The golden light of the outside world felt like a spotlight on a stage Narin never auditioned for.
The wind outside was real.
It moved through tall grass in long, rippling waves. The sky above him stretched wide and endless, painted in a soft gradient of blue and pale gold. There were distant hills, uneven land, scattered trees that bent slightly with the breeze.
For a few seconds, Narin simply stood there.
Breathing.
Then—
A screen appeared.
[ You have been granted 5 extra points, Standard Equipment Box and Basic Survival Kit. ]
[ You have been granted the Enlightened One as the extra reward. ]
The translucent blue text hovered in front of his eyes.
Narin blinked.
“…Enlightened One?”
His voice was quiet, cautious. Suspicious.
He stared at the reward list, eyes scanning back and forth.
He let out a long breath.
“…Phew.”
His shoulders lowered for the first time since entering the challenge.
“Finally.”
He rubbed the back of his neck and looked up at the sky again.
“I can leave now.”
The words were almost a whisper.
He had already made up his mind since start. Finish the first challenge then get out. No more gambling his life on unknown floors and invisible rules.
He didn’t want glory. He didn’t want recognition. He didn’t care about being first user.
He wanted to go home.
To his quiet life.
He took one step forward—
Another notification cut across his vision.
[ The Core is satisfied with your performance. It is said that you are one of the worthy who can achieve impossible feats and denied you the right to give up. ]
[ The Core advises you to continue the challenge. ]
Narin froze mid-step.
“…What?”
He reread it.
Then again.
The words didn’t change.
His face went blank.
Completely blank.
For three long seconds,
he didn’t even blink.
Then—
“…WHAT?”
The second time, his voice cracked. A tremor crept into it.
He clenched his fists.
“Deny… me?”
The wind brushed past him again, lifting the hem of his shirt. The sky remained bright and uncaring.
“You denied my right to give up?”
The silence around him grew suffocating, making it difficult for him to breathe. The anger simmering in his chest erupted like boiling lava crashing into a volcano.
His breathing became uneven.
“THIS DAMNED SYSTEM!”
He threw his head back and shouted into the open sky.
“LET ME LEAVE!”
His voice echoed faintly over the empty land.
“I don’t want to be here!”
His chest heaved violently like a furnace about to explode. Tears of resentment welled up in his eyes, but they were quickly dried up by the raging anger burning within.
“I don’t want to risk my life!”
His throat burned.
“I want to live peacefully! Happily! That’s it! That’s all!”
The silence that followed was his only answer.
Only the sound of a heart beating wildly like a war drum, echoed amidst the swaying grass, oblivious to the cold.
Narin felt like he was just a clown in a soap opera written by God that would never end, not until he actually died.
He stood there, fists shaking, jaw tight, eyes reddening not from tears—but from frustration so raw it bordered on despair.
Minutes passed.
His breathing slowly stabilized.
His shoulders dropped.
He looked down at his own hands.
“…I don’t care about being worthy.”
His voice was quieter now. Hollow.
“I don’t care about impossible feats.”
He swallowed.
“I just want to go home.”
His expression deepened—anger giving way to something heavier. Something tired.
For a brief second—
He truly lost control.
His foot lashed out and kicked a small stone. It skidded across the ground.
“DAMN IT! FUCK!”
His shout was no longer directed at the sky.
It was directed at everything.
He was blissfully, tragically unaware of the weight of the word: worthy.
He didn’t know.
What he didn’t know—
What he couldn’t possibly know—
Was what “worthy” actually meant.
When the Core labeled him worthy, it wasn’t casual.
It wasn’t praise.
It was classification.
To be worthy in the eyes of the Core was to be placed on the same trajectory as the Twelve Celestials.
The Potential equivalent to the Twelve Celestials.
The Twelve Celestials.
The pillars of humanity.
The strongest users in existence.
For the past 30 years, their names had been carved into history itself.
Whenever disasters that threatened the world descended—rifts tearing open in the sky, dungeon outbreaks, dimensional storms—just the mere appearance of one of the Twelve was enough to make panic subside.
People cried in relief at the sight of their shadows.
News channels stopped broadcasting fear and started broadcasting hope.
Children learned their names in school.
They were called protectors.
The Blessed one.
The Chosen one.
But there was another truth.
They could just as easily become destroyers.
Power that vast did not come without imbalance.
And the Core had just placed Narin in the same category of potential.
But Narin didn’t know that.
He knew about the Twelve.
Everyone did.
He had seen their faces on billboards.
Watched clips of them in action during global crises.
But that was it.
To him, they were distant figures.
Untouchable like celebrities or mythological heroes.
