No. 388 Feathered Serpent Altar (1)

'What am I supposed to do with a thing like this?'

A hefty ruby sat glowing crimson in my palm. It was an essence steeped in the Ruby Magic Tower's signature mana — sell it, and the price started at gold coins without exception; feed it into the crafting or upgrading of an item, and a high-grade result was all but guaranteed. As payment for nothing more than keeping a replay private, it felt like gross overpayment.

In truth, keeping a replay private for your own teammates was a matter of simple decency anyway — something you'd do for free, and even if something changed hands, a light snack or a cup of coffee would settle it.

So when Hong Yeon-hwa had held the ruby out to me, I'd shaken my head. Told her I didn't need it. Whereupon she produced an even bigger ruby. Not knowing what she might pull out next if I refused again, I'd accepted for now — but this wasn't the kind of windfall to celebrate blindly. Swallow it whole, and I'd very likely give myself a stomachache.

'Better to take it to the Ruby Tower later,' talk it over with the director there, and decide then. I'd have business at the Ruby Magic Tower sooner or later regardless. Show up carrying a ruby like this, and they might even roll out the red carpet for me.

Glancing at the clock, I realized we hadn't been inside the Dungeon Hall for all that long.

'We really did wrap that up fast.' The whole point of this sweep raid had surely been to sharpen our observation skills — to comb every corner carefully, even at the cost of time. Hong Yeon-hwa and I, meanwhile, had torn through the dungeon like it was a time attack.

'Hong Yeon-hwa really came through.' Granted, the speed was the product of an ultra-efficient route drawn up to eliminate every scrap of waste — but her sticking to that route so cleanly made it all the smoother. However quickly I flushed out the monsters, the clock would drag if finishing them took too long, or worse, if any slipped away. Hong Yeon-hwa, by contrast, incinerated whatever popped out — one, three, a whole pack — in the blink of an eye. Refreshingly decisive.

'She fought the boss well, too.' She'd given the Twin Trolls a respectable run. In fact, of all the bosses the dungeon could roll at random, the twins only appeared when your pull luck was truly rotten — they hit harder than the Beheader Goblin, the one tagged [Formidable Foe]. She'd taken one on solo and ground off a good thirty percent of its ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠health. The rising-star label was earning its keep.

She was flagging near the end, so I'd stepped in — but by then I'd seen everything I needed. Everything I needed to settle on a skill worth copying.

Overheat. A skill that devoured a single completed flame spell and, for its duration, granted physical capabilities on par with the power of the spell consumed. Which meant absorbing [Flame Orb], with its massive ball of fire, pumped your stats far higher than [Combustion] and its little bursts of flame ever could.

I owned exactly one fire-type skill. But what a monstrous one it was.

'Inferno Fist.' With power like that, absorbing it should send my physical abilities soaring. Inferno Fist being a forbidden skill meant every use demanded careful timing — but now, even while a replay was running, I could feed it to Overheat as an offering.

Pile those boosted physical stats onto B-rank Thief's Step and the shoes Seo Ye-in had given me... 'I could probably manage a game of tag even against the third-years.' For a while yet, I could afford to stop worrying about mobility entirely.

The reward for a 100 percent sweep was one more [Copy-Trait] slot — which meant I could now copy a fresh trait without overwriting [Elemental Resistance]. Traits, unlike skills, gave off few visible tells when they triggered, which made it that much harder to figure out whether someone even had ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠one. Gauging its rank was harder still.

With the entire cast reshuffled in the wake of the EX-rank Rebirth Quest, digging up the traits of other students and faculty would take real time. So I'd shelve that for later and go after targets I already knew inside and out. The boss monsters squatting in the underground dungeons.

"Brother Kim."

Evening. On my way to the Dungeon Hall right at the appointed hour, I crossed paths with Go Hyeon-woo. We fell into step together and traded a few words.

"You've got the whole strategy memorized?"

