Chapter 214
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 214
Chapter Title: Trials of Fear
I've been forcibly afflicted with acrophobia.
"Fuck. This guy's completely nuts."
So, they expect me to traverse this skinny rebar while gripped by acrophobia and press that button way over there?
And this acrophobia is some kind of gimmick imposed by the Erosion Core—one that even Paradox Flame can't burn away.
I could probably torch the fear outright, but that wouldn't be wise. Burn away fear recklessly, and I might end up hurling myself off the cliff without a second thought.
That's what a lack of fear means, after all.
"Vicious bastard."
Forcing acrophobia on someone and then telling them to go all the way over there? It's as cruel as feeding shrimp to someone with a shrimp allergy.
But I have to do it.
"Does just one person need to succeed?"
They didn't say if everyone has to or not. To be safe, I have to assume we all do—no matter what.
"Yeah, if the theme around here is fear, this much makes sense."
I clenched my trembling hands tight and forced deep breaths. Ruling over fear means more than just preying on someone's existing terrors. What kind of fear mastery is that? It's just leeching off others' fears.
To truly dominate fear, you need to impose it forcibly like this.
"..."
Overcoming a phobia through personal effort is incredibly tough. It takes long-term therapy and expert counseling.
"The others must be suffering just as bad."
There are countless phobias in the world. Just the big ones: agoraphobia, arachnophobia, acrophobia, trypophobia, hydrophobia...
Tons of them. And here we are, one forcibly inflicted on each of us, with no choice but to conquer it.
With a jolt, the towering ceiling overhead began descending slowly.
"And as fast as possible."
With our physical limits as they are, getting crushed under that thing would turn us into pancakes.
Judging by the roof's descent speed, we've got about five hours.
That might sound long given the distance to the button, but with acrophobia in tow, it's plenty short.
"Just focus on where I need to go..."
I grimaced at the sweat slicking my palms. I wasn't the type to fear much to begin with, but suddenly dealing with this phobia? It's rough.
My vision swirled against my will, nausea surged, my hairs stood on end, limbs shook.
Ignoring it all, I leaped toward the steel bars stretched like spiderwebs over the endless abyss.
My hands latched on with a clang, and the bar swayed wildly. Terror of falling made my legs buckle, my grip loosen.
But if I really let go, I'd plummet to my death. Even as my vision narrowed, I pressed forward.
"This layout... it's brutally done."
To cross to the other side using these extended bars, it'd take at least thirty minutes. Assuming I don't hesitate...
"Everything's going just swimmingly. This some amusement park ride?"
The bar I clung to—and all the others floating in the air—began shifting slowly.
And that wasn't all. Massive blades dangled from chains dropped from above, swinging with deadly whooshes like pendulums.
Arrows fired periodically from all sides. Spikes thrust out unpredictably.
"Thirty minutes won't cut it."
Dodging those while moving will take more time. Plus, with my arms tiring, I'll need periodic breaks.
Breaks meaning perching precariously on these thin bars—any wrong move, and it's a fatal fall.
And during those breaks, I have to endure the full onslaught of acrophobia symptoms.
My vision narrowed further. I forced strength into my arms, crossed to the next bar, then slapped my own cheek.
Grabbing any old bar in sight isn't the way. It could even lengthen the path to the button. I had to forcibly widen my tunneling vision, constantly calculating the route that brings me closer.
And it's not a one-and-done glance. As the bars shift, a path toward the button might turn into one leading away.
Or sometimes, clinging to the current bar brings you closer than jumping.
"And why's the wind blowing like this?"
On top of that, gusts that felt downright malicious. For someone with acrophobia clinging to these bars over a chasm, even a breeze feels like a gale.
But this is a real gale? To the victim, it's a full-on hurricane ready to hurl them into the void.
"Gotta stay cool even in that delusion."
One by one. Never lose sight of the goal. Climb onto the next visible bar, latch on, repeat. Dodge blades whistling past my face, predict incoming arrows and spikes.
I can't count on the others succeeding. I've never lived banking on anyone else.
Keep pushing. The fear of falling is crystal clear. But my sense of purpose burns even brighter.
"Shit..."
My grip slipped mid-move, sending me tumbling—but I snatched another bar in time. What a stroke of luck. Though it set me back farther from the button.
One mistake means enduring this agony longer. Scared of falling? Move with precision and delicacy.
Terrified of the fear itself? Fear its prolongation even more. Stay aware: accuracy ends this faster.
"..."