Irrelevant to his own life.
Why would he look deeper?
Yes, his job was technically connected to all of this.
He worked in a place related to dungeon logistics and system registration.
But that didn’t mean he cared.
It was work.
Paperwork.
He never once thought he would be inside a challenge himself.
He never bothered reading detailed case studies.
Never cared why no one killed the spirit boss.
Never questioned the statistics.
Why would he?
That information was for active challengers who want to be user one day.
Not for him.
He had always believed—
That world was far away.
Now it wasn’t.
The truth behind the spirit boss?
Simple.
It was considered an unbeatable wall for a level 1 user.
New users didn’t have enough mana to sustain spells for extended periods.
Grinding on the first floor with skeletons was nearly impossible without specific starter packs.
If you chose The Survivalist, you had food.
So you had time.
But there was no efficient damage output.
It became too dangerous.
If you chose The Scholar, you had tools to record monster data and increase your damage output.
You had the mana ring.
You could cast strategically like Narin did.
But your time limit was brutally short.
And the Empty Grimoire?
it didn’t work on boss monsters.
And so—
Every user came to the same conclusion.
That was to sneak past the boss because the boss was bound to the staircase.
It couldn’t leave the floor.
You only needed to avoid it.
That was the optimal strategy.
The safest strategy.
And under time pressure—
Safety always won.
No one grinded long enough.
No one had enough mana.
No one attempted sustained holy amplification like Narin.
Because they couldn’t.
And Narin?
He had done it through brute persistence and instinct.
He stood alone in the field, unaware of how close he had just stepped toward a different fate entirely.
The wind blew again.
He lifted his head slowly.
“…Fine.”
The word left his lips with quiet resignation.
“If I can’t leave…”
His eyes hardened slightly.
“Then I’ll survive.”
Not for the Core.
Not for worthiness.
For himself.
But deep down—
There was still one thought lingering.
A simple, stubborn one.
I just want to go home.
The open field stretched endlessly under the afternoon sky.
Grass brushed against his boots in soft waves, the wind carrying the faint scent of soil and something metallic lingering in the air—as if even this land remembered iron.
Narin exhaled slowly.
No more shouting.
No more arguing with the sky.
If the Core had locked him in, then rage would only waste energy.
He raised his hand and summoned his status window.
The translucent blue panel shimmered into existence before him.
He stared at the remaining extra points.
“What stat should I allocate this to…”
His lips curved into a dry, crooked smirk.
“…since the way home isn’t sold in the shop?”
The sarcasm was soft, but bitter.
He rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
“Spells saved my life twice already.”
His eyes moved down the list.
“Mana.”
He nodded once.
“This time, more mana.”
He began distributing the points deliberately, watching the numbers rise.
Name: Narin Wong-sura
Age: 42
Class: –
Level: 20
Physical Stats:
Strength (STR): 23 → 26
Agility (AGI): 25 → 28
Endurance (END): 23 → 24
Vitality (VIT): 20 → 22
Mental Stats:
Mana (MP): 21 → 26
Willpower (WILL): 20 → 22
Luck (LUK): 14 → 15
Remaining Points: 0
Passive Skills (P):
The Enlightened One
Active Skills (A): –
He flexed his fingers.
Strength felt firmer.
Agility sharper.
Mana—
Mana felt like a deeper reservoir behind his sternum.
A pool that hummed quietly instead of barely rippling.
He exhaled.
“Now…”
He tapped on the passive skill.
“Let’s see what being worthy actually means.”
The skill window opened.
[ The Enlightened One ]
Tier: Godly
Level: Max
Skill Description:
You are now in a state of constant awareness; your spirit will be freed from the limitations of the physical body and the general laws of the world.
Will Over Matter: The higher the Willpower, the less mana needs to be spent when used.
Universal Knowledge: Gain better understanding of all knowledge 10 times faster.
Absolute Serenity: 100% resistance to all forms of mental abnormalities and soul control.
Narin’s breath caught.
“…Godly?”
He blinked once.
Twice.
His chest rose slightly faster.
“So this is the reward of being worthy…?”
He let out a low, incredulous chuckle.
“Heh.”
He recalled the skill tiers automatically.
“Common. Expert. Rare. Heroic. Epic. Mythic… and Godly.”
His eyes lingered on the word.
Godly.
“Well… the effects do fit the tier.”
His gaze sharpened slightly as he reread the first line.
If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
“Will Over Matter…”
His fingers curled slightly at his side.
“At one point…”
His voice lowered.
“I wouldn’t need mana to cast spells if my Willpower is high enough.”
The implication hung heavy in the air.
