Lucius and Raymond sat on the cold stone steps, backs pressed to the wall, chests rising and falling as they drank deeply from their canteens.
According to every report they had received, no monsters appeared on the stairways.
It was dangerous to trust that information—but compared to the hell they had just crawled out of, this place felt like sanctuary.
At least for now.
General Calgurio had summoned them personally and ordered them into the labyrinth.
They had no intention of refusing.
Like Shinji and the others before them, Lucius and Raymond were Otherworlders, taken in and guided by Gadra when they first arrived in this unfamiliar world. A world where right and wrong were blurred, and survival demanded compromise.
They owed Gadra more than food and shelter.
They owed him direction.
And now—Gadra was gone.
He had been dispatched to Eterna, the dominion ruled by Atem, the King of Games, leading a special task force. Gadra returned alone. The others never did.
Officially, he reported that his companions had fallen in battle.
Then Gadra vanished as well.
Rumors spread quickly. Some claimed he had gone back into Eterna alone to rescue his subordinates. To those who truly knew Gadra, the story didn't quite fit—but if it were true, then abandoning him was unthinkable.
There was more.
The men said to have died alongside Gadra were not strangers.
Shinji Tanimura. Mark Lauren. Xin Liuxing.
Fellow countrymen. Friends.
Shinji, especially, had been a rare kind of man—awkward, blunt, sometimes careless with words, but unfailingly kind. He never ignored someone in need. People followed him without realizing why.
Lucius and Raymond felt that loss keenly.
Not because of duty.
But because of bond.
They had brought their concerns to the command structure.
The response was firm.
"It's too dangerous to act now. The situation is unstable. I can't tell you everything—but Shinji and the others are safe."
Those words did not convince them.
If someone said "it's dangerous," then it truly was.
But vague reassurances meant nothing.
If left alone, someone would rush in blindly. Better that it be those who could fight.
Lucius and Raymond decided to move without approval.
They transferred from the Mixed Corps to the
Armored Corps and joined the operation under Calgurio.
When the order came, it was exactly what they had been waiting for.
"It might've been a mistake," Raymond muttered.
Lucius exhaled. "Yeah. I didn't expect this level of resistance."
They had been deployed to the 59th floor.
What they didn't know was that the labyrinth had plans for them.
There was an intention to suddenly pull them into the 60th floor, but it was delayed. Not out of mercy—out of caution. There was always the chance these two were hiding their true strength. Or worse, pretending to be someone else.
This was not hesitation born of fear.
It was calculation.
The will behind it belonged to Atem—
—or more precisely—
Solarys, Sovereign of Wisdom.
Ramiris and Gadra both understood this.
The King of Eterna did not gamble. He verified.
So Lucius and Raymond were thrown into a crucible.
Laser cannons that shifted trajectories.
Sonic weapons that ruptured organs through vibration alone.
Isolation walls that sealed escape routes.
Once those fell, corridors flooded with colorless, odorless poison gas.
Weapons developed in the 95th-floor laboratory—now expanded to a hundred floors—were activated. Not to annihilate armies.
But to measure two men.
And above all—
A humanoid offensive weapon stood in their way.
A Majin-form golem, built from ancient mechanisms recovered from the ruins of Amalita in the Puppet Nation of Jistav. Technology once studied and refined under Atem's direct authority.
This was power that had erased divisions of the Imperial Army with less than a fraction of its output.
Now, it was being used carefully.
Precisely.
Raymond charged first, holding the line.
Lucius followed.
His Unique Skill: Fusionist lived up to its name—
melding matter, compressing it, tearing energy free from the impossible. Used correctly, it rivaled forbidden-class magic.
Gadra had discovered that truth.
Gadra had taught him how to wield it.
Lucius remembered that debt as he released his attack.
The battlefield collapsed.
Golems fell. Cannons were erased.
They won.
But victory had a cost.
There were too many weapons. Too many layers. Even with their full strength, they could not push further.
After a single day—
They were exhausted.
Raymond wiped sweat from his brow.
"Going down without preparation would be suicide."
Lucius nodded. "But going up won't save us either."
The confirmation they'd received upon entry echoed in their minds:
You may not leave the labyrinth unless you clear it.
Clearing it was impossible.
"Even if we move one floor a day," Raymond said grimly, "it'll take over a month. We don't have the food."