A massive blade grazed past, shearing off a few strands of hair. Goosebumps erupted. But I couldn't fixate on it.
Linger here, and spikes would impale me. To evade, I had to drop to the bar below.
Jump—while gripped by acrophobia. I hurled myself without hesitation. Wind rushed over me in freefall.
Fear choked my throat, breath caught. I thrust out a hand mid-drop, seizing the bar. It creaked, bent sharply, then snapped back.
The rebound launched me onto another bar, where I balanced precariously on one foot, arching my back sharply. An arrow whistled over my gut.
In this unfolding hell, I kept swinging from bar to bar.
"Finally."
I took a deep breath. Stared at the button. One jump away. But a lie. Jumping now meant plummeting.
An invisible wall blocked the way.
"Brutal."
Rush blindly to escape the fear fast, and you'd smash into that wall and fall.
Then grab a lower bar on the way down—only to loop back farther.
I'm not fleeing. I'm reaching the goal.
After grabbing a few more bars and dodging three or four traps, I finally arrived and pressed the button.
The wall beside it rippled, forming a door. And just like that, the acrophobia gripping me vanished.
I opened the door and stepped beyond.
"Made it first."
Jeong Oh-hoon shuddered as he spoke.
"Bugs... bugs! Fuck!"
Ah, he got entomophobia. A few spiderwebs still clung to his hair.
"Thought I was done for. What the hell is this?! Had to swim through a pool crawling with every bug imaginable to fish out a key from the bottom!"
Obviously, he didn't have entomophobia naturally. Suddenly inflicted, then forced to scour a bug-filled pool bottom for a key? Nightmare fuel.
Ptoo.
He hacked, then spat something from his mouth. Half a worm.
"..."
Jeong Oh-hoon grimaced.
"Feels like I swallowed half."
"Think of it as protein."
He flipped me the bird at that.
"You think I'm Jang Tae-seok? Eat every damn thing just 'cause it's protein?"
Even Jang Tae-seok probably doesn't eat bugs. But you've already done it. By that metric, you're more pro-protein than him, no?
As we chatted, Choi Yeo-reum entered, pale as a ghost.
"What'd you get?"
"Dolls."
She'd always been uneasy around dolls. The Erosion Core's master must've known, amplifying her existing fear instead of imposing a new one.
She collapsed in a heap and turned to Jeong Oh-hoon.
"Got anything to drink?"
"Booze?"
She shook her head after a moment's thought. He pulled an ion drink from his subspace and handed it over. She chugged it, then chucked the bottle.
"Urghhh..."
She grabbed the wall and hurled. Poor thing—must've been traumatic.
Han Sang-ah arrived next, drenched in sweat.
"What happened?"
"Claustrophobia. Had to navigate a maze of latex tubes."
They'd forced her mouth open and shoved her in like a worm, she explained.
The latex tunnels blinded her and clung skin-tight—pure torment. Sweating buckets was inevitable.
"Drink?"
Jeong Oh-hoon offered. She nodded.
"The other hunters should be back soon, right?"
"Probably."
But if not by the five-hour mark, they'd failed to conquer their phobias and got squashed by the ceiling—like ho-tteok pancakes.
Sung Si-hoon, Lee Se-eun, and Jang Tae-seok joined us. Everyone accounted for.
"Dying in a Rank-1 Erosion Core would make the Hope's List weep."
We instinctively backed away from Sung Si-hoon. What the hell had he been through? Covered head to toe in filth.
And scratches everywhere from clawing at himself.
"Mysophobia."
Or germophobia, as Jeong Oh-hoon put it.
"Hop in my subspace—wash up and change."
Sung Si-hoon vanished inside without protest.
Gadget or Doraemon vibes from Jeong Oh-hoon, huh.
While he cleaned up, Lee Se-eun and Jang Tae-seok conquered their phobias and arrived.
Lee Se-eun faced trypophobia; Jang Tae-seok, agoraphobia.
"Theme's fear, etched into our bones now."
I nodded at Lee Se-eun's words.
"Different from the Black Sea variant."
The Black Sea shared the unknown's terror theme... but leaned more into madness.
Someone else twisted it. Probably...
"Feels like the Shreddie Club got handsy with it."
Sung Si-hoon popped out from subspace.
"Doesn't matter. Find this core's nucleus, and I'll deep-fry the bastard alive in shitwater."
He's pissed. Makes sense—fresh off that stench-fest, anyone would be. Buddha-level not to rage.