Pain Worse Than Death
“V-Valrock?!”
Arthur couldn’t help blurting out in shock.
Treasures were hidden throughout the Monarch Game.
These treasures could belong to demons, celestials, or even dragons.
Valrock was human—a infamous master who had drenched the entire continent in blood.
Several of his temples existed, and among the 101 lords Arthur knew, one named Ackus had reached Valrock’s temple, overcome its trials, and claimed its treasure.
That treasure was a pair of gauntlets—Rare grade, no less.
Of course, artifacts in the Monarch Game had grades too.
From Normal up to Magic, Rare, Unique, Epic, Relic, and Legendary.
Lords needed to be overwhelmingly powerful.
And the game demanded countless feats achievable only through personal strength.
High-quality artifacts were essential, without question.
By the standards of the Asgard Continent, Valrock’s treasures weren’t the most impressive.
The current great lords would be armed head to toe in at least Epic artifacts.
But in the early game, they’d be a tremendous boon to Arthur.
I’ll claim both Valrock’s treasure and the Ring of Probability here.
Any thought of resting vanished in an instant.
He tapped the quest first.
(Valrock's Trial)
Grade: B
Cash Reward: 3,000
Rewards: All Stats +7, One of Valrock's Treasures > Immediate Grant
Penalty for Failure After Acceptance: All Stats -15
📍 Description: Valrock's temple hidden in the Vice Plains. Reach it, face Valrock's trial, and overcome it. Succeed, and his treasure shall be yours.
It only said “one of Valrock’s treasures”—no specifics on the reward.
Arthur hesitated briefly.
I don’t know the trial’s difficulty…
One thing was certain, though.
Even if there’s a chance of failure, I can clear it. And given this place’s level, it wouldn’t make sense for a trial meant for one of the 101 lords to be here otherwise.
Arthur steeled himself.
“I accept.”
The quest window vanished.
Arthur bolted after the glowing moon.
As he raced forward, Arthur sensed the monsters growing thicker.
He opened the Cash Shop and bought a Faded Potion without hesitation.
Incredibly, the shop even sold buff potions.
They weren’t exceptionally powerful, sadly.
Considering his shop was at the lowest tier, it’d improve as his grade rose.
It’s like they’ve packed more monsters here to stop anyone from reaching the temple.
Arthur knew Valrock’s temple existed.
But novice lords would likely detour or retreat at the sudden monster surge.
Pfsh!
“Hngh!”
He stabbed his spear into another goblin’s throat, blocked a swinging stone axe with an outstretched arm, and downed the bubbling purple liquid in his left hand in one gulp.
His arm throbbed, but he ignored it, kneeing the goblin’s jaw upward.
Pfsh!
One goblin fired a poison needle.
Arthur, who’d glued a flat shield stone to his hand’s back with sticky sap, smacked it hard.
Kwak!
The stone expanded, blocking the needle.
Tatata!
Four left.
Arthur gripped a goblin dagger he’d tucked into his belt—coated in their paralyzing poison—and charged.
Anything usable was worth using.
Pfsh!
Slish!
He danced through them, slicing flesh.
Their bodies soon went rigid with paralysis.
Arthur slit the throats of the keening survivors one by one, then ran on.
As he chased the glowing moon, the path grew harsher.
Then something glinted ahead.
A tripwire?
Traps, too.
Novice lords probably wouldn’t even grasp the concept.
Even reaching here, most would die to traps.
Arthur carefully stepped over the wire.
The moment he did, an unnatural sound rang out.
Krik!
Double trap.
One triggered by the wire, another just by crossing.
Arthur guessed what was coming from the sound alone.
Pyupyupyu!
A tree split open, spewing arrows.
Tang tang tang!
He deflected them with his spear shaft.
Close call.
One nearly pierced his chest.
He pressed on swiftly.
It was a clearing in the forest.
No grass grew where Arthur stood, as if a perfect circle had been scorched bare.
Moonlight poured unnaturally bright here, like a spotlight.
Bathed in it, Arthur scanned around.
The hint to the temple entrance has to be here somewhere.
This was definitely the gateway to Valrock’s temple.
To open it, he needed to solve the puzzle.
