Chapter 244. King of the Underworld (1)
As its name suggested, it granted the freedom to move terrain—recognized as earth—according to the caster's will.
It was sometimes used practically, like reinforcing partially collapsed ground or raising pillars to prevent a mine's ceiling from caving in.
However, almost no Mage used
The restrictions were absolute—it could not move terrain unless magic power permeated it. And the larger the scale, the more exponentially magic power was consumed.An ultimate inefficiency.
That was the reason.
But now, Verden had succeeded in overcoming those very drawbacks.
Before the magic power reserves comparable to a Transcendent, efficiency was meaningless.
And with the Demon King's method of magic power control,
Even the last constraint that had shackled it was gone.
The half-destroyed Roafra.
That was the result.
Verden concentrated his magic power and sensed his surroundings.
No one remained who bore killing intent.
There was not even a single one who tried to resist, as before. The underworld's members, completely broken of will, knelt and begged only for survival.
Countless humans hugged their arms, their bodies trembling.
'Roughly cleaned up.'
Some had fainted along the way and collapsed onto the ground… but since they weren't in the way, he had no intention of touching them.
A presence was felt in the air.
Thud!
Galliark landed nearby, letting out a light breath. His whole body was drenched in blood, he had cut down so many he couldn't count.
Perhaps because he had repaid, at least in part, the humiliations suffered during the long pursuit, his expression was refreshed.
Galliark looked around, then hoisted Hwihwol onto his shoulder. Sticky, uncoagulated blood dripped down.
"Damn, you really turned the place into rubble. I don't know much about magic, but even if you've pioneered the way of magic, it shouldn't be like this, right? What the hell have you been stuffing your face with, huh?"
"Who knows."
"Ha, look at you dodging again. Fine, don't say it. Not like I'd be able to use it even if I knew."
Scratching his forehead, Galliark claimed he wasn't curious.
Instead, he kept sneaking glances at Verden, grinning to himself, looking amused. His gaze wasn't particularly pleasant.
Before long, they reached the fortress of Vintert.
A citadel surrounded by an underground lake beneath the cliffs.
In the distant past, the ashen royal castle had been built there, and the bones of those who perished during its construction still lay at the lake's bottom.
Verden raised his gaze forward.
On the bridge leading to the castle gate, dozens of figures were gathered.
They gripped their weapons, and when they saw Verden and Galliark, their shoulders flinched.
'Vintert's men, most likely.'
He had no particular interest.
He had already shown the difference in power at Roafra, so there was no need to go out of his way to deal with each of them.
Verden lifted Orient.
In an instant, magic power waves spread, making the atmosphere tremble, while small fragments of stone floated into the air, drawn by the force.
The spearpoint of earth surged toward the castle gate.
The men on the bridge, caught in the spell's trajectory, panicked and hurled themselves into the waters below. Loud splashes rang out.
Then,
Craaaack—! BOOOOOOM!
The castle gate and wall were mercilessly pierced.
The ensuing explosion broke their balance, and the entire gate collapsed with a thunderous crash. There was no defensive magic circle in place, no preparation for intruders at all.
Even if there had been, it would have only delayed the inevitable.
"Kahahaha! Now that's what I call siege magic! Look at those bastards scrambling off into the water, soaking wet. Damn, that's a sight!"
They crossed the bridge, enjoying the scene.
Thus, stepping over the shattered gate, they set foot on the outskirts of the royal castle.
***
Draken, the head of Vintert's guard division.
Until recently, he had joined the civil war between the princes and distinguished himself, but had returned not long ago. As always, he spent his days wasting away, drinking drugged liquor.
But today was different.
From Roafra—where no earthquakes had ever struck—explosions had echoed several times. The accompanying tremors had reached even Draken.
Standing in the passage that divided outer and inner wards, Draken remained silent. Soon, the sound of two pairs of footsteps shattered the stillness.
"..."
Draken quietly lifted his head.
From the plaza to the castle stretched nothing but ruins. People knelt amidst the dust and debris rising from Roafra, praying desperately.
A devastation he had never seen before.
His eyes shifted closer.
He instinctively focused on Verden, who radiated unprecedented presence.