They hadn't undergone body modification. They needed to eat.
Water could be managed.
Food could not.
Twenty days. Maybe less.
Yet neither man spoke of retreat.
They had come for answers.
They would not turn back empty-handed.
Lucius touched the necklace at his throat.
"Do you trust this thing?"
Raymond snorted. "Not even a little."
It was a prototype revival item, a rushed imitation of Ramiris's true resurrection artifact. Supposedly capable of reviving the wearer inside the labyrinth.
But no one knew where.
"Reviving right in front of the thing that killed you?" Raymond scoffed. "That's not salvation. That's a loop."
Lucius grimaced. "And if it's fake… offending the ruler of this labyrinth might be worse than dying."
They agreed instantly.
They would act as if death was final.
Rely only on themselves.
They stood, sharing a tired smile.
"We go as far as we can."
"If we fail… maybe they'll forgive us."
Lucius laughed weakly. "Shinji would've laughed at that."
Raymond sighed. "Don't say his name like that."
They talked—about Shinji, his recklessness, his kindness, his stupid courage.
For a moment, the labyrinth felt distant.
Then—
A voice echoed.
"Hey, hey! Lucius! Raymond! We need to talk!"
They froze.
That voice—
Another followed.
"Yeah. It won't hurt to listen."
Then—
From before them rose a towering Elemental Colossus.
And from within it—
A voice they knew better than anyone.
"Can you hear me clearly?" it said calmly.
"This is Gadra."
The world stopped.
"You're—alive?" Lucius whispered.
"What… is going on?" Raymond demanded.
The Colossus shifted.
Gadra's voice carried no urgency.
No fear.
Only certainty.
What followed was not a battle of blades or magic—
But a battle of conviction.
And within minutes—
Two wandering pawns would realize they had stepped onto the King's side of the board.
Gadra's persuasion worked—far more smoothly than expected.
Shinji and the others, who had already declared their withdrawal from the war, joined Gadra in speaking to them. With those familiar faces standing together, the resistance on the other side crumbled quickly. Lucius and Raymond accepted our proposal without raising further objections.
That alone told me enough.
Lucius and Raymond—disciples of Gadra, comrades of Shinji.
I had already tested them once, on the 59th floor.
And among the two, Lucius was the more dangerous piece.
His power was obscene in its simplicity.
At a glance, it looked like nothing more than a flick of the finger—a childish gesture, almost playful. But what followed was a localized annihilation, a miniature detonation that bordered on a controlled nuclear reaction.
Unique Skill: Fusionist.
The ability to transform matter, fuse it, and forcibly extract energy from the reaction. One crude yet terrifying application was to transmute a grain of rubble, flick it forward, and let the target explode from the inside.
Even barriers offered no real safety.
If the transformed fragment was deflected, it detonated the moment it touched the ground. The gravel was so small that dodging it reliably was nearly impossible—and worse, there was no detectable magical reaction to warn of the change.
A vicious ability.
One mistake, and the user would be caught in his own blast. But Lucius had mastered it. His spatial awareness and detection were flawless. Whatever training Gadra had put him through, it had been merciless—and effective.
Raymond, on the other hand, was the perfect counterbalance.
His close-combat skills were refined to an exceptional degree, and his shield work was flawless. Watching him hold the line was almost satisfying. He blocked shockwaves from Lucius's explosions head-on, anchoring the battlefield so his partner could act without restraint.
Together, they formed a complete unit.
There was no sign of disguise.
No trace of mental interference.
Their purpose had been exactly as they claimed: to find Gadra and Shinji.
I judged them trustworthy.
Still, trust did not mean blind faith.
For now, they would work under Shinji's group as trainees. A precaution. If they proved themselves, I would elevate them to the same standing as the others.
That decision settled, my attention shifted upward.
Roughly one hundred Imperial soldiers were gathered in a hilly region.
They had stabilized quickly.
Within a day, confusion gave way to discipline. Tents were erected on elevated ground, scouts dispatched in all directions. Their commander had been isolated and sent elsewhere, yet the unit did not collapse.
That composure deserved recognition.
"They're doing exactly what they should," Benimaru said flatly.
"Clear chain of command. That's how you survive the loss of leadership."
He was right.
An army without structure dies fast. These
soldiers had adapted. Even as enemies, they earned my respect.
