Chapter 65
Nakcheon.
The fallen sky.
Once the idol of challengers who reached the eighth floor of the Demon Castle.
In a long-forgotten past, he was the one who led the elite team, Black Death, into the depths of the Demon Castle.
But now, he was a ghost, consumed by the Demon Castle, guarding the edge of the eighth floor so that no one could pass into the ninth.
All while clinging to a frail body, barely sustained by the Demon Castle’s life-giving ability.
And the sword possessed by Nakcheon was none other than Thunderstorm.
The synergy between the ghost of the Demon Castle and Thunderstorm was not insignificant.
Thus, many sought to challenge Nakcheon, either hoping to pass beyond the ninth floor or yearning for Thunderstorm itself.
Yet the outcome was clear—Nakcheon was still alive and kicking.
Kraush planned to defeat Nakcheon and claim Thunderstorm for himself.
[ It’s been a while here. ]
The voice of Crimson Garden drifted to Kraush as she gazed out the window at Lavala.
Like an immortal, it seemed she’d visited the city before.
“Crim, do you have any paper or something lying around here?”
[ Nope. I find it a waste to invest time in a place like this. ]
Kraush squinted at her response.
Like during the era of the first Spirit Mage, Crimson Garden seemed to have contributed quite a bit to historical events.
He hadn’t had the chance to ask about her past before his regression, but now he found himself filled with curiosity.
“Just to check, is there any chance the Demon Castle made your kind of paper or something?”
The Demon Castle had been the ultimate essence reached by a mad weapons engineer even before the era of empires.
Wondering if Crimson Garden had any link to it, she broke into a wry smile.
[ Do you really think I meddle in everything that happens in the world? I’ve only stumbled into a few incidents by chance. ]
So that wasn’t the case.
[ However, I do know that some world erosion creature was quite friendly with that engineer. ]
“You mean that dwarf?”
The moment Kraush said this, Crimson Garden froze.
[You regressor, you!]
Crimson Garden’s tone was somewhat discontent as if she had intended to sound mysterious but had her moment stolen instead.
Kraush stifled a chuckle, only to be interrupted by the sudden clatter of the carriage jolting to a stop.
“We’ve arrived.”
As the driver’s voice echoed, the door swung open, revealing Aliod.
Aliod stepped back a bit to allow Kraush to disembark comfortably, and Kraush hopped down.
The carriage felt smaller somehow, his recent growth spurt making this seem less an achievement than before.
He’d barely recognized himself in the mirror earlier when he noticed the baby fat finally wearing off.
Having always been precocious in growth, Kraush was starting to look more like a young boy than a kid.
“Bianca.”
As he extended his hand back to Bianca, she took it without hesitation and followed him out.
“It’s big,” she briefly remarked, gazing up at the towering structure before them.
And indeed, it was a substantial building.
The Demon Castle had long been considered a no-go zone by both the empire and the kingdoms due to its deadly nature.
The byproducts from the Demon Castle were too valuable for one side to monopolize; hence, it had been left as an ungoverned territory.
This cooperation spurred the establishment of the Challenger Guild Hall, the very place they stood.
Kraush pushed through the hall’s doors, entering to a few glances thrown his way by other challengers.
With the duo of noble offspring plus a butler in tow, they looked unmistakably out of place, much to the challengers’ chagrin as no one wanted to provoke a noble.
Kraush didn’t pay them much mind as he headed straight for the reception desk.
The receptionist quickly recognized Kraush’s noble status and greeted him with an overly friendly smile.
“Welcome! I’m Cello, the guide of the Demon Castle Challenger Guild. What brings you here?”
“I’d like to apply for an access pass.”
“Yes, of course. May I confirm your identity?”
Kraush casually presented the Valheim emblem.
The receptionist flinched as she recognized it.
“V-Valheim.”
Suddenly, all eyes in the vicinity shifted toward them.
Challengers were no fools; they knew the name Valheim.
Gazing around shocked, Aliod shot them a warning glance, and the gazes quickly averted.
“Ah, confirmed. Please wait a moment.”
“While you’re at it, could you also issue a notice for a team recruitment for the eighth floor?”
“Eh? Oh, uh, please go ahead.”
Kraush gave a slow evil smirk.
It was time to make good use of the Valheim name.
—
Recruitment for Eighth Floor Challenge.
If anyone had scoffed at this notice before, things were different now.
The notice posted by Valheim’s direct line made all the difference.
“Wait, Valheim’s direct line is attempting the eighth floor?”