Draken had always had a good sense since childhood.
His innate gift was invaluable when gauging an opponent's level. Cold sweat ran down his chin.
'…A monster.'
Compared to the Ruin Costa affair, this was on a different dimension, a different plane.
It was impossible to believe he had grown this much in the meantime. Clearly, he must have been hiding his strength back then.
At the time, he had been intent on opposing Vintert over the matter of those slave siblings. Draken had thought it reckless, but now he couldn't help but understand.
No—he had to understand.
'Damn.'
Old nightmares surfaced.
Draken downed the liquor bottle in one gulp.
The drugs within, enhancing physical abilities and calming the mind, quickly soaked into his body. The dose was high enough to cause addiction and severe aftereffects, but that was for later.
Gradually, his body and mind steadied.
Though not one to succumb to alcohol, the sharp bitterness dulled his thoughts. Draken drew his sword.
A formidable aura gathered along the blade.
'At least better than that Slay bastard.'
Just as Verden was about to step forward, Galliark moved ahead.
"I'll take that one. Your crazy magic made it hard to do anything earlier anyway. And besides—"
"Then I'll go first."
"What? Hey! Damn it, cutting off your elder? You rude little bastard."
Ignoring him, Verden floated into the air.
He aimed directly for the inner ward, flying toward the royal castle, yet Draken did not intervene. He didn't even seem to think of stopping him.
Verden vanished from sight.
Galliark clicked his tongue, shaking his head.
"Tsk, tsk, look at that fear. If you're supposed to guard this place, shouldn't you at least try to block him?"
"…If you were me, would you?"
"Hell if I know. Not my business. That guy's on my side right now. But still, letting him go straight for your king without lifting a finger? Did you just give up?"
"Hmph, you don't understand His Majesty."
Draken narrowed his eyes.
"Sometimes, there are beings who appear in this world that no ordinary man should ever oppose. That Asher monster is one of them. But His Majesty is also one who transcends ordinary measure."
And,
"Unless you are a Transcendent, no Mage can defeat His Majesty. Not even a monster who turned Roafra into hell."
"Kahahahaha! Confident, aren't you. Careful with predictions, I'd say. That Asher bastard's as abnormal as they come. But, fine, enough talk."
Galliark swung Hwihwol.
The wind trailing its arc grazed Draken's skin.
"You know, I'm actually a pretty promising adventurer. Well, I had my adventurer status revoked for now, but anyway. In that sense, I've got business with you."
"…Business?"
"Once, I fought a Mithril promotion candidate, and got thrashed real good. Didn't go all the way, but I couldn't even land a proper hit and got struck down in one blow."
Galliark ran a finger across his neck.
He rubbed the ridged scar with his fingertips.
"But then I thought about it, and I got curious. Are all Mithril-ranks really that strong, or was it just that bitch who was special? So, I figured I'd check it this time. You, a former Mithril-rank, and me, a Platinum-rank adventurer. Which of us is stronger?"
"Is that really what matters right now?"
"What, you think I should just sit on my ass and watch? Before we all get wiped out by Asher, might as well make myself useful and get something out of it, huh?"
The butcher crooked his finger.
At the petty provocation, Draken's brow twitched.
The fallen adventurer raised his blade.
His cold eyes fixed on his junior adventurer.
"You are nothing more than an ordinary man, by the world's standards. I too am among the ordinary, but in the end, you could never match me."
"Cut the crap. If we're done talking, drop the act and fight already, you bastard caught with a stolen Plate."
Galliark lowered his stance.
He pressed his weight into his toes, gathering as much aura as possible before charging. Almost at the same time, Draken hurled his liquor bottle and rushed in.
Claang!
Hwihwol and the blade collided, sparks flying.
***
Verden went straight for the top of the castle.
He had already turned Roafra into a wasteland, and since he had achieved his main objective, he had no intention of leisurely exploring the castle.
That could wait until after he had dealt with the King of the Underworld.
He entered through a window without glass, into a corridor carpeted in gray.
At the corridor's end stood a metal door engraved with a beast. Without hesitation, he moved toward it, opening it with Telekinesis.