That wasn’t just efficiency.
That was rewriting limitations.
His eyes remained cold.
“…Good for survival.”
There was no excitement in his tone.
After a few seconds, his gaze lost interest.
He closed the skill window and opened his inventory instead.
“Let’s see what the equipment looks like.”
He selected the Standard Equipment Box.
It materialized in his hands—a simple wooden crate bound with iron strips.
No ornamentation.
No glow.
He opened it.
Inside were neatly arranged items:
Leather chestplate, Leather leggings, A plain dark robe, One long sword and One short sword.
He picked up the chestplate first.
The description appeared.
[ Leather Chestplate – Standard Issue. Provides basic physical defense. ]
“…Plain.”
He checked the leggings.
Same.
The swords?
[ Iron Long Sword – Standard Issue. Balanced weapon. ]
[ Iron Short Sword – Standard Issue. Close combat weapon. ]
“Nothing special.”
His brow furrowed slightly.
When he had picked up the spirit boss lamp earlier—
No description.
Not even a label.
He stared off slightly.
“Why the hell didn’t that thing have any description?”
His eyes narrowed faintly.
Boss item.
He clicked his tongue softly.
“…Tch.”
No answer.
He shook his head once.
“Later.”
He began equipping the armor.
The leather chestplate fit snugly against his torso.
Not heavy but flexible.
He adjusted the straps with short, firm pulls.
The leggings followed.
He fastened the belts and bent his knees slightly, testing mobility.
“Not bad.”
He slipped on the robe last, letting the fabric fall over the armor, concealing everything beneath.
He looked down at himself.
From the outside, he appeared like a traveling mage.
Inside, reinforced.
He attached the long sword at his left hip.
The short sword slightly angled behind.
He adjusted both until the draw felt natural.
Satisfied, he opened the Basic Survival Kit.
Items floated in front of him one by one:
Compass, Regional map and Ten concentrated food pellets.
He picked one up.
Small, dense and dark in color.
“One pellet provides satiety for one week.”
He remembered seeing it before in system documentation related to Survivalist starter packs.
“So that’s two and a half months of food.”
He nodded slowly.
Next.
Self-Refilling Canteen.
He lifted it.
Plain metal exterior.
The description read:
[ Refills when exposed to sunlight. ]
He tilted it experimentally.
Water sloshed inside.
“…Convenient.”
Basic first-aid bandages.
Clean. White.
Folded precisely.
He inspected everything carefully, then began organizing his inventory.
He placed equipment in one section.
Consumables in another.
Clean and neat.
After finishing, he closed the inventory.
Almost immediately—
Another notification appeared.
[ Challenge: 2 ]
He straightened instinctively.
The panel expanded.
[ Description: You are in the middle of nowhere. You need to find civilization without getting killed. ]
His lips twitched.
“Straightforward.”
The mission line appeared below.
[ Mission to complete challenge: Find and get into Ironspire Kingdom. ]
“A kingdom?”
He raised one brow.
“I suppose that’s why they gave me a compass and a map.”
He reached into his inventory and pulled both out.
The compass needle steadied quickly, pointing north.
He unfolded the regional map carefully.
The parchment crackled slightly in the wind.
A dot glowed faintly near the southern edge.
“Oh?”
His lips lifted slightly.
“Kind enough to mark my location.”
He scanned upward.
Ironspire Kingdom lay north.
Represented by a massive iron castle icon at the peak of a stylized mountain.
Thick outer walls drawn in bold lines.
“Impressive.”
He traced the terrain with his finger.
Between him and the kingdom:
The Whispering Forest.
A dense woodland marked north of his position.
A small red text beneath it read:
Danger.
He exhaled quietly.
“Of course.”
Next.
Broken Hilt Pass.
A deep valley.
Mandatory route and perfect for ambushes.
His eyes lingered there longer.
“Ambush terrain…”
Then—
Iron River.
Dark waters due to mineral concentration.
Flows swiftly across the kingdom.
He shifted his focus to the bottom right corner.
Travel logistics.
1 centimeter = 100 kilometers.
He measured with his finger.
“…One…”
“…Two…”
“…Three…”
“…Four.”
He pulled his hand back.
“Four centimeters.”
He did the mental conversion automatically.
“Four hundred kilometers.”
He narrowed his eyes.
“…Around Two hundred and forty-nine miles.”
He inhaled slowly.
“That’s… two to three weeks of travel.”
His jaw tightened.
“Why is it that far away?”
The wind pushed lightly against him again.
No answer.
He folded the map carefully.
Checked the compass again.
Confirmed north with the position of the sun.
He returned both to his inventory.