"Of course, Brother Kim. Not a syllable left out, exactly as you instructed."

"The closer you stick to it, the better. A few honest mistakes are fine — just don't go wandering off the path."

"I shall not give you cause for disappointment, Brother Kim."

"Counting on you."

By the time we reached the Dungeon Hall entrance, Shin Byung-cheol was already ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠waiting, greeting us with a wide grin.

"Well, look who's here. Everyone ready?"

"You know it."

"Great, great. First, take these."

Shin Byung-cheol handed over the items he'd prepared, one by one. The first was a silver pin for a necktie. A second-year pin. First-years couldn't so much as set foot underground as things stood — show up with a white tie pin, and it was an express ticket to the Disciplinary Committee's office, no stops. Avoiding that particular calamity meant swapping in a second-year pin. Swapping tie pins broke school regulations, and getting caught meant aggravated penalties — but all you had to do was not get caught.

The second item was a badge shaped like a human face, except that in place of eyes, nose, and mouth, one large question mark sat smack in the middle.

I pinned the badge to my breast pocket and looked the others over. Go Hyeon-woo glanced back and forth between me and Shin Byung-cheol and let out an admiring sound.

"Ohh. So this is what makes a man 'Anonymous.'"

Their faces seemed hazy one moment, forgettable the next — as if they were strangers you'd brush past once and never think of again. The badge carried a kind of recognition-scrambling magic that made a wearer's face look as utterly unremarkable as possible. Funnel mana into your eyes, though, and the unnatural flow jumped out at once — and anyone with a sharp eye could sense something off within seconds. A leaky item, by every measure.

Even so, to most people it simply read as an ordinary face. They'd walk right past without a second glance, and your face would never lodge in their memory. Paired with the pin, it was a shoddy little contraption that worked surprisingly well. And because the Anonymous Badge saw so much dishonest use, it had earned itself a spot on the prohibited-items list.

Tally it up — unauthorized entry to the Dungeon Hall's underground floors, swapping grade pins, wearing a banned item — and we were already sitting on three separate violations. Could a student really trample the rulebook this brazenly, you ask?

'It's all in service of world peace.' Break no rules, and the hidden pieces stay out of reach. No hidden pieces, and growth slows to a crawl. Slow growth, and the formidable foes waiting down the road might just put you in the ground. And then, as the final result, the world ends. That's what the EX-rank quest claimed, anyway — so it was probably true.

Quite unaware of his own contribution to world peace, Shin Byung-cheol said with a crafty grin:

"Well then — shall we head down?"

"By all means."

Following his lead, we set foot on the stairs that burrowed into the earth. What began like an ordinary basement stairwell gradually widened into an enormous spiral. Lean over the railing for a look down, and the circling steps wound on without end — even with the lamps burning fairly bright, the depths below were swallowed in black.

A long stretch of spiraling later, we came to a fork: keep descending, or slip out through the passage on the right. Shin Byung-cheol, out in front, beckoned.

"Right."

A short walk to the right brought us to another descending stair — narrower than the great spiral we'd started down, but pointed the same direction. Another long descent, another fork. Some junctions split two ways, some three. And every time, Shin Byung-cheol dutifully played the guide.

"This way."

"Not there."

"Over here."

Still, he seemed to be deliberately picking the loneliest paths, and Go Hyeon-woo's curiosity got the better of him.

"Brother Shin — might I ask you one thing?"

"Sure, fire away."

"What difference is there between simply descending, and traveling as you have us traveling?"

His meaning was clear: the original spiral staircase was broad and comfortable, so why bother winding through a maze? There was a reason for everything, Shin Byung-cheol replied.

"Let's be honest — we're not exactly down here with clean hands, are we? Best to give people a wide berth."

It went without saying that we weren't the only ones prowling the underground floors. Second- and third-years running the raid were a given, and the Disciplinary Committee and the faculty made their patrols on a regular schedule. The busier the route, the higher the risk — simple as that. Hence the obsessive cherry-picking of the emptiest paths down.