“What the heck? Why all of a sudden?”
This rumor spread throughout Lavala like wildfire.
Many couldn’t believe their ears, doubting the credibility of it.
The Demon Castle was not a place for ordinary nobles to dabble in; they’d stay away lest they court disaster.
“Are they after Thunderstorm?”
“Even so, it’s Nakcheon we’re talking about. Is that really possible?”
Nakcheon, the master-level ghost that was scarcely even registered in the world!
In the arena of that golden generation, Nakcheon stood out as a master of his own right; however, few ever reached that level in the Demon Castle.
And most of Nakcheon’s old teammates had all succumbed to time, leaving him alone!
Once, there were attempts to challenge the eighth floor, but those belonged to an era long gone.
The Demon Castle currently operated at a limited capacity, just the seventh floor.
Of course, it was possible to topple Nakcheon if a determined kingdom or empire put their weight behind it.
But it didn’t add up economically to chug out master-tier talent just to face off against Nakcheon.
What if they failed and lost a capable member or two? It was a significant blow to the nation’s pride and resources.
Hence, no one dared to take that risk, allowing Thunderstorm to remain firmly in Nakcheon’s grasp.
“But Valheim?”
After Nakcheon had held his reign over the eighth floor for so long, now came a direct scion of Valheim aiming to topple him.
“Surely, the challengers from before who attempted the eighth floor will gather together.”
With everyone’s hopes pinned on it, Kraush sat in the guild hall, stifling a yawn.
‘This is taking longer than I expected.’
Were they even testing the waters?
Despite having issued the recruitment notice, no one seemed eager to move.
Kraush lightly tapped his finger against the desk, growing impatient.
His aim was to slip down deeper to the eighth floor as fast as possible.
Never did he expect challengers’ rear ends to be so heavy.
[ You know what the common trait is just before they touch the threshold of master? ]
At that moment, Crimson Garden spoke with a knowing grin.
[ They think the world is laid out beneath them. ]
Kraush didn’t refute this statement.
There was indeed a wall that stood tall between experts and masters.
That wall was insurmountable for many, no matter their dedication throughout their lives.
And those near the edge, they often consider themselves geniuses.
[ What they don’t know is where the real geniuses are separated from the average. ]
Masters are on a whole other level compared to experts.
There are entrance, beginner, intermediate, advanced, proficient, and pinnacle stages to traverse.
That very wall towered high above the entry stage.
[ Back in the day, we just used terms like entry, proficient, and pinnacle. These days, everyone loves embellishing their language. How ridiculous is it that your generation knows nothing of the aspiration of being the best in the world? ]
Kraush glanced at her in disbelief. There she went, sounding like a grandparent.
‘She really does resemble that elderly man who helped me with curses a while back and is now just biding his time until death.’
‘Wonder where he is now.’
He often thought of that old geezer whenever he saw Crimson Garden.
“Speaking of which, what’s the punchline you’re getting at?”
[ A ripe grain bows low. Conversely, unripe grains know not to bow. ]
What a ridiculously simple truth.
[ So shouldn’t we force them to bow? ]
Force them to bow, you say?
Kraush blinked in disbelief at her reply.
“I’m practically at the top of expert level now!”
Having just barely brushed the master niveau thanks to Charlotte’s humility lesson not long ago.
Crimson Garden shot him a sidelong glance at his weak defense.
[ Can’t you keep up the maintenance of the fact that you are keeping your foot in the doorstep of mastery? At the rates you’ve been going, anyone in that zone would scarcely find defeat… At this point, you’ve exceeded the beginner ranks entirely! ]
He couldn’t really refute that.
However, considering strictly the means of purity, masters were still quite distant for Kraush, prompting an awkward chuckle.
“Didn’t you say I was far off not long ago?”
[ That was my standard just bulking. ]
True to form, Crimson Garden remained haughty.
In the meantime, Kraush couldn’t help but notice Bianca bopping her head on the desk in disarray.
Having awaited him, she was now struggling to keep her eyes open.
Seeing as she’d stuck around for him, Kraush kindly cradled her head, letting her slump against his knee as she dozed off.
Intertwined, Bianca cozily snuggled deeper into his lap.
“Alright, if they aren’t showing up, it seems only logical we hunt them down ourselves.”
He was good at getting people to bow anyway.
Thus, he had to adequately prepare who should be first on his radar.
Kraush scanned the list of those who had reached the eighth floor, cursorily deciding.
This one.
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