Floor 2 Joint Trial (4): What a Fucking Ridiculous Bastard?

I'd always wondered how he'd found that ticket hidden away during the 1st Floor Joint Trial. Even after causing a catastrophe that killed hundreds of thousands, the guy had luck that was straight-up insane.

But it hadn't even been a full day since the 2nd Floor Joint Trial started—why the hell was he here? That question aside...

"You bastard... what's that paper in your hand?!"

Tear the paper and stick it on like a talisman to force a translation—but that page and another record somewhere in the world vanish forever.

And he'd already torn it?

"Shut up! What do you know...! Don't look at me like that! You think a hick from some podunk country like yours could ever understand the struggles of a great nation's citizen?!"

The guy exploded, like he had a guilty conscience. Up close, he had deep dark circles under his eyes and a haggard face—completely opposite from that smug grin while waving his flag that day.

He must've gotten drowned in shit online.

He hadn't even tried to hide it, so plenty of people saw his face. I'd heard he'd been doxxed after the trial and buried in hate...

"But you still haven't learned your lesson? Can't be rehabilitated, huh?"

"It was a noble cause. And it all worked out in the end, right? Thanks to the foresight of great nation climbers. No malicious intent."

He hadn't mentioned the 1st Floor Joint Trial once, but the excuses poured out anyway—like his knee jerking straight when you tap it. Just a glare, and he reflexively spilled it all.

But instead of apologizing, excuses tumble out—

"Anyway, Korean, how'd you get here? This isn't a place just anyone can enter."

"Same way you did, probably. But first, put that down. Why'd you tear it in the first place? Just take it upstairs, and people will handle it."

He flinched at my words, body trembling.

Yeah... figures.

Even as I said it, I had a pretty good guess what this guy was up to.

"No way you're trying to monopolize the info for personal gain... right? I mean, no person would do that? You think so too, yeah? In a Joint Trial where thousands, tens of thousands die each time."

"You sarcastic little shit! You don't know jack. That's not how you clear the Tower. You gotta concentrate resources on a select few to survive! I did nothing wrong! It's the stupid masses who can't understand!"

"Enhancement stones and skillbooks have slot limits anyway—what's the point of hoarding? High-floor climbers handle themselves, and there are only six Survival climbers."

"...You look like some bottom-feeding unemployed bum. You'd get it, right...? Us rising high in this hellish world!"

Conversation's going nowhere. More like, bottom-feeding unemployed bum? This bastard.

My fist clenched with a nasty crunch. I seriously considered decking him, but modern morality barely held me back.

But he didn't even notice my restraint, ranting like some philosopher in chaotic times, lost in his own bullshit.

"Discovering this underground space... just like last time, I'm blessed by the world's luck. And... I think you're the same. This place is tough solo. Wanna join as my subordinate? Think back to the old Joseon era. Deep down, you want to serve the descendants of dragons. I'm the man who can lead you!"

What the hell does he think about all day to spew this crap the second he sees a Korean? He looked inwardly thrilled at my face, like he was relieved to unload what he'd bottled up.

"Aorum Bidan."

Kkuruk—

At my call, Bidan seeped out from the ceiling and sucked the Chinese guy's head into its body.

"Mmph, kkuruk?!?"

Kkorruk— The guy thrashed, bubbling like he was drowning. The dictionary and torn page scattered on the floor amid his flailing.

"Ooh—"

Can he breathe or not? Bidan's call?

Bidan's body was cool and overflowing with clean oxygen before—but apparently even that was up to Bidan. Smart as hell. One word, and it knew what I wanted. Was I underestimating it because it looked like a carp?

Awkward at first, but I struck a pose and slapped his jaw like a cheek smack. He went limp, and Bidan released him.

"You're lucky."

Just knocked out. Total disaster-maker, infamous as the top useless ally—but still a Hard difficulty high-floor climber with freakish luck. Finding this underground catacomb before me? Insane.

Spare him, and he'll be useful someday.

Kkuuk-kku— Something to tie him up would be nice...

"Just leave him."

He'll crawl out when he wakes. I recovered the Ancient Language Dictionary from the piece-of-shit Chinese ideologue, slipping the torn page back inside.

Now all that's left here is dust and the trash Chinese guy. Nothing useful.

I left immediately, starting a proper underground exploration.