Shin Byung-cheol jabbed a thumb at his own chest and made his grand declaration.

"Worry not, and put your faith in one Shin Byung-cheol! I'll get you down there without crossing so much as a single rat!"

But speak of the tiger, as the saying goes, and it comes padding your way. Barely five minutes later, Shin Byung-cheol flinched and flashed us a signal, his lips shaping the words in urgent silence:

'Walk past naturally. Naturally.'

A moment later, movement stirred from below — a party of second-years climbing up toward us. We drifted into a loose single file and hugged one wall; they took the other.

"......"

"......"

As we brushed past, a couple of pairs of eyes flicked our way, heads tilting with expressions that said, Was there anyone like that in our year? But they couldn't be bothered to look any closer, and their gazes slid away. Fresh off clearing a dungeon, they were tired and in no mood for puzzles. Which suited us just fine.

The second-years vanished upward, and Go Hyeon-woo and I turned to Shin Byung-cheol without a word. Without crossing so much as a single rat, was it?

The excuses arrived at once.

"...That was just rotten luck back there. You do trust me, right?"

"......"

Go Hyeon-woo apparently decided that a swift change of subject beat words of comfort.

"How far down have we come?"

"Going by the numbers? Somewhere in the 700s."

"And the 700s would be...?"

"F-rank. D-rank is a long way further down yet."

Go Hyeon-woo marveled, utterly sincere.

"Goodness. I had heard the Dungeon Hall was vast, but I never imagined anything on this scale. If it takes this long merely to reach D-rank, how much deeper must one descend for this 'Deep Layer'..."

"It's not called the Deep Layer for nothing. We'll think about that when we get there — for now, let's move."

Truthfully, the endless, roundabout trek was largely the price of sneaking down in secret. For students who found walking a chore or couldn't spare the minutes, the underground floors were dotted with elevators, teleportation circles, and other means of moving between levels. Using any of them, however, meant scanning your student ID as a matter of course — and the crystal orbs installed at each one kept a permanent record. We couldn't leave a paper trail for the sake of a little comfort, so we had to walk right past them all. A guide of real skill might have spoofed the orbs, but regrettably, Shin Byung-cheol was a first-year, same as the rest of us. So trudge we did, one plodding step at a time.

On the way to our destination, we crossed paths with two more parties of second-years. We had picked the evening hours precisely because foot traffic thinned then, and taken the emptiest route we could find — and still.

"Haha... this is getting embarrassing, honestly."

Shin Byung-cheol scratched at the back of his head. Once, you could write off as bad luck. By the third time, the excuse started to smell. But I didn't complain. This was only his second trip down, after all. Everybody builds experience exactly this way.

"Long as nobody caught us, it's fine. Just drive better next time."

"Aigoo — would I dare do otherwise, valued customer? Right this way, please."

We finally left the interminable stairs behind and stepped into a warren of passages like an ant colony. D-rank dungeons gaped open here and there, mouths wide, waiting for challengers. Every teleport portal wore a different face, and the scenery glimmering faintly within differed from one to the next.

If the portals shared anything, it was an air several times more sinister than any artificial dungeon. We kept walking past them until, at one portal, we stopped.

"Hold on a moment."

Before we entered. Shin Byung-cheol fished a handful of devices out of his inventory and bustled about installing them — the point being to jam the crystal orbs surveilling the area for a short while, and leave nothing behind for anyone to trace afterward. This, too, was part of the full-service package the Thieves Club provided.

Setup finished in short order, Shin Byung-cheol dusted off his hands.

"All set. How long will you be?"

"Won't take long."

"Roger that. I'll be waiting outside."

With that, he backed away a few steps. I exchanged a look with Go Hyeon-woo and gave a small nod. Then, one after another, we stepped through the portal.

In an instant, the world before my eyes transformed.