Chapter 263 : Chapter 263
Chapter 263 : The Kingdom's Legacy (6)
My hand moved faster than my thoughts. I grabbed the doorknob as if possessed.
'A Strike Piercing the Heart..........!'
It was a title I absolutely couldn't just pass by. Didn't it mean hidden masters of the world might be gathered here?
My heart pounded subtly with anticipation. I slowly turned the doorknob.
CREAK—
The moment I opened the door, a cramped space barely large enough for three or four adults to stand appeared. Right in front of me was another door leading further inside, and a deer mask stood guarding it like a gatekeeper.
'Did they set it up like this to prevent the outer corridor from becoming cluttered?'
It was a design that oozed Simone's characteristic underhandedness. When I handed a gold coin to the gatekeeper, he pushed the inner door open.
'This is a completely different structure.'
It was like a small theater. Lights were pouring down only on the stage in front, while the spectator seats were entirely pitch black. Thanks to that, no one paid any attention to me as a newcomer.
"......So the core is momentum. Only momentum!"
The man standing on the stage gave a passionate speech. There were roughly a dozen or so people below him.
Of course, there was no one who seemed to be Gunt. Well, I hadn't expected it anyway.
"Read the current flowing between your opponent and yourself. You must discern in a fleeting moment whether that tug-of-war is tight or loose. That can be called the decisive turning point."
I found an empty seat and sat down. Perhaps because I'd missed the beginning, I still couldn't catch the drift of the conversation.
Just then, the man put his hands behind his back, brought his heels together, and bent his knees slightly. Then, he smoothly extended one arm toward an imaginary enemy.
'It's the basic stance of Destreza. Though it's poorly done to an embarrassing extent.'
Well, everyone's learned swordsmanship is different. At any rate, it looked like he was about to get serious. I widened my eyes.
"Does your opponent look massive? Do they feel like an insurmountable wall? If so, you've already lost. It's because you lack confidence in yourself. With such a weak mindset, you can't penetrate even a single inch of an opening!"
I inadvertently nodded my head. In a life-or-death battle where countless variables run rampant, the most powerful weapon is ultimately trust in the training piled up over the past years and unyielding confidence. That paper-thin difference sometimes determines the direction of the match.
"There's no need for grand rhetoric. It's just cumbersome! Petty tricks are merely an illusion to hide a lack of skill. But in the end, the true value is bound to be revealed. And your opponent knows instinctively. That you're trembling."
The man's eyes flashed. It was the gaze of an experienced swordsman. He stealthily took a step forward.
"Do not hesitate, approach. Your opponent will flinch. They're bound to be rendered helpless. That's exactly when you target the lips."
......?
"Wrap one hand around her waist as if snatching her up, and move your opposite hand without rest. Just like a warrior roaming the battlefield. Dazzlingly and smoothly! Swiftly and intensely!"
***
I left the room immediately. I'd forgotten for a moment. Just how underhanded and perverted a gathering this Simone was.
'I won't fall for it twice.'
My eyelids trembled at the thought of having thrown away a whole gold coin for nothing.
I scanned the room titles written on the placards one by one again. This time, I exercised the utmost caution.
'[The Place Where a Thousand Years of Scent Resides], huh. It's obvious. They've burned expensive spices or aphrodisiacs and are lounging around in a hazy intoxication.'
They've spouted nonsense so elegantly for a gathering of druggies. [Invitation to the Forbidden Sanctuary]? This isn't even worth looking at.
Frowning, I shifted my steps and came to a stop before a certain door.
'[The Grave of Ten Thousand Swords]..........'
My heart subtly fluctuated once more. Ten thousand swords. Was it a story about a Sword Graveyard? It might be a place where the whereabouts of the Kingdom's legendary famed swords or the final tracks of knights who dominated an era are shared.
Just as I was about to grab the doorknob without realizing it—
A masked man and woman approached from behind, their skin pressing together as they clung to each other.
"Oh! It's open today too. That lecture on 'The Art of the Clash' last time was truly...... a masterpiece."