Then he performed one final check.
Armor secured.
Swords balanced.
Canteen accessible.
He rolled his shoulders once.
Then looked north.
The distant horizon seemed deceptively peaceful.
He exhaled.
“Alright.”
His voice was calm now.
No more shouting.
No more pleading.
Only forward.
With steady steps, boots pressing into unfamiliar soil, Narin began walking north.
And thus—
His journey to Ironspire Kingdom began.
The first week began under an open sky.
On Day 1, Narin stood facing north, the wind tugging lightly at his robe.
He took one of the concentrated food pellets from his inventory and examined it between his fingers.
Small. Dense.
Unremarkable.
“One week of satiety in something this size…”
He placed it in his mouth and bit down.
The texture was dry at first—like compressed grain—but it dissolved quickly, releasing warmth that spread down his throat and into his stomach.
Within seconds, the faint hunger he hadn’t even consciously registered vanished.
No fullness.
No bloating.
Just… sustained energy.
He swallowed.
“That’s efficient.”
He adjusted the straps on his chestplate under the robe, checked the position of his swords, and began walking.
North.
The land between his starting point and the forest was mostly uneven plains—rolling fields broken occasionally by low shrubs and scattered boulders.
The sky remained wide and open, and the days passed in a steady rhythm.
Walk.
Observe.
Rest briefly.
Walk again.
At night, he didn’t bother making a large fire.
The self-refilling canteen provided water each morning after being left under the sun, and the food pellet sustained him completely.
He practiced mana control while walking.
Condensing it.
Releasing it.
Forming simple wind constructs, then dissolving them before they manifested fully.
Efficiency.
Precision.
By Day 4, the horizon changed.
A wall of green rose ahead.
The Whispering Forest.
The trees were far denser than anything he had passed so far.
Their trunks were tall and slender, bark a pale gray that almost looked silver under sunlight.
The canopy interlocked high above, allowing only thin streams of light to reach the ground.
The forest seemed… alive.
Watching.
Narin stopped a few meters before the tree line.
“…So this is it.”
His eyes narrowed slightly.
The map’s warning—Danger—echoed faintly in his mind.
He exhaled.
Then stepped forward.
The moment he crossed the threshold—
Whispers.
Countless voices brushed against his ears.
Soft at first.
Then layered.
Then overlapping.
Not words he could fully understand—but tones.
Murmurs. Laughter. Crying. Calling.
If he hadn’t possessed Absolute Serenity, his heart might have raced.
Instead—
He blinked once.
“…Ah.”
The whispers swirled around him like background chatter in a crowded café.
It reminded him of office break rooms.
Standing in the middle of a friend group where everyone talked at once.
Annoying.
But not overwhelming.
He walked deeper.
The forest floor was soft with fallen leaves.
Roots twisted across the ground like coiled serpents.
The air was cooler, damp with the scent of moss and bark.
“Whispering Forest.”
He muttered under his breath.
“Appropriate.”
Occasionally the voices grew sharper, brushing the edge of something invasive—but each time, his mind remained perfectly clear.
Absolute Serenity.
He tested it once deliberately.
He stopped walking.
Closed his eyes and listened.
The whispers pressed closer.
A faint suggestion—Turn back.
Another—You are lost.
Then—nothing.
They couldn’t penetrate further.
He opened his eyes.
“Not effective.”
He resumed walking.
By Day 6, he saw the thinning of trees ahead.
Light spilled through more freely.
He stepped out of the forest without injury.
Without mental strain.
Without incident.
The whispers faded instantly once he left the canopy behind.
He glanced back once.
“…If not for that passive skill…”
He didn’t finish the thought.
He simply adjusted his robe and continued north.
By Day 10, the terrain changed again.
Mountains rose on either side.
Broken Hilt Pass.
From above, it would resemble the handle of a sword—narrow, elongated, curved slightly inward.
From within, it felt like walking into a throat.
Steep rock walls flanked him on both sides, jagged and towering.
Loose gravel shifted under his boots.
“This is perfect for ambush.”
His voice was calm.
He didn’t even try to hide his awareness.
And the ambush came.
Day 11.
A crossbow bolt shot from above.
He sidestepped instinctively, Agility carrying him just outside the projectile’s path.
The bolt struck the ground where his foot had been half a second earlier.
Three figures emerged from behind rock outcrops.
Humans.
Scarves covering their lower faces.
One shouted,
“Drop your bag!”
Narin’s expression didn’t change.
“…I don’t have one though?”
“Then drop everything else!”
Another moved behind him.
Encirclement attempt.
He exhaled.
“So this is how it is.”
The first man lunged.