Three awaited Verden.
A man seated on the throne, wearing a gray crown.
With dark blond hair, dull golden eyes, and unusual armor, he was extraordinary at a glance.
Before him stood two figures clad in thorough armament. Some kind of royal guard perhaps. Their bodies fully covered, their gender could not even be discerned.
Verden strode into the audience chamber without hesitation.
The ruler of Roafra, seated arrogantly, raised his chin.
"You're more handsome than the reports said. Not a commoner, I presume. Noble-born, or perhaps royalty?"
"You're the King of the Underworld?"
"To answer a question with a question, huh. Well, fine."
The man placed a hand upon his chest.
The gauntlet, engraved with grotesque patterns, grated as it rubbed.
"My name is Grond Veil di Validus. The King of the Underworld, master of Roafra, and the pinnacle of Vintert. Welcome to my castle, Asher."
Grond gave a faint smile.
Then, he cast his gaze beyond the chamber's window. There lay Roafra, now reduced to ruins, unrecognizable.
"And to think you had a strength unlike the rumors. To overturn my Roafra in this way… never would I have expected such hidden power."
Grond's tone was pure admiration.
Yet, in his eyes there was no fear, no trace of terror, despite having witnessed Verden's devastation from afar.
"So, what is your reason for coming here yourself? Simply vengeance against me? Or is it that you want to know why Vintert targeted you?"
"You mean the deal with Leonil?"
"…!"
For the first time, Grond betrayed agitation.
He had not imagined Verden would know about the matter's inner workings.
"Oh… very interesting. You seem to know quite a lot. Just how much do you know?"
"Do I need to tell a man about to die?"
"What? Hahaha! Such arrogance, beyond belief."
Grond's eyes sank, growing deep.
"I admit, your skill surpasses any Magician I've seen, incomparable to the rest. But above there is always another. No matter how great you are, no matter how desperately you struggle, you cannot defeat me. Why? Because that is only natural."
Grond's eyes gleamed like steel.
There was arrogance, but also absolute conviction, not mere bravado—he truly believed it.
"I am another king, ruling in the shadows of the Kingdom. Even that Leonil, called the strongest of Estiria, cannot touch me carelessly. That is the kind of being standing before you. And you think you can bear it?"
Grond sneered.
Perhaps, to the inhabitants of Roafra, he might seem imposing as a ruler. But to Verden, he did not.
Rather, it was like—
"You're like a goblin in a cave."
A well-known saying.
The goblin, living in its narrow cave, believes itself to be the greatest, the strongest. It does not know the outside world, nor the beings beyond.
But one day, when the goblin steps outside, it behaves as it did inside the cave.
Ignorant, it wields its petty strength recklessly—only to be killed, as the tale always ends.
And compared to Grond?
He lived within the cave called Roafra, calling himself king. A man who was not a nation, not even a bastard of a royal line.
The outcome for such a Grond was clear in Verden's eyes, without need of thought.
"You've got quite the tongue."
"Doesn't seem wrong though."
Crack.
Grond clenched his teeth, fury seeping out.
"Shut that mouth, someone."
The response came instantly.
One of the guards drew his weapon and lunged at Verden.
Though lacking compared to Slay or Draken, they were still undeniable elites—strong enough to stand at Grond's side.
'Of course, Asher is not to be compared.'
At the very least, they could discern what magic he wielded. That was Grond's rational judgment.
"…!"
But his expectations were shattered.
With nothing but magic power and staff, Verden ended it after five exchanges.
One guard had his head struck dead-on, dying instantly.
The other, Meraden, was struck in the abdomen and flung away.
"Gghhhk…!"
He tumbled to Grond's feet, coughing blood in agony.
He tried to rise, but the blow through the crushed armor had devastated his organs. The fact he hadn't lost consciousness was miracle enough.
Grond frowned.
Still seated upon his throne.
Verden's cold gaze bore into him.
"Still haven't figured out the situation, have you."
"You bastard…"
"Think sitting on a throne makes you a real ruler?"
Boom.
Verden's staff struck the floor.
The reverberation spread throughout the entire audience chamber.
"Come down. I'll show you who truly stands above."
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