"Mmh, that's right. Might today perhaps be the heavenly technique to reach paradise?"
"Fufu, prepare yourself. Can you handle my sword?"
"Oh my, just make sure it doesn't hurt. Ohohoho!"
The two hurried into the room while explicitly massaging each other's thighs and waists.
I squeezed my eyes shut and turned around.
'I almost fell for it again!'
In the end, it's the legacy of the Lust Demon. What absolute bullshit to try and find the truth of martial arts in a filthy place like this. Get a grip, Bihen. It's no different from looking for a panacea in a latrine.
I stabilized my scattered mind and gazed at a nearby placard.
'[The Limping King's Shoemaker].'
I stroked my chin and chewed over the room title. Perhaps because there were so many low and underhanded titles, it ironically felt genuine.
'The limping king must refer to Philinus II.'
I've already sufficiently confirmed how laughably those Simone bastards regard the King. The derogatory modifier of 'limping' would be nothing but a simple metaphor to them.
'Is it a conspiracy plot to grasp and shake the King's weakness?'
There's also some decent information I've obtained unintentionally here.
'There are two gold coins left.'
I'd rather scrape together information about the political situation when I have one last chance left. Instead of entering an absurd place and being toyed with again, I'll definitely look out for practical benefits.
'Beside, if it's Gunt, there's a possibility he might be here.'
I finalized my decision and opened the door.
.
.
.
I slammed the door shut.
Dammit. I fell for it again in the end. By now, I was shuddering to the point where a scream almost broke out.
'Information my ass.'
It was merely a gathering of street thugs mocking and chattering while bringing up Philinus II's physical defect. It was literally a base metaphor about fixing the limping king's foot.
'Now there's exactly one try left.'
I stared intently at the gold coin in my palm. My anger flared, feeling like I kept losing the match for some reason.
Bump!
"Oops, my apologies!"
A drunkard who suddenly appeared from behind staggered past, bumping my shoulder. Thanks to that, the final gold coin resting in my palm fell to the floor.
Roll, roll—
The metallic sound of it rolling across the cold corridor floor grated on my insides. Watching the back of the receding drunkard, I seriously pondered whether to twist his neck, but barely suppressing my anger, I trudged over to where the gold coin had stopped.
The moment I picked up the gold coin and straightened my waist, the placard attached right in front of me caught my eye.
[Lease of Mana and the Forced Reduction Theory]
I blew away the dust on the gold coin with my breath, staring intently at the room title on the placard.
I couldn't tell why my gaze kept lingering on this abstruse sentence.
'......Forced reduction.'
As I muttered it inadvertently, my heart suddenly throbbed wildly. It was completely different from when I harbored futile expectations after seeing those bogus room titles earlier.
This was on an instinctive level.
Thump.
Instinct. Yes, something inside me was pointing beyond this door.
And exceedingly desperately, at that.
CREAK—
***
Around the time Bihen was in the middle of undergoing their own welcoming ceremony in the small room prepared for new members,
Vena and Ramba returned to the Wild Dogs and Sewer Rats hideout.
"It felt like we went quite far when leaving, but coming back took no time at all."
Ramba muttered. He looked around the corridor, which was sumptuously decorated like a high-class tavern.
To him, who had briefly been a noble once before choosing a life at the rock bottom, this sleek space was bound to be uncomfortable somehow.
"Ramba. Guess you can finally breathe a little easier now?"
Vena, who was walking ahead, said with a fishy smile.
"What do you mean by that?"
"Earlier, you looked exactly like a dried-up rat, but now there's quite a bit of strength loaded into your voice. You seem to have forgotten, but you're my prisoner."
Ramba responded with a snort. His face showed he found it absurd.
"Prisoner? Hah! Don't say such things when you know nothing. Our Milord isn't the kind of person you think he is."
There was a subtle pride in his tone. It was to the point where a bluff could be felt.
Vena stopped her steps and turned her head.
"I know you had an acquaintance with him. But I heard you aren't on such exceptionally close terms?"