Narin drew his short sword smoothly.
Steel met steel.
Clang.
He pivoted, redirecting the strike instead of meeting it head-on.
Mana flowed lightly into his muscles.
Enhanced reaction.
The second attacker rushed in.
Narin stepped into the movement rather than away.
His blade flashed.
One clean cut across the exposed side of the neck.
The man fell before finishing his shout.
There was no hesitation.
No shaking hands.
“They chose to attack me.”
He thought it without emotion.
The third attacker froze for a split second at the sight.
That hesitation cost him.
A wind-enhanced thrust pierced through leather and ribs.
The fight ended in less than twenty seconds.
Silence returned to the pass.
He wiped his blade calmly.
“I can only respond.”
His voice was flat.
“If I don’t remove the threat, the threat removes me.”
That logic settled any lingering moral discomfort.
He searched the bodies efficiently.
Coins. Pouches. Crude weapons.
By Day 17, he had faced five separate ambush attempts.
Each time, his movements became smoother.
Sword arcs cleaner.
Mana usage more efficient.
He experimented between fights.
Wind reinforcement on footwork.
Short bursts of explosive compression at blade tip for penetration.
He could feel his growth.
He gained five levels across those days.
He acquired basic swordsmanship skills.
More importantly—
Confidence.
And money.
A lot of money.
He stored everything neatly in his inventory.
On the same day, the pass opened.
Before him stretched Iron River.
The water was dark—almost black—reflecting sunlight in metallic glints.
It moved swiftly, cutting through stone with relentless force.
He walked along the riverbank for two days, using it as a guide.
The roar of water became a constant companion.
On Day 19—
He saw it.
Ironspire Kingdom.
It was carved into the mountain itself.
Dark granite walls reinforced with thick steel frames gleamed under sunlight, reflecting in a silvery-black hue.
From a distance, the entire kingdom resembled a massive armored beast crouching silently atop the mountain.
Unmoving. Unyielding.
Massive towers pierced the sky, their tops disappearing into faint cloud cover.
His lips curved upward.
A warm smile.
Exhausted but genuine.
“…I made it.”
He approached the black iron gate at the base of the kingdom walls.
Guards in heavy steel armor stepped forward.
“Halt!”
One raised a hand.
“State your business.”
Narin reached calmly into his robe.
The guards stiffened slightly.
He pulled out the king’s order.
A sealed document given as part of the challenge’s entry condition.
He held it forward without speaking.
The guard took it cautiously.
Broke the seal.
Read.
His eyes widened slightly.
He glanced at Narin.
Then at another guard.
After a short, silent exchange, he nodded.
“It’s authentic.”
The gate mechanisms began to turn.
Massive iron doors creaked open slowly.
The sound echoed like distant thunder.
The guard stepped aside.
“You may enter.”
Narin inclined his head slightly.
“Thank you.”
He stepped forward.
Crossed the threshold.
The stone beneath his boots changed—from rough mountain gravel to carefully laid black granite.
He was inside Ironspire Kingdom.
A notification appeared.
[ Congratulations! You have completed the challenge: 2 ]
Narin’s fingers brushed over the sealed parchment again as he walked.
The wax seal had already been broken by his own hand earlier, but the insignia pressed into the dark crimson residue was still clearly visible—a towering spire crossed by twin hammers.
The Ferrum crest.
The symbol of authority in Ironspire.
He had found it while looting the thieves who ambushed him in the ravine.
At the time, he had stared at it for a long moment, weighing possibilities.
A sealed royal order… carried by roadside thieves?
He had taken it not out of loyalty—but instinct.
“If the Core placed this here,” he had muttered then, “it’s bait.”
And he had been right.
Now the translucent blue notification screen floated before him once more, sharp and merciless.
[ Challenge: 3 ]
[ Description: You have brought the King Order with you. You are now summoned by the King and thereby must follow the King’s Order. ]
[ Mission to complete challenge: Side with the King or side with the Queen and carry their order. ]
Narin stared at it, eyes calm—too calm.
His lips curved slightly.
“I want to give up.”
The words left his mouth in a low murmur, almost bored.
The response came instantly.
[ The Core has denied you the right to give up. ]
The blue light flickered and vanished.
For a split second, the air around him felt suffocating.
His heartbeat thudded once—hard.
Heat surged through his veins, rising from his chest to his temples.
His jaw tightened.
His fingers clenched into a fist so tight that his knuckles turned pale beneath his glove.
“Still denying my freedom…”
he whispered.
There was no one around to hear him.
The mountain wind howled faintly across the stone path leading toward Ironspire Palace.
He inhaled deeply.