Nothing lay in the moonlit spot.
So he examined the surroundings.
Trees, fallen leaves, stones.
Then tiny letters etched into a tree caught his eye.
‘Go’
It read just that.
“As expected.”
Arthur smirked.
Find the hidden letters, recite them in order, and the temple would appear.
Next, ‘da’ on a leaf.
Then ‘juk’ on a stone.
He kept hunting them down.
“Cicada?”
He snatched a cicada plastered to a tree trunk.
Flipping it revealed ‘um’.
Combining them:
“Juk-eum da deon go.”
That was all so far.
Arthur puzzled it out.
‘Death, the sum of greater agony?’
He shook his head.
Didn’t fit.
Trying variations, he suddenly gasped.
“Ah! ‘Pain worse than death.’”
An utterly alien phrase.
Suddenly, the surroundings reddened.
“Not the surroundings…”
Arthur’s gaze lifted slowly.
The moon glowed blood-red.
Drops began falling from it, one by one.
“Blood?”
It was blood, unmistakably.
From drips to a downpour.
Soon Arthur was drenched.
Flee. No one who beholds my face survives. Tens of thousands have been torn apart by my hands. Face me, and you will suffer pain worse than death—begging for mercy!
The voice demanded acceptance or refusal.
Quitting wasn’t an option.
No matter how monstrous Valrock the slaughterer was, or how many he’d killed—Arthur didn’t care.
If Valrock was a mountain to climb, he’d scale it.
Stopping now meant stagnation forever.
“Begin.”
Kurrrr!
The ground quaked.
Arthur stepped back.
A massive entrance emerged.
He strode inside without hesitation.
An empty void.
Darkness devoured everything.
No sound pierced the silence.
Most who entered blindly would drown in terror.
Arthur stayed vigilant.
[Valrock's Trial. The Trial of Pain Worse Than Death begins.]
Arthur swallowed dryly.
Sweat slicked his palms.
Sudden agony seared his legs.
“Gah?!”
Like his feet melting—unbearable.
Shaking them did nothing.
The pain crept upward like writhing worms.
“Kaaaaah…”
His mouth gaped.
Pain too intense for screams whited out his vision.
Reason numbed as it reached his chest.
Thump thump thump!
Pounding his chest did nothing against the blaze.
“Kgh!”
He collapsed, writhing.
Pain worse than death.
Pure physical torment.
Enough to beg for death!
Arthur had seen it on battlefields—soldiers pleading for the end.
Limbs severed, rotting with maggots, fever-ravaged minds broken.
Valrock’s “worse than death” meant shattering body and soul beyond endurance.
“Kaaaaagh!”
The heat climbed to his face.
He clawed at it, helpless.
In the silent dark, his body illuminated—melting, dripping.
“U, uwaaaah!”
Physical agony plus the horror of liquefying flesh overwhelmed him.
He crawled the floor.
“D-Damn it!”
Breathe steady.
Lose focus, and this trial would devour him.
Death as the price.
The pain whispered temptations.
Quit now for relief.
Quit for a merciful end.
Give up!
But Arthur endured, watching his body flow away.
Falling here meant no future.
Failing this meant no change ahead.
So he held.
Suddenly, the heat vanished like a lie.
Lightning flashed—a blade before his eyes.
Dull, chipped, toothless.
“Damn…”
Arthur bit his lip.
A sharp blade cuts painlessly, too fast to feel.
That’s why some realize too late they’ve nicked themselves on honed kitchen knives.
A dull one? Agony incarnate.
The blunt edge slammed his shoulder.
Kwajik!
“Ugh!”
Too dull to cleave deep.
It struck repeatedly.
“Eup!”
Druruk!
Druruk!
The blade sawed his shoulder bone like meat.
Horrid grinding filled his world.
Thud!
His right arm severed.
Gush gush gush!
Blood sprayed the ground.
Yet Arthur endured.
He’d tasted worse.
The final war—comrades who trusted him dying.
Watching them tore his heart; he’d begged God to kill him instead.
Their deaths hurt that much.
“This much… I can handle.”
His left arm dropped.
Still, his eyes chilled, seeking calm.