The Sealing Stones Shatter

CRAAACK!

BOOM!

After shattering twenty Gicheonseok, my Sword Proficiency had climbed all the way to Level 27.

Proficiency experience ballooned absurdly at certain thresholds, so the higher you climbed, the more the gains were supposed to crawl. That was how it worked.

"Twenty-seven…!"

I let out a short cheer. Considering my original target had been Level 23, twenty-seven was already past the point of reason — and far beyond anything the Mountain of the Cultivator was meant to allow.

But cursed Gicheonseok still littered the place.

What's with these Apostle Contracts they keep pushing?

At some point, newly arrived Constellations had started offering Apostle Contracts. At first the terms were nothing more than a handful of Golden Rule fragments and a single usable skill, so I ignored them — but they kept raising the stakes, desperate for a deal.

Even so, nothing that truly tempted me.

A hundred hours of Golden Rule fragments and one Myth-grade skill, in exchange for ten percent of everything I earn going forward?

An ordinary Player would have gone wide-eyed. Not me. The fragments I'd already banked stretched well past a thousand hours. Factor in future earnings and the contract was a straight loss. There was no reason to take a losing deal.

The new Constellations are operating differently from the old guard. They're probably pitching the same offer to other Players.

They'd adopted a kind of investment model. If contracts like these caught on, factions organized around individual Constellations might start to form. Still, I wasn't interested. If the Constellation of Adventure or the Constellation of Fortune from the old roster made an offer, I might give it a polite minute of consideration out of courtesy.

To me, they're just free reward-upgrade shuttles.

Either way, their attention alone was useful. Experience had taught me the rough mechanics of Constellation rewards. Once they started watching, once you crossed certain thresholds, they were obligated to upgrade the payout. And every Constellation in the Hall of One Hundred Constellations was already watching me with rapt attention. Meaning that no matter how reluctant they were, I could force their hand simply by performing.

"Smash them all, caw! Don't leave a single one standing, caw!"

Thud—.

Laktusha, having reached the summit, tossed a unconscious spearman onto the ground. More than a hundred practitioners ringed him in a tense circle.

"That spearman was decent. Even with our abilities matched, he still managed to leave a mark on my cheek."

Laktusha touched the small cut on his face. The spearman's flurry had been worth watching. If the man's level had been just a little higher, it might have been more entertaining. That was why Laktusha had spared him — because the man had given him a bit of fun.

"Swordmaster Laktusha! You can climb no further!"

The eldest of the practitioners stepped forward and leveled his weapon. Laktusha sneered.

"And if I climb anyway? Will you stop me?"

"Of course we will!"

"Then try."

"Deploy the 108 Heavenly Spirit Formation!"

The 108 Heavenly Spirit Formation. The most refined joint formation the practitioners of the Mountain of the Cultivator ever learned. To become master of the mountain, the first trial was to endure that formation for more than thirty seconds. Stand at its center and the pressure — something not of this world — made even remaining upright nearly impossible. Even a Transcendent could not face them all from within that array.

Laktusha planted himself at the center and merely shrugged his shoulders.

"I do hope you'll prove more entertaining than that spearman."

All one hundred ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and eight practitioners lay sprawled across the ground.

"A monster…!"

They stared at Laktusha in horror. Not only had he withstood the 108 Heavenly Spirit Formation alone from its very center — he had broken every last one of them. No one could withstand that transcendent sword energy. The formation was something even Transcendents feared. Did that make Laktusha a Transcendent who surpassed Transcendents?

"Boring."

Laktusha walked on at an unhurried pace and soon stood at the true summit. A massive wall rose there, scored with countless sword marks.

"Aria. They say whoever leaves a mark on this wall becomes the one who passes the second trial, yes?"

"…"

Beside him, Aria watched Laktusha in cold silence. The wall responded only to proficiency level. Only those with sufficiently high weapon proficiency could leave a scar upon it.

Laktusha spoke with a gleam of interest in his eyes.

"Is this the deepest mark? Sword Saint? Looks old."

A deep scar cut into the wall's center — left by the first master of this mountain, the being called the Sword Saint. The special existence said to have been the strongest this mountain had ever known. Laktusha slowly ran his fingers along the mark.

"Aria, daughter of the White King. Shall I tell you something amusing?"

"…"

"The White King has no intention of saving you. I waited a long time below, and no one came. Not even Kramdel's Four-Beast Force."

Laktusha had deliberately delayed his ascent. Preparation was one reason, but more than that, he had hoped to intercept the Four-Beast Force under the White King coming to rescue Aria. No matter how long he waited, not so much as an ant appeared — let alone the Four-Beast Force. A pity. He had missed the chance to personally cut down that famous unit.

"He must have been afraid. He would have seen a future in which he dies."

Laktusha laughed softly. The White King was a master at sensing danger to himself — practically reading the future. How, then, did one catch a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠White King like that? Kidnapping Aria was only one method among many. The fact that he had openly telegraphed his intent to seize the daughter and still no Four-Beast Force had been sent meant the White King ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was willing to abandon his own child to protect himself.

"From the moment the White King discarded you, your life ceased to have any real meaning."

Kill her or spare her — either was fine. Laktusha pondered a moment, then lifted his greatsword.

"So if my blade cuts shallower than the Sword Saint's mark, I'll let you live."

ZIIIIIIIIING—!!

Sword energy roared up from the greatsword in a ferocious blaze. Laktusha swung without hesitation.

CRAAACK!

The wall shuddered once, hard, and Laktusha's mark carved itself beside the Sword Saint's. Looking at it, Laktusha smiled.