Mana flowed along his veins like cool water, washing the anger away before it could root itself.
He had learned.
Anger was inefficient.
One day, he told himself quietly, it will let me go.
And until then—
He would keep trying.
Every challenge.
Every time.
Even if the answer never changed.
His expression returned to neutral as another notification appeared.
[ You have been granted 5 Extra Stat Points, Inventory Expansion, Ironspire Kingdom Guide and 5,000 Iron Coins as rewards. ]
“Oh.”
That was all he said.
He opened his inventory.
The space expanded outward in his vision—fifty additional empty slots glowing faintly.
He moved his fingers slightly in the air, adjusting the interface only he could see.
“Well… that’s good.”
A practical reward.
He liked practical.
He shifted his shoulders, adjusting his robe.
The fabric settled smoothly along his frame.
Then he reached up and removed the Omni-Goggles.
The device shimmered briefly before dissolving into particles of light and slipping into his inventory.
“It looks ridiculous,” he muttered under his breath.
“Meeting a king with that on…”
Besides—
He closed his eyes briefly.
Mana threads flowed around him like faint silver currents in the air.
He could feel them now.
He could trace them.
He could sense disturbances, densities, emotional residues.
Breathing in mana had become as natural as breathing air.
“I don’t need it anymore.”
His confidence was quiet—but real.
He pulled out the Ironspire Kingdom Guide.
The map unfolded in his hand like living parchment.
Detailed annotations glowed faintly: districts, noble houses, guard routes, elevation marks, political tensions.
Efficient.
He followed the mountain path upward.
The climb was steep, but his steps were steady.
Eventually—
He saw it.
Ironspire Palace.
It stood on the highest peak of the mountain like a divine punishment nailed into the earth.
The structure did not spread wide like most palaces.
The palace was a vertical marvel like a colossal sword driven down from the heavens.
Its silver-black surface reflected the sunlight so intensely that it seemed to burn.
A constantly blazing silver flame.
The wind at this height was sharper—colder.
Banners bearing the Ferrum crest snapped violently in the air.
Guards stood before the massive gate.
Black iron armor.
Halberds grounded.
Eyes hard.
When they noticed him, their gazes sharpened immediately.
Suspicion and hostility.
Narin walked forward at a measured pace.
His boots clicked against the stone steps.
One guard shifted his stance, subtly placing his body between Narin and the gate.
“State your business,”
the guard demanded, voice firm but edged with caution.
Narin did not answer immediately.
Instead, he reached calmly into his robe and pulled out the King Order.
The broken seal was clearly visible.
The guard’s eyes widened slightly.
The other guard stiffened.
“You—”
the first guard swallowed.
“Where did you get that?”
Narin’s gaze was steady.
“I was told to bring it.”
A deliberate half-truth.
The guard hesitated only a moment before grabbing the document.
“I’ll inform His Majesty.”
He turned sharply and rushed inside.
The remaining guard stood rigid.
His grip on his halberd tightened.
His eyes kept flicking toward Narin’s hands—as if expecting him to summon something at any second.
“Wait here,”
the guard said stiffly.
“I will.”
Silence stretched.
The wind roared.
Far below, the kingdom sprawled in metallic layers of stone and smoke.
Within a minute—
Footsteps echoed rapidly from within.
The guard who had gone inside returned, breathing slightly heavier.
He stopped abruptly before Narin and straightened.
“Please go in,”
he said quickly.
“His Majesty has summoned you.”
There was tension in his voice now.
Not hostility but tension.
Narin gave a small nod.
He walked past them.
The gates opened.
The interior was colder than outside.
Polished black stone floors reflected torchlight like dark mirrors.
High walls curved upward into narrow vertical windows that let in beams of white light.
Every step he took echoed.
He could feel mana density increasing like a disciplined army.
Guards lined the corridors, unmoving.
He walked through the vast hall and approached the throne room.
The doors were enormous—taller than three men.
They opened slowly.
The throne room stretched high above like the inside of a cathedral forged from iron.
The Iron Throne stood atop a high pedestal.
Elevated deliberately.
It made the king appear larger.
More imposing.
More dominant.
King Malakor the First sat upon it.
Narin stopped at a respectful distance.
He observed.
The king was middle-aged.
Sharp features with stern expression carved like chiseled stone.
Black hair streaked with gray.
Short, neatly trimmed beard.
But—
Narin narrowed his eyes slightly.
He looks younger than me...
The king wore half-plate armor of highly polished black iron.
The chestplate gleamed beneath the torchlight.
The Ferrum family crest—castle spire and crossed hammers—was engraved deeply into the metal.
