Into the Crimson Wind
Shhk—
As I slipped my hand into the newly acquired gloves, the soft, supple texture wrapped around my fingers as if welcoming me.
Long gloves made from an unknown dark leather glimmering faintly with shadowed light.
"Ancient Noble Gladiator's Gauntlets."
I nodded in satisfaction.
"Nice."
If it had just been a normal B-rank gauntlet as originally intended, it wouldn't have felt nearly this refined.
[Sub Equipment] Combat gloves imbued with the proud soul of an ancient noble gladiator. Specially blessed by mysterious divine power.
Special: Increases Strength by 10%. Grants a unique enhancement when paired with specific Fate Cards.
Additional: Greatly enhances power when facing divine or holy forces.
Now this was what real gear should feel like.
If I wanted to properly grow as a gladiator, this level of equipment was the baseline.
'Yeah… this is just the beginning.'
Of course, getting my hands on this beauty wasn't just luck—it was the result of a little creative negotiation.
"The proposal you made was… quite fascinating," said Myeongamseong, having accepted my earlier suggestion.
He smirked faintly as his eyes fell upon the gauntlets gripping my hands.
"With those, I expect you to deliver a hard blow to those arrogant divine beings. Two blows, if possible."
…He really did loathe the surface gods to the core.
And honestly—
'Can't blame him for that.'
After all, it was said that the five Guardian Saints of Everlast were sealed and stripped of their power by the deities of the surface.
That made them perfect enemies.
Which was why Myeongamseong had gone out of his way to add the "extra effect" to the item.
"I'll make good use of it. Thanks, Myeongamseong."
"You already know, I assume—some relics from the ancient era reveal special effects when used together."
"Ah, you mean set effects?"
Of course I knew.
These Ancient Noble Gladiator's Gauntlets granted bonuses to gladiator-type Fate Cards,
and also produced additional effects when combined with other Ancient Noble Gladiator equipment.
"I'll get the rest soon enough."
I nodded and tightened my grip on my sword's hilt.
Immediately, the gauntlet's power began to flow through me.
[Your hands are now protected from the strain of fierce swordsmanship.]
[Equipped gear and Fate Card are interacting.]
[The equipment's effects have been further enhanced!]
The difference was palpable.
'It's not just the Strength boost—the grip feels perfectly molded to my hand.'
With proper battle gloves, the destructive potential of any weapon rose significantly—
not only swords, but spears, axes… even bows or crossbows would benefit from the synergy.
That's why, as a gladiator, I'd prioritized getting the gauntlets before the weapon itself.
And besides—
'I'll have a chance to get a proper sword soon anyway.'
After reviewing my plans once more, I turned to bid the Guardian Saints farewell.
"Since I'm your Proxy now, I might need to contact you again someday."
"Indeed," replied Myeongamseong. "However, unlike the surface gods, most of our power is gone. Reaching you with our thoughts will not be easy."
"Huh, that so? Then let's just assume no news is good news."
He chuckled softly.
"Still, our fates are now entwined. You and we are in the same vessel, for better or worse."
And as he spoke, a fierce gale began to stir at the far end of the dungeon.
SHHHHHHHHHHHHHK!
A powerful storm erupted within the sealed underground corridor, strong enough to make my body tremble.
I knew exactly what that meant.
'Dungeon—permanently closing.'
As the wild wind started to push me backward, Myeongamseong spoke once more in a quiet voice.
"Come to think of it… I never asked your name. Tell me, what do they call you?"
"…My name?"
I frowned.
"What? You said earlier you already knew everything about me."
He had known—that I was Gilroshan Valt, the scorned third prince of the Valt Empire.
So why ask again?
"I know it—and yet, I do not."
"Huh?"
It seemed he wasn't asking about that name.
"The name you know as your own… That is what I wish to hear. Tell me, what is your name?"
"…!"
Not Gilroshan Valt—but me.
The "me" from outside this world—
beyond The World Abandoned by God.
Myeongamseong, the Transcendent, was strangely curious about that name.
Ah.
Suddenly, I remembered.
'A god—or a being on that level—asking for a mortal's true name.'
Yeah… I knew what that meant.
WHOOOOOOOOOOOSH!
Feeling my body half-lifted by the raging wind, I opened my mouth.
"I am…"
Aulrax, Northeastern Frontier
At the foot of the cliff known as the "Abyss of Darkness,"
stood a large encampment filled with tents of various sizes.
And there—
Thwack! Thwack!
Chunks of wood flew through the air.
The man splitting them with relentless precision was none other than Kals Silion,
a Royal Knight of the Valt Empire.
"Hmm."
As befitted a six-star knight of the Royal Order, his axe work was both graceful and powerful.
Crack!
Each swing struck cleanly, his rhythm perfectly steady.
'This one's too thick to split in one go.'
When the log was too large for the axe alone, a faint flow of mana would surge through his muscles—
and the wood would split neatly in an instant.
Thanks to that, the pile of firewood beside Kals was rapidly growing into a small mountain.
Yet not a single drop of sweat touched his brow.
'Good way to loosen up my shoulders.'
At twenty years old, already nearing the peak of six stars, Kals was a genius swordsman—
splitting firewood barely counted as exertion.
Still…
"Haaaah!"
He deliberately exhaled loudly, pretending to be strained,
even taking out a damp handkerchief from his pocket to pat his forehead.
Thunk!