"Mine is a little deeper."

Laktusha's scar ran slightly deeper than the Sword Saint's. No deeper mark existed on the wall. That meant no one on this mountain was stronger than him.

Aria's eyes trembled faintly at the sight. Deeper than the Sword Saint's mark! Swordmaster Laktusha's skill was the real thing — not strength gained by luck or some external factor, but pure, trained power that surpassed the Sword Saint himself.

"Daughter of the White King. Peerless genius they call a once-in-an-era prodigy. Do try to entertain me."

From the start, she was no match.

Laktusha was a sky beyond the sky. His swordsmanship was genuine, and even with their physiques roughly equalized, she was hopelessly outmatched. In a word, she was toyed with. Laktusha played with Aria like a plaything.

She had chosen a path different from the White King's — not the path of a mere beast, but the path of the sword — and it was true that she had grown intoxicated on her own overflowing talent.

"You have talent, certainly, but it's not enough. You don't measure up to my standards."

Even that meant nothing before Laktusha. He raised his greatsword — to kill her, as promised.

"Hm?"

Just as he moved to sever the fallen Aria's life, Laktusha tilted his head.

RUMBLE!

RUMBLE-RUMBLE!

The mountain was shaking violently. The tremors swelled fast.

CRASH-RUMBLE!

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

An earthquake tore through the mountain, splitting it open. And from the riven cracks, something enormous ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠began to force its way out — something vast and overwhelming.

Laktusha's face twisted as he stared at it.

"…What the hell is that."

"…?"

The Four Calamities.

…What the hell was this.

The message that appeared the moment I destroyed the hundredth cursed Gicheonseok. The temple seal was breaking, and the Four Calamities were waking.

These Gicheonseok were all sealing stones?

Not an arrangement made for me — sealing stones meant to imprison the Four Calamities. But hadn't the Four Calamities all been subjugated in the distant past?

This temple wasn't built to seal them. It was built for their resurrection.

The countless statues of Baal filling the temple. They hadn't been raised to "imprison" something evil. Anyone looking at them could tell they had been erected to "revere." Meaning this was a temple built by a cult that worshipped the Four Calamities, for the purpose of resurrecting them. Or perhaps Baal himself had built it. Either way, this was a situation I had never anticipated.

The messages kept flooding in. I had smashed a hundred Gicheonseok, but roughly twenty cursed stones still remained inside the temple.

If I destroy the rest, does it fully resurrect?

Under normal circumstances, stopping here would be the correct call. The resurrection of a Four Calamity. Even if the legends were only half true, that was a catastrophe all on its own. And since I had no way of controlling a resurrected Calamity, leaving it incomplete was the better way to limit the disaster.

But my proficiency level is still short of where I want it.

That was the problem. If I broke the remaining twenty, I could push the level one more tier. And there was no guarantee that destroying them would complete the resurrection anyway.

Finishing off the remaining Gicheonseok might actually be the better play.

The stones held an enormous reservoir of proficiency experience that Baal had stored inside them. The idea that he had packed that much in as a mere lure was absurd — it was simply too vast. Far more likely that the resurrected Calamity itself was meant to use it.

Besides me, there's no one who could fully exploit the proficiency experience locked in these stones.

No matter how much experience a destroyer absorbed, there was a hard ceiling. How many classes in this world even held a max level of thirty?

I flipped the thought. What if surplus experience was being funneled into the resurrecting Calamity? A lure and resurrection material at the same time?

The surfaces of the remaining cursed Gicheonseok are peeling. The experience is flowing into the Calamity.

As if to confirm my theory, the remaining twenty-odd stones began to change. Their surfaces cracked and flaked, and the proficiency experience seeping from the fissures streamed toward the resurrecting Calamity.

RUMBLE! RUMBLE-RUMBLE!

The temple shook. The temple itself was collapsing. Time was running out.

Now was the moment to decide.

Break them — or leave them.

My mind began to race.

The nine-tailed fox Obsidian had released roughly a hundred people onto the Mountain of the Cultivator. Of those, she was personally controlling seven. Her nine fox tails could directly puppet nine individuals — but she still couldn't climb the mountain.

Damn that Laktusha! He went up alone?

Swordmaster Laktusha had begun conquering the mountain by himself. The monster legion that followed him was only blocking others from ascending or escaping. That left her stuck, able to do neither one thing nor the other.

At this rate I can't find the White King's daughter or Phantom!

Her plan had been for Laktusha and the monster legion to launch a full assault on the mountain, then snatch her targets in the chaos — and size up the one she suspected was Phantom while she was at it. But like this, she couldn't even get onto the mountain. She had talked a big game to Master. If she failed, she would have no face left.

Obsidian chewed her nails raw.

RUMBLE!

RUMBLE-RUMBLE!

Then it happened. The mountain shook like mad and began to split apart.

"W-what?"

"Why is the mountain…!"

The people who had entered the Mountain of the Cultivator looked around in panic. This was far too violent to be a simple earthquake.

"That…!"

"Gah! Wh-what is that?!"

Moments later, people pointed at the summit and cried out in horror. Obsidian turned the gazes of her controlled humans toward the peak as well.

"…What… is that?"

Even Obsidian could only spit the words in disbelief. Of course she could. An ancient monster of staggering size and pure malevolence. Even Obsidian, who had encountered countless monsters, had never seen this species. And she had never felt a monster radiate such a dreadful aura either.

A colossal beast with the face of a black goat, the body of a wild animal, and three tails — forcing the mountain open and rising into the world!