"Who said we're close? I simply trust Milord."
Vena's forehead wrinkled.
"Trust......?"
"That's right. I mean, Milord didn't throw me to you as a hostage. Because the situation outside is so dangerous, he judged it'd be better for my personal safety to leave me by your side."
The Bihen Benkou that Ramba knew was that kind of man. His inside and outside didn't differ, he absolutely kept the words he spat out, and he possessed a bizarre power that made the people around him trust and follow him.
Though he was rough and crude on the outside, that was precisely the reason people gathered around him. They weren't drawn to the martial prowess that Bihen possessed.
"Sometimes that excessive uprightness makes things tiring for himself, but well, what of it? That's exactly the kind of person Bihen Benkou is."
Ramba walked ahead leisurely with his hands behind his back. It was a situation where the initiative had strangely shifted.
"He's someone who doesn't treat even an enemy carelessly. It might be overconfidence in his own power, but he truly possesses that much power as well."
"It'll be troublesome if you misunderstand just because Milord didn't handle you roughly. That wasn't mercy, and he certainly wasn't attracted to the 'Queen of the Underground' either. He merely treated you as a fellow 'human' regardless of interests."
"......"
"So fold up your vain dreams. Because he's someone a sloppy scheme can't even inflict a scratch on. Instead, you might end up ruined with not even bone dust left behind."
Vena bit her lower lip slightly, then released it with a snap. She had an expression subtly steeped in defeat.
"In the end, it means he judged I'm less dangerous than the threats outside?"
"Put another way, it could also mean you're just that laughably insignificant in Milord's eyes."
Before they knew it, the two arrived in front of Vena's office. Mountain, who was guarding the door, bowed his head with a blink.
Vena stopped right before grabbing the doorknob, standing still as if something came to mind, and stared quietly at Ramba.
"......Then can I also try trusting that 'Milord Bihen'?"
"What kind of out-of-the-blue talk is that again?"
In place of an answer, Vena lightly shrugged her shoulders and opened the door.
As the door closed, the already quiet space grew even quieter. Moving her steps into the inner part of the office, Vena broke the strange silence that felt as if a deeper stillness had been overlaid onto the quietude.
"It's already been four years since Philinus II succeeded to the throne."
Vena stood before her office desk and continued speaking while staring straight at Ramba.
"But he hasn't held the coronation ceremony yet. Even though a coronation where the royal gravedigger and supreme scholar personally places the crown on the King's head is a long-standing tradition of our Kingdom."
"......"
"What do you think the reason is?"
Ramba crossed his arms with a sullen expression. It was a sudden riddle.
However, it was also true that his interest was subtly piqued.
"Well, you see...... How could a mere beggar know the King's inner thoughts? He must have other designs. I heard a grand event will be held in the Imperial Capital soon, so maybe he's timing it to match that."
Vena twisted the corners of her mouth. It was her characteristic arrogant smile.
"There's the immature King's whim, but there's a most decisive reason. It's exactly because of the 'crown'."
"The crown......?"
"For your information, even during the accession of the late king, Arthur VIII, a separate coronation wasn't held. That was also because of the crown."
Ramba furrowed his forehead. He wondered what kind of bizarre talk this was.
Instead of an answer, Vena opened a large metal chest placed behind her. Unlocking the locking mechanism took nearly an eternity.
Presently, Ramba's eyes went wide at the object brought out in Vena's hand from inside. The crossed arms he held automatically unraveled.
"T-That is......!"
Although he had never seen the actual thing even a single time, Ramba was instantly certain that the crown shining before his eyes was the real deal.
Because it precisely matched the description of its bizarre yet sacred appearance, which he must have easily heard thousands of times while wandering all over the Kingdom as the Boss of the Wild Dogs and Sewer Rats.
Crown of Suffering.
A form where sharp, golden thorny vines coiled up. Along its texture, elaborately crafted multi-colored gem decorations emitted their respective lights.
Vena spoke in a low voice.
"A true legacy of the Kingdom...... that a fake dare not even be placed on one's head."