"So we're ready?" I asked.
"Of course," Benimaru replied. "Even without me, Gobua can command. Tactical theory is mandatory in the Kurenai. Anyone here can take control if needed."
That confidence was absolute.
I turned my gaze back to the board.
"They're not advancing. What are they waiting for?"
"Their goal is likely to locate survivors on other floors," Benimaru answered calmly. "Unfortunately for them—there are none. Not anymore."
I agreed.
From their perspective, regrouping made sense. From ours, it was pointless.
"Should we have Adalmann move?" I said quietly.
Shion nodded immediately. She was bored—no, restless. She understood her duty as my guard, but even she wanted this concluded.
"There won't be new information if we wait," Benimaru added.
That settled it.
The order went out.
Adalmann laughed as he prepared his forces.
"Witness the might of death!"
The gates of the undead domain opened.
Adalmann, Albert, and the death dragon advanced with overwhelming force.
One hour later—
Only three Imperial soldiers remained alive.
On our side?
Adalmann.
Albert.
The death dragon.
Three against three.
The rest had been erased.
I expected the dead to resurrect in time and finish it cleanly.
Then—
"Kufufufufu… interesting pieces have appeared."
Diablo's voice carried genuine interest.
"Mm. I would like to cross blades with them myself," Shion added.
Three powerful warriors stood among the enemy.
One—a handsome swordsman—was locked in combat with Albert.
Another—a refined mage—was trading spells with Adalmann.
The third—a massive warrior—was holding the death dragon alone.
Their uniforms matched.
Imperial Guardians.
"That swordsman," Benimaru said, narrowing his eyes, "he's equal to Albert."
He was right.
Their duel was exquisite—shield and sword, divine techniques exchanged with perfect timing. Neither gained ground.
Meanwhile, Adalmann was struggling.
"That armor…" Shion muttered. "It blocks everything. Holy or demonic—it doesn't matter."
Legendary-grade anti-magic armor.
Even Holy-Demonic Reversal was dulled against it.
Only Disintegration-class magic could break through—but the mage allowed no opening.
And the third warrior—
He wasn't trying to win.
He was enduring.
Holding the death dragon at bay, trusting in his allies.
A rational choice.
Without him, the battle would have ended instantly.
I asked quietly, "Your assessments?"
Benimaru answered first.
"Albert is superior—but his weapon isn't. He'll lose."
Diablo followed.
"Adalmann is rushing. If Albert falls first, this ends in defeat."
Shion crossed her arms.
"There will be victory. There is no other outcome."
A declaration—not an analysis.
As expected.
"If they lose," I said calmly, "does it matter?"
"No," Benimaru replied without hesitation. "Even then, the Elite Ten remain. And if I enter the field, defeat is impossible."
Shion nodded fiercely.
"I can crush them all as well, Atem-sama."
Diablo chuckled.
"Zegion still stands. As long as he remains, even the Labyrinth King himself would not be troubled."
High praise—from Diablo, no less.
Then the enemy spoke.
"I hoped to force it," the swordsman shouted, "but I'll go all out! Be proud—you made me serious!"
He raised his blade.
"My name is Krishna. Imperial Guardian—Number 17!"
"I am Reicha, Number 94."
"Bazin, Number 35."
As expected.
Imperial Guardians.
The one Testarossa had slain was ranked 11th—yet these three were stronger. Their numbering did not reflect strength.
The decisive moment came swiftly.
Krishna shattered Albert's cursed blade—not by brute force, but by attrition. Repeated clashes, microscopic damage accumulating, until the weapon failed catastrophically.
Legendary steel prevailed.
Albert fell.
Adalmann followed soon after.
The death dragon was extinguished by their combined assault.
The battle ended.
Two keys were lost.
I accepted it.
It was unreasonable to demand perfection from those who had revealed the enemy's true strength.
Benimaru and Diablo had predicted this outcome.
They were correct.
I turned my attention to the remaining screens—
The 79th floor.
The 90th floor.
Both battles were nearing their climax.
Kumara's was the most violent—her vengeance long overdue.
Apito's, surprisingly, was balanced. Her opponent was formidable—disciplined, precise, almost on Krishna's level.
I folded my arms.
The board was nearly cleared.
Now—
It was time to see who would remain standing.
I watched in silence, eyes fixed on the screen.