Chapter 271 - Preparation (2)
"Damn it... can't you just wake me up in a normal way?"
Galliark frowned, scratching his forehead.
He had been struck squarely with a liquor bottle adorned with metal at the end, but naturally, not even a scratch, not even a reddish mark, appeared.
Innate brute strength, and bodily durability no less.
Even if struck with an iron club, he would not budge. He had lived a harsh adventurer's life, brawling with abnormal species.
Such complaints were nothing more than greetings.
Thud.
Verden took a seat in an empty chair.
He picked up a water jug rolling nearby, chilled it with cold energy, and tossed it lightly to the side.
Galliark grumbled as he shifted his posture and snatched it with one hand. Leaning back on the sofa, he gulped the cold water down.
"Khuh."
After quenching his thirst, the butcher draped his arms over the back of the sofa.
Propping one leg on the table, he tilted his chin with leisure.
"So. Did you finish the job?"
"As you can see."
A brief account that through Vintert, he had dealt with the target, the Royal Court Mage Captain, Leonil.
Of course, matters of the Kingdom's inner workings, like Silis or the Witch, were omitted. Verden was not so loose-tongued as to spill such secrets.
Besides, stringing together long explanations was bothersome.
Galliark did not pry further.
Instead, he chuckled, shoulders shaking.
"Well, well, not only Vintert, now even a 6th-tier Magician? Tell me honestly, you're not human, you're an abnormal species, aren't you? Feels like just yesterday you were staggering around against a single Undead..."
Human, should he still be called?
If the Administrator's words were right, having stepped into Quasi-Transcendent, he was already halfway beyond the ordinary human category.
But no matter how deeply one thought, nothing changed, so it mattered little.
"Weren't you the one who fainted first back then?"
"Son of a—, I let myself get beaten half to death to create an opening, and this is how you talk?"
Crack.
Tilting his head, Galliark loosened the muscles in his neck.
The sound of bones snapping echoed, but the butcher stretched his arms lightly, refreshed.
Even the remnants of his hangover seemed to vanish at once.
"Anyway. Since you've taken down the so-called strongest of the Kingdom, what now, you planning to settle down here?"
"No. I'm thinking of leaving soon."
"Why? You might not be King, but if you sit in the underworld, you could eat and drink for the rest of your life."
"If I wanted that, I'd have settled long ago."
If he simply wished for an easy life, many options had been open.
Remaining in the Duchy of Riviant, becoming a high noble's exclusive Mage alone would guarantee a life of luxury.
But he had never once sought such peace.
Seeing Verden's serious demeanor, Galliark burst into laughter, nodding again and again.
"Khahahahaha! Right, right! What fun is there in living settled like that? Maybe when muscles wither and joints creak from age, but at this young age, seeking a sanctuary is idiocy. Better to have this axe split my skull."
Galliark grabbed his one-handed axe.
Veins bulged on the massive hand, large enough to grasp a man's head whole. With a light flick of his fingers, the axe spun and twirled.
Despite his hulking, muscular frame, his dexterity was remarkable.
"So then, leaving the Kingdom, what will you do?"
"To do what I must."
"So, not as an adventurer, then. At your level, you could skip halfway through Mithril rank and rise above. Tch, what a waste."
The Adventurer Guild's absolute peak, Obsidian rank.
Their existence alone was deterrence, an overwhelming force no outside power dared challenge.
The treatment granted was accordingly supreme.
Galliark probed him lightly, but Verden did not budge.
As ever, he had no thought of belonging to the Adventurer Guild. Besides, he was already set to join Ark.
"Well, suit yourself."
Snorting, Galliark stood.
Shoving aside trash, he strapped on the armor he had purchased cheap from Verden. Hwihwol and his one-handed axe were slung across his back and waist.
"You leaving now?"
"Soon as the guild's punishment ends. By now, Goad and Nerien should be enjoying a carefree break, so I'll go find them and reunite."
Galliark was an adventurer in truth.
A rough man who disdained the weak and showed no mercy to foes, yet respected the strong and often cared for his companions.
Though branded with the fearsome alias, Butcher, he was one who knew how to look after his own.
"Ah, come to think, I was curious. That guy Draken, what's to become of him? Once you leave, the Marquisate of Esperanza will naturally come here, so... as a Vintert executive, is it execution?"
"He won't die immediately."
The fallen adventurer, Draken.
He had taken part in the civil war, aiding the First Prince Valrgna, but otherwise had mostly holed up in Roafra.
At least within the Kingdom, he had not stirred much trouble. Like Robert, there was room for some leniency.
Of course, depending on his future actions, things might change, but he was not necessarily bound for the executioner's block.
"And why do you ask that?"
"I was thinking of dropping by. If he's doomed anyway, I figured I'd lop off his head myself. He was an adventurer once, after all. You know, professional courtesy."
Galliark bared his fangs.
Not even an Ogre would make such a face.
"Never mind then. I'll be going, take care. Dying far from home... nah, hell. There's no way you'd die like that."
Galliark muttered, heading for the exit.
Just as his hand gripped the doorknob, Verden stirred his magic power. The trash Galliark had scattered for days gathered neatly in one pile.
"Take this as my farewell."
"Well, how gracious."
Galliark waved his hand casually.
Low laughter, heavy footsteps, receded.