He even purposefully mis-angled the axe to miss a strike or two.
As he did, Kals sighed inwardly.
'Pretending to be clumsy like this really isn't easy.'
For now, Kals had to stay as inconspicuous as possible—blending in, acting ordinary, showing nothing to set himself apart.
That was why he was putting on this little act.
'Ritual of the Crimson Wind.'
Currently, Kals was right in the middle of that very event.
"Hey! Ration team! What the hell's taking so long? Move it already!"
"Oi, weapon maintenance's done! Come pick up your gear!"
"What about the drinking water? Still not ready? Damn southern bumpkins are always slow, I swear!"
It wasn't just Kals—the whole camp around him buzzed with chaotic energy.
Boys and girls aged seventeen to nineteen, just stepping into adulthood but still with the faint traces of youth.
They ran between tents, shouting orders, carrying supplies, each doing their part.
There were a few adults too—
veterans of the Revolutionary Army standing watch on the cliff above, overseeing everything in silence.
But—
"..."
"..."
They didn't interfere. They merely observed.
All the work was being done entirely by the youths themselves.
'Interesting.'
Kals watched the scene closely.
The adults only set the goals—the children did the rest, preparing and organizing everything from scratch.
The purpose of this ritual was simple:
Within the given time, each participant must hunt down one monster in the designated field.
Simple in words—but for kids barely around the 4-star level, it was a dangerous challenge.
To complete it safely, they'd form teams, prepare equipment, and enter the forest together.
Team assignments would happen soon.
'And tomorrow morning, they'll draw lots to decide each team's target.'
Recalling that, Kals glanced back over his shoulder—
searching for the one who had ordered him on this infiltration mission.
"…He should be here by now."
When they'd parted yesterday, Gilroshan had said he'd be right behind him.
But still, no sign.
Kals's eyes flickered toward the dark forest, its shadows yawning like a tiger's maw.
"Did something happen to His Highness…?"
"What? Something happen to who?"
"—!"
A voice suddenly cut in beside him, nearly making him swing his axe on reflex.
The intruder, however, only grinned.
"Hey, pay attention, will ya?"
Then, his tone shifted—face twisting into something ugly as he began to bark insults.
"Where the hell does this scarecrow think he's daydreaming? You looking to get your skull split? Think I'll go easy on you 'cause I don't recognize your face?"
"..."
With his ash-gray hair tied back and his tanned skin, the sneering youth radiated arrogance.
Hekster Walt.
'A 5-star novice assassin—and youngest son of the border warden, Montana Walt.'
Among all the young ones gathered here, Hekster was the de facto leader—the top dog.
'Can't let him suspect me.'
Kals reminded himself and quietly adjusted his grip on the axe handle.
"Ah, sorry. I've just… never done woodcutting before. Guess I'm bad at it."
Hekster snorted.
"Yeah, I bet. With that pretty face of yours, what would you know about swinging an axe?"
"Haha…"
"But you know what?"
"Hm?"
"If you keep slacking off like that, that pretty face might end up with an axe mark or two."
"…Haha."
"And your cute little sister? She might end up with different kinds of marks. Got that?"
"..."
Even as the filthy words spilled from Hekster's mouth, Kals kept smiling—
but a faint tremor ran through the corner of his eyes.
Tyrbaen Sui.
Currently called 'En', she was pretending to be his younger sister, sorting supplies with the other girls nearby.
She drew plenty of stares, naturally—her graceful looks made her stand out in any crowd.
"Hm? What's wrong? Oh… heh."
Seeing Kals's stiff expression, Hekster grinned like a hyena.
He'd found his fun.
"What, touching your sister's off-limits? Come on, I'm just joking, man! Just joking!"
He laughed like a lunatic, slapping Kals hard on the shoulder.
"C'mon, I'm saying we should all work hard together! You know that, right? You don't really think I'd do anything, do you? Relax, yeah?"
But behind that fake smile, his eyes gleamed with predatory cruelty.
"Still, your sister really is pretty. I wonder what she's like on the inside?"
"You son of a—!"
Unable to hold it back any longer, Kals reached for his sword—
But just then—
"Hey! Kals-hyung! I'm here!"
A familiar voice called out from behind the dense brush.
A boy emerged, waving casually with one hand—
clad in tattered clothes, his grin as lazy as ever.
It was none other than Gilroshan, third prince of the Valt Empire.
'Your Highness!'
His liege had finally arrived.
Hekster scowled, twisting his neck.
"Who the hell's that pale brat?"
Then, as realization dawned, he sneered again.
"What, another sister? Damn, your parents must've been busy, huh? Hahaha!"
But Kals ignored him, eyes fixed only on his lord.
Because even from here, he could feel it—
Though it had only been a single day since they'd parted—
'He's stronger.'
As a knight who'd devoted his life to the sword, Kals could sense the difference clearly.
Yesterday, Gilroshan had barely been a 1-star novice—an unsteady beginner.
But now…
'At least 2-star. Maybe even 3.'
"..."
It shouldn't have been possible.
How could anyone grow like that overnight?
Kals's mind spun with disbelief.
Then—
"Ah, man, I'm starving. Got anything to eat, bro?"
The third prince, playing his part perfectly, strolled up with that same laid-back grin.
And as he stopped between Kals and Hekster,
he slowly turned his head toward the sneering assassin.
"What are you staring at, ugly? Eyes down."