A floor-length crimson velvet coat trimmed with snow-grey fur draped over his shoulders, exaggerating their width.
His crown was dark and jagged, embedded with sharp black diamonds shaped like miniature mountain peaks.
It resembled Ironspire itself.
And then—
Narin felt it.
An aura solid and dense like standing before an unbreakable iron wall.
Malakor’s eyes locked onto him.
The room was silent.
Even the air seemed to hold its breath.
Narin felt the weight of that gaze press against him.
He did not bow immediately.
He did not avert his eyes.
Instead—
He studied the king.
The king’s fingers rested lightly on the armrest of the throne.
Tap.
Once.
A slow, controlled motion.
His voice came deep with resonant.
Carrying effortlessly through the hall.
“So,”
King Malakor said, his tone calm but edged with restrained authority,
“you are the one who brings my order.”
His eyes narrowed slightly.
The temperature in the room seemed to drop.
Guards along the walls shifted subtly.
Their hands tightened around weapon hilts.
Narin could feel the mana tightening.
But he remained still.
The king leaned forward slightly.
The fur on his shoulders shifted with the movement.
“Speak,”
Malakor commanded, voice heavier now.
“Who are you?”
Narin’s entire body reacted before his mind did.
It was subtle at first—just the slightest shiver running through his fingertips.
Then it spread.
His shoulders stiffened.
His spine tightened.
The weight of the throne room pressed down on him like a mountain.
The air itself felt heavy.
The mana in the hall vibrated—low and oppressive—responding to the king’s presence like iron filings drawn toward a magnet.
Slowly, deliberately, Narin lowered himself.
One knee bent.
Then the other.
His robe brushed against the polished black stone floor.
He bowed—not too low, not too shallow.
His voice, when it came, was straight and steady.
“I am merely a nobody.”
He paused briefly, keeping his forehead inclined.
“I am a wanderer. While I was on the way here, I was ambushed by many groups. One of them… I killed him. He carried the King Order.”
His tone was calm.
The silence that followed was not empty.
It was sharp.
“A wanderer, you say…”
King Malakor repeated.
His voice rolled through the chamber like distant thunder trapped within iron walls.
The king leaned back slightly in his throne, one armored finger tapping once against the iron armrest.
“Wandering through Broken Hilt Pass,”
he continued slowly, each word precise,
“a place infested with organized bandit factions… groups bold enough to ambush travelers in daylight.”
His eyes narrowed faintly.
“And you killed them.”
A faint metallic creak echoed as the king shifted his weight.
“To reclaim my decree.”
His gaze sharpened.
“You are too humble… and suspicious.”
The king rose.
The sound of iron ornaments attached to his belt striking the stone floor rang throughout the towering hall.
Clang.
Clang.
Each step down from the elevated platform was slow.
The fur on his crimson coat shifted with each movement.
The guards lining the walls straightened further.
No one dared breathe loudly.
The king descended until he stood directly before Narin.
The distance between them was no more than three paces.
An aura surged outward.
Dense as forged steel.
The mana around Narin began to tremble visibly—ripples distorting the air like heat haze.
Narin felt it pressing against his ribs.
Testing his stability.
“Look up.”
The command carried no need for repetition.
It was absolute.
Narin’s body reacted before his mind did.
His chin lifted slowly.
As though invisible threads were pulling him upward.
His eyes met the king’s.
For a brief moment—
He felt as if something was probing him.
Malakor’s lips curved slightly.
“In my Ironspire…”
the king said quietly, voice dropping lower,
“there is no room for a nobody of this caliber.”
Narin held the gaze.
The king’s eyes flickered—just once—like he had noticed that detail.
“Since you hold back the stolen decree…”
Malakor continued, stepping half a pace closer.
The scent of iron and leather lingered around him.
“I will tell you what it says.”
He paused deliberately.
“I am searching for a new sword.”
The word sword lingered in the air.
“A blade sharp enough to carve out the rot gnawing at this kingdom from within.”
His expression hardened.
“And it seems fate has brought you to me.”
The hall felt smaller and tighter.
The torches flickered though there was no wind.
Then the king leaned slightly forward.
His voice lowered—no longer for the entire hall.
Just for Narin.
“You say you are a wanderer.”
A beat.
“I will ask you directly, as king.”
His eyes became colder.
“Will you serve me to eliminate the obstacles gnawing at this throne…”
A faint, almost imperceptible emphasis on throne.
“Or will you become a puppet for the decoy in this palace who plots to seize my power?”
The word decoy dripped with contempt.
The Queen.
Unspoken—but understood.
Narin’s eyes widened slightly.