***
Draken, gravely wounded, had no choice but to remain in bed for a time.
His entire body battered, bones broken, muscles torn, but what delayed his recovery was the narcotics he had consumed.
Their effects— bodily enhancement, mental stability.
In return, strong addiction, and lingering aftereffects.
Until now, with his body so resilient, he had never felt much issue. But in his weakened state, he could not escape the price.
If only he had strong liquor, the pain might lessen.
The priest of the Church of Luas, who was in charge of treatment, had declared it strictly forbidden, so there was no way around it. It took a long time just to barely sit himself up.
Only now, with crutches, had he managed to walk a little, and he thought to finally step outside for the first time in a while.
It was then.
"Still hobbling around? Weaker than I thought."
Out of nowhere, Galliark appeared.
Draken's hollow eyes shifted forward.
"...What brings you here?"
"There's something I haven't taken yet."
Galliark pointed to his neck.
His target was the Mithril Plate hanging there. It was absurd, but resisting would only leave him gravely injured again.
Draken no longer had the strength to fight. Not yet.
Rip.
The necklace with the Plate was torn off.
He stared at it briefly, then without hesitation, tossed it to him.
"Take it."
"So obedient? That's boring... hm, can't be helped."
Galliark's lips twisted.
An illegal Plate, and not just any, but a Mithril Plate. Bringing this to the Guild would be a tremendous achievement.
Though his reputation had suffered from countless incidents, with this, he could not only make amends but overturn it all at once.
His days of being bound to Platinum Rank would soon be over.
Draken spoke.
"What's making you so happy?"
"Because I took down a former Mithril Rank, and proved I've become stronger. That's the taste of life."
"Stronger, huh. You chase after something meaningless."
Draken sat on the edge of the bed.
"You are indeed at the level of a strong one. At least more than I am now. But this world is teeming with the incomprehensible. Like that Mage Asher who crushed Grond..."
Draken had once been a promising adventurer.
He had traveled the world, subjugating demi-humans and abnormal species.
But in the end, he realized.
There existed realms unreachable even if one sacrificed their life, beings so mighty they could kill a Mithril Rank like himself as though he were an insect.
So he sought Roafra.
The underground city ruled by Grond, a mighty strong one, a ruler with monstrous talent and power.
A place somewhat severed from the world.
The only place Draken believed he could live not as a worm, but as a man, and as a strong one. So he had joined Vintert without hesitation.
Seizing the position of captain of the guard division, he reigned as a man of power. With drugs and liquor, he firmly suppressed the nightmares that surfaced from time to time.
"For men like us, the limits are clear. No matter how we struggle, we can never reach the toes of the rulers. If so, what meaning is there in becoming stronger?"
"Tch, I wondered what you were babbling about."
Galliark's eyes gleamed.
Murderous intent and contempt locked onto Draken.
"A fallen adventurer, they called you, but you were just a scared little rat? Damn it, where do you get off lecturing me?"
"You wouldn't understand. You've never faced a Transcendent."
"Transcendent my ass. Hey, you idiot. From the beginning, the world's always been survival of the fittest. But the weak aren't destined to stay weak forever."
Galliark worshiped strength itself.
A mindset formed since childhood. With his exceptional body, Galliark kept pushing forward to become even stronger.
With blood boiling.
"Struggle is the root of humanity. Even a farmer swinging a hoe at goblins has it. And you tell me to abandon that, and live like you? I'd rather crash against a Transcendent and die. Damn it, now I'm just in a foul mood."
Spit. Galliark spat on the ground and turned his back. Soon, stepping outside, he strode proudly toward the surface.
Left alone, Draken drooped his head weakly.
The Mithril Plate, symbol of his fiery past, was gone. He had no lingering attachment now, but somehow, the back of his neck felt empty.
***
After Galliark left, Verden headed down to the depths of the Ashen Castle. He entered a chamber once favored by Grond as a sanctuary.
Vintert, the vault, Galliark.
In a single day at Roafra, he had completed these three errands.
Now it was time for the final task— to set plans for what was to come.
Lost in thought, Verden arranged his present goals in order.
'First priority, Bohemirn Magic Tower.'
The ultimate goal of Verden, who had achieved Defying the Heavens.
It was the reason he had risked his life, growing at a steep pace until now.
Their top power consisted of the tower master and his disciples. And the Elder Council.
No matter how unprecedented Verden's growth curve was, the tower they had built was not to be taken lightly.
'Second priority, Black Hour.'
Its first member.
The sage, Harkan Dazest.
He had bestowed upon Verden the Celestial attribute, and given him everything of Celestial Magic, earnestly hoping that Verden would block Black Hour for the world.
Verden owed Harkan.
So even if he was no longer in this world, he would keep the promise. That much was certain.
'But it won't be easy.'
Compared to the Bohemirn Magic Tower, their overall power was weaker, yet they could not be underestimated.
Dahit Wethroel.
The current leader of Black Hour was also a Transcendent.
And as those called Mages of Death, those who stood by Dahit also held fearsome power.
Bohemirn Magic Tower. And Black Hour.
Either one was far too much for Verden to face alone.
'Therefore.'
Knock, knock.
───Lord Asher, I've brought the documents you requested.
In the same way, he had no choice but to build a foundation.
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