not yet ready······!

KRA-BOOM!

Kreeeaaak!

Under the relentless assault of the Heavenly Swords, the Phoenix was slowly dying. And still Gracia paid it no mind. In his eyes, the Phoenix no longer existed.

······ The memory rose again. Gracia ground his teeth. The thing he had failed to accomplish—that bastard had done it. Of course, he now knew it was not Phantom's Randolph, but the Fifth Lord of Kramdel, Randolph the King of the Corpse Crows. And still the unease would not leave him.

I am still lacking.

He admitted it. He had been arrogant. Called a Sword Saint, he had grown intoxicated with wielding the Heavenly Swords and neglected his own growth. The result? He could not even defeat the old Sword Saint.

I thought I had surpassed Phantom. I was wrong.

If it had been Wilhelm—Phantom's strongest character—he would have defeated Sword Saint Ryleigh. And if, by one chance in ten million, that Randolph truly was Phantom······

I must become stronger.

Gracia cast his gaze upon the Phoenix.

"Hand over the star, Star Guardian."

Ding!

Ding-ding!

In that moment, the sound of a black bell rose from behind him. Even here, in the Sanctuary of the Volcano, the reapers had followed him in. Lately the intervals had been growing shorter. And the reapers that had come for him this time were different from the ones he had faced in Korea—different in number, different in form.

Only two of them. Three horns jutting from each brow. And yet the oppressive weight they radiated was on ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠another level entirely. Gracia's expression hardened.

"······ Fine. You lot can join me in finishing this as well."

"············ This is the dispatch the White King sent?"

"Yes, Master."

In the office of the Ruins City, a masked man answered. At the same time, he passed over the official notice that had arrived in the city. Master read the dispatch and furrowed his brow.

Not a shred of courtesy to be found in the entire text. What?

Play with fire and you'll burn?

White King or not, sending a dispatch like this to every city was well past the line. It was not even a declaration of war······

Did he fear nothing?

In the end, Master could only spit out a bitter remark.

"······ There's a real madman out there."

"Should we abandon the plan?"

"If the White King has stepped in, we have no choice. Scrap the plan entirely."

The plan. Namely, the conquest of Labyrinth City.