Not in fear.
In calculation.
His teeth clenched behind his lips.
The challenge window flashed faintly in the corner of his vision.
[ Mission: Side with the King or Side with the Queen and carry their order ]
His pulse thudded once.
If he pledged loyalty—
That was a choice.
If he refused—
That was also a choice.
Either answer would bind him.
He had learned the Core’s cruelty.
It waited for certainty.
So he gave none.
He answered within a second.
“I will do my best.”
Simple. Open-ended. Unbound.
The king did not move immediately.
He stared at Narin.
Longer than comfortable.
His gaze was sharp—not angry, not pleased.
Evaluating.
Testing the weight of those words.
I will do my best.
Not for whom.
Not for what.
The faintest crease formed between Malakor’s brows.
Then—
“Good.”
The word was short but it was heavy.
The king straightened.
He turned slightly, raising one armored hand.
“Guard.”
The sound echoed.
A captain stepped forward immediately, kneeling.
“Take him to his chambers in the East Tower.”
The king’s tone returned to public authority.
“Prepare him with appropriate attire and weapons.”
Then he glanced back at Narin.
“And remember, Narin…”
His voice sharpened slightly.
“From tomorrow onward, you are my eyes.”
The final word carried weight.
Ownership and expectation.
Then Malakor’s voice rose, filling the entire hall.
“I appoint him as the Investigator!”
The declaration reverberated through the towering chamber.
Guards struck their weapons to the ground in unison.
Clang.
The king reached to his belt and pulled something free.
A Black Iron Token.
Rectangular.
Engraved with the image of a tower rising into jagged peaks.
He flicked his wrist.
The token spun through the air.
Narin caught it instinctively.
The metal was cold.
Heavy in his palm.
“This will open every door in the castle for you…”
the king said evenly.
A pause.
“Except my bedroom.”
A faint ripple of restrained amusement passed through the hall.
Narin bowed slightly.
“Understood.”
He did not smile.
He followed the guard captain out of the throne room.
The massive doors closed behind him with a deep rumble.
The corridor felt quieter now.
But the tension lingered.
The captain walked half a step ahead.
Silent at first.
Boots striking stone in rhythmic cadence.
After several turns through winding staircases carved into the spire itself, the captain finally spoke.
“You handled yourself well.”
His voice was calm.
Professional but cautious.
“Not many stand that close to His Majesty without collapsing.”
Narin glanced at him briefly.
“Is that so?”
The captain gave a faint hum.
“The former Investigator did.”
A pause.
“Before he didn’t.”
They ascended higher.
The air grew colder.
The view through narrow windows revealed the entire kingdom below.
Finally, they stopped before a reinforced iron door.
The captain unlocked it with a heavy key and stepped aside.
“This is your quarters, sir.”
His tone shifted—more respectful now.
“This room was once the residence of the former Investigator.”
A subtle pause.
“As you can see… it is well situated.”
Narin stepped inside.
The room was modest.
It was almost austere.
A bed against the far wall.
A sturdy wooden desk.
A workplace area with maps pinned to boards.
And along one entire wall—
A private library.
Shelves filled with records.
Kingdom history, Noble lineages, Trade routes, Tax documents, Military reports.
The window beside the bed overlooked the entire capital.
And from outside—
He could see guard posts positioned strategically along the upper tower levels.
Observation points.
Always watching.
The captain bowed slightly.
“If you require anything, inform the guards.”
He hesitated.
“Investigator.”
Then he left.
The door shut with a heavy click.
Silence.
Narin stood still for a moment.
He walked slowly through the room.
Ran his fingers across the desk surface.
Examined the books.
Checked the corners.
Mana threads extended subtly, tracing for hidden formations.
There were some observation spells.
But nothing lethal.
Just surveillance.
He exhaled.
Then he let himself fall backward onto the bed.
The mattress dipped beneath his weight.
He stared at the ceiling.
“That… was stressful.”
A rare admission.
He rarely felt pressured.
But standing before Malakor—
That was different.
He closed his eyes briefly.
He had said he would do his best.
But he never specified for whom.
Not for the king.
Not for the kingdom.
He had avoided unintentional choosing.
If he had declared loyalty—
The system might have locked him to the king’s side.
If he had rejected—
He would have sided with the queen.
So he walked the line.
Survival first as always.
He remembered the way Malakor stared at him after his answer.
The king had noticed.
Of course he had.
Despite appointing him as Investigator—
Malakor did not trust him.
Placing him in the East Spire.
One of the highest floors.
From this point onward—
Wherever Narin went—
He would always be under the watchful eyes of the guards stationed at the top of the tower.
