Chapter 6
"Damn it… who knew this snake's poison was this strong." Rowan muttered as he threw the snake's body onto the ground inside the safe zone. "But I can't be shocked… it is the hundredth floor after all." He sighed and sat down.
"Wait a minute!!!" His eyes shot open. "I actually killed a hundred-floor beast… at the cost of my life though, but hey!!! It's an achievement."
He pulled out one of his daggers and began removing the snake's scales. Lifting its tail, he observed the spade-shaped end closely. The dagger pierced straight through the exact center of the spade. "So it seems my aim was on point… If I had stabbed even the corner of the spade, it would have healed and I… would have been a goner."
He cut the spade off, removed the remaining scales, and finally separated the snake's meat. The scales, spade, and bones were placed carefully into his bag. "Those will come in handy."
He picked up a nearby tree branch, pierced the snake meat through it, and left it out to dry.
Hours passed as Rowan went out hunting again. By the time he returned, he had taken down three more snakes. The same process followed—skinning, cutting, storing. Exhausted, he finally closed his eyes and took a nap.
After a few hours, he woke up and stared at his hand, clenching his fingers slowly. "My Atherion hasn't recovered like it should… but I can't complain that much. My body's been working high and low while starving." His gaze drifted to one of the snake meats as he checked it.
"This snake's meat isn't at its full potency yet… Eating it now would only lead me to death." He muttered while staring at the Atherion crystal. This time it looked even duller—if it were the only crystal in the zone, the entire place would be drowned in darkness.
"Huh… it's already that late, huh…" He placed the meat back, leaning it against a stone. "Might as well sleep it off for the day." He shut his eyes once more.
---
Back at the Capital
Celestia stormed into the throne room, her footsteps echoing across the vast hall like a soldier rushing to report an emergency.
"Father!!!" she shouted, stopping in front of the throne.
Her father slowly lifted his blue eyes from the papers in his hands. "What is it, dear daughter?"
"Father, the Rowan matter cannot end in thin air… We need to find the culprits." Her hands were clenched into fists.
"And the enforcers are doing that, are they not?" he replied, his gaze drifting back to the documents.
"Father, no enforcer cares about the life of a commoner…" Her voice was laced with frustration.
"Daughter… I promise you the enforcers will do what is within their reach to bring Rowan's truth to light. But other than that… we wait. Moreover, it is already nightfall. Nothing will come of it even if they proceed now." He flipped to another page.
"Father!!!" she shouted.
"That's enough, Celestia!!!" he cut her off.
Celestia stared at him, her eyes burning with rage and glistening with tears. Her clenched fists loosened in defeat as she turned and walked away.
Her father lifted his eyes again, watching her leave. His grip on the papers tightened.
---
Morning came.
A fire burned in front of Rowan, snake meat placed beside it. He rolled the meat slowly, relaxed like someone camping rather than fighting for survival.
"Well," he thought, taking a bite. "Oh—hot." He muttered, blowing air into his mouth. He chewed and swallowed hard. "Not bad… me." He lifted the meat, inspecting it as if it were something rare.
Just as he went for another bite, his heart froze...beating twice in a split second. His body jolted, as though something surged up from within and snapped back.
He gasped for air, clutching his chest tightly before collapsing onto the ground. His vision blurred. He activated his healing, but each time it worked, the poison only grew stronger.
Damn it… Why won't my healing work? It's getting worse with every heal.
He repeated the healing circle multiple times, but all it did was delay the inevitable.
"My, my, my… look what we've got here." A female voice echoed.
Rowan lifted his head. Before him stood a woman in a white feral dress, the fabric torn yet elegant, clinging unnaturally as if untouched by dirt. Long hair draped over her face, concealing her eyes completely.
"It looks like you're about to meet your end," she said as she crouched down. "First betrayed by your best friend, and now your own power is failing you… How much worse could things get, hm?"
How does she know all of that… Could it be that…
"Enough about that," she continued. "With the way things stand now, you might as well give in to death. But…" She paused, placing a finger against her lips, revealing a grin lined with white teeth. "You could forfeit it all and gain a new life. Normally, the process requires your consent, but seeing as the poison is already doing its work… you have two options. Move one finger if you agree. Move two… and you refuse."
Forfeit it all… What is she? What role does she even hold in this dungeon? How can I trust her? Rowan's thoughts spiraled. My Atherion is collapsing… I'm already dead. If this gives me another chance at living—then so be it. Even if it costs everything…
She stared at him for a moment before grinning wider. "Good choice." Rising, she turned away. "I look forward to what you become, little Rowan." Her form dissolved into crystal light. "Do make me proud."
Rowan closed his eyes as darkness swallowed him, pulling him into an endless void.
---
Morning broke over the kingdom, golden light washing across the stone streets. Calm silence followed the wind between buildings—another peaceful day.
Yet that peace did not reach four houses.
House Silver.
The Vale household.
The Cherry household.
And the Nova household.
Inside each, a prodigy sat in silence before a man clad in dark attire reminiscent of an assassin's creed. His hood was deep and angular, shadowing his face. Layered leather armor hugged his frame, etched with faint runes that absorbed light rather than reflecting it. Metal bracers lined his forearms, each engraved with the insignia of authority. A long cloak flowed behind him, its inner lining stitched with concealed blades and sealing tools. At his waist rested a short sword, thin and precise—built not for battle, but for execution.
These were the enforcers themselves.