Rooms with iron bars of unknown purpose, smoothly carved sacrificial chambers, spaces that looked like dining halls or personal quarters—overflowing everywhere. Felt like a massive ant colony.

A space this huge should have human traces: Arcana dishes or tools, cloth, garbage... even bones. But nothing. Like a cleaning crew swept through.

Usually, abandoned group sites are littered with junk—but here, nothing but dust.

Nothing useful in the rooms... Skip 'em, focus on big areas.

Starving after a full day without food. 2nd Floor trauma creeping up. Too big to cover before dawn anyway. Be efficient.

Kkiiik—BAM!

Pushing the grandest door in the widest corridor—ornate patterns—it fell right off. The crash echoed through the cave, making me jump.

Like dropping an empty can in a packed library. Nothing happened, of course, but I stomped past the offending door irritably.

Then, a massive cavern opened before me. Vast enough to park trucks, high ceiling—almost mistook it for a natural cave, not catacomb.

Tak-tak— Footsteps echoed like thunder with each step.

Did ancient Arcanas hold rituals here? Debate the world and humanity like Greek philosophers? That solemn, reverent air from back then lingered.

Down the stairs: a dais. Behind it, thin, massive stone tablets. Elegant script, like the Ten Commandments—unreadable characters.

"Thanks, System."

Like it was saying trust only me, the System decoded it. Just had to wait, really.

So without the System, I'd have to piece together every character from the dictionary?

Thanks again, System. Now I get why the Chinese guy tore the page. Overwhelming just looking at it. Without my System, I'd have seriously considered ripping one too.

I tore my eyes from the tablet immediately.

The [Warning] and [Untranslatable] weren't on the stone—they were the System speaking to me.

"........."

I'd waited leisurely for the System before... but turning away, I saw what I couldn't from the tablet: a vast audience chamber.

Like a late school where only the staff room light leaks out—glowing moss strains to illuminate the huge darkness, but falls short. Just amplifies the eerie chill.

Comfortable silence twisted into spine-tingling stillness, squeezing my heart.

...Gotta get out.

The ancient Arcanas predicted we'd come, left us writing. But the rules were vague, indirect—cringey stuff philosophers or priests would spout. Plus "they"... and that they found this place.

Don't talk to something with my exact appearance...?

Chills just hearing it. And the System warning me? First time. Usually, it neuters monsters or traps before I even act.

I spawned a clone instantly. Something in my image? I have that too.

"For now... haa... you take point."

Horror flicks always start the terror right after ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠"demons are here." Shit, by that logic, did I just skip that chapter? Hate it.

Nothing more to do here anyway. Most important in 2nd Floor Joint Trial: Arcana data in the bases.

Got the dictionary... no need for more.

I sent the clone ahead, hanging back. If something shows, it'll hit the clone first.

"Clone. Uh... grab that collapsed Chinese flag guy too."

Even a piece-of-shit has his uses: lucky Hard high-ranker. Can't kill for stress relief when we need every paw.

"Wait. Hey... Clone, go on ahead."

Something clicked—I sent the clone, returned to the tablet room.

Censored curse-text. If I hand the dictionary to others, they'll come decode it. Can't let people read System-certified [Censored] [Warning].

Pouring in ~6% energy, I smashed my fist into the tablet. A thunderous boom rang through the catacomb—the ancient relic crumbled ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to gravel.

Magic where rock shatters on fist. I personally demolished a millennia-old site. Stomped the shards so no one could see or restore.

This is all for you guys...!

Satisfied, turning to follow the clone—

—!!

Like a power cut, the signal linking me and the clone ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠snapped.

"........."

First time. But figuring why? Easy.

"Aorum Bidan."

The clone was dead.

Summoning Bidan—kkuuk-kkuuk—the space brightened a bit. Rushing to squeeze into its body—

—Thud.

Short syllable. Plenty loud in the underground cavern. Heart froze like a death sentence.

Forcing stiff muscles, I turned. There: a figure. Not quite human.

Handstanding on palms like a handwalker—but head not inverted, so scalp fused to torso. Red blood oozed from the severed neck stump, soaking the floor.

"Ah—."

—The corruption is not limited to the Origin Tower.

The "they" from the Arcana guidelines blocked my path in the darkness, wearing my face.