Journey to Become the Zenith

At the End of the Tunnel

Victor and his companions moved deeper into the earth.

A curve of steps twisted into darkness, worn stones slick from years underground. Above where they stood, a dead torch sat in its bracket, blackened by old fire. Not one among them moved to take it.

It was unnecessary for them.

A bit of a lift came from Victor’s hand. It rose, just above shoulder level.

”Light.”

A tiny sphere appeared in his hand, rising soon after to spill gentle light down the tight steps. Not long afterward she copied - her glow taking shape like something whispering between darkness and dawn. A breath passed before Clara followed, calling forth her own pale spark into the air.

The shadows retreated.

But not completely.

As they descended, the air grew colder, thicker—heavy with something unseen. Victor could feel it now clearly.

The villagers.

Their presence pulsed faintly beneath layers of stone.

And beneath that—

Another presence.

Stronger.

Older.

The quality of the mana made his pulse quicken.

It reminded him of the Void Tyrant Hydra he had slain not long ago. The same oppressive density. The same suffocating weight pressing against his senses.

But this—

This was different.

The Void Tyrant Hydra had been a beast. Intelligent, yes—but bound to instinct. Rage. Territory. Survival.

What waited below was not instinct.

It was calculation.

Victor’s lips curved slowly.

Good.

His golden eyes gleamed in the dim glow.

This opponent would think.

Would plan.

Would try to outmaneuver him.

That was infinitely more interesting.

Lane noticed the shift in his breathing. She didn’t look at him directly, but she knew that look.

He was excited.

Again.

That quiet vibration lingered, Clara noticing it just as much as anyone would. Her arms reacted before she could think, tiny sparks running across the surface.

Footsteps stopped when the steps gave out beneath her.

Ahead, a passage cut deep into stone ran on without hurry. Along its sides, fires burned in iron brackets - calm, unblinking.

Waiting.

Footsteps fading, Victor stood by the mouth of the tunnel.

One by one, they stopped near where he stood. Then silence settled between them.

Still facing forward, he made no move to look back. Only later did his eyes shift.

”I’m sure you two understand,” he began calmly, voice echoing faintly against the stone, ”that once we walk forward from here, there’s no turning back.”

Lane’s face stayed just as it was.

Fingers of Clara pressed a bit harder beside her legs.

”As the leader of this party,” Victor continued, a faint smile forming, ”I suppose I should say something comforting. Something like, don’t worry, or we can definitely do this.”

A soft exhale slipped out - close to laughter, but not quite.

”I won’t insult you with something so disgusting.”

Now he shifted his gaze just a bit, so they caught the shine flickering there. A small move, yet it showed what was glowing inside. Their attention held by that quiet spark, waiting without asking.

”The truth is this - beyond that tunnel is someone stronger than me.”

Clara’s heartbeat skipped.

Stronger than him?

Victor’s smile widened.

”Unknown abilities. Unknown strategy. Combined with the villagers as variables, this will be unpredictable.”

His voice dropped slightly.

”The chances of us dying are high.”

The way he said it—calmly. Almost fondly.

Lane felt a warmth bloom in her chest despite the situation.

This was the Victor she had chosen.

Not the invincible hero.

But the man who walked into danger knowing exactly how sharp it was.

”So,” he finished, eyes dancing with restrained excitement, ”if either of you wants to turn back, now is your chance. I won’t stop you. Your life is your own.”

He looked between them.

Waiting.

Lane spoke first.

”I will follow you,” she said evenly, ”even into the depths of the underworld.”

Her voice didn’t tremble.

”If you die, I die.”

Her gaze was steady, but inside—

She was preparing herself.

Victor didn’t exaggerate.

If he said the enemy was stronger, then it was.

But battles were not decided by raw strength alone. Positioning. Timing. Awareness. Trust.

They had those.

She would make sure of it.

Clara exhaled slowly.

Retreating would be logical.

Report to the guild. Bring reinforcements. Avoid unnecessary risk.

But—

If they left now, the culprit might vanish.

And Victor...

He would go forward regardless.

She closed her eyes briefly.

In her mind, she saw her mother. Her sisters.

’It’s alright,’ she told herself. ’I prepared for this.’

She had already made arrangements.

If she died here, the guild master would fulfill his promise.

Everything would be taken care of.

Though—

She prayed it would never come to that.

She opened her eyes and met Victor’s gaze.

There was something infuriating about that smile of his.

And something magnetic.

”I’m coming,” Clara said firmly.

Victor’s grin sharpened.

Those eyes.

He had seen that look before.

Long ago.

Warriors who stood before overwhelming odds and chose to advance anyway.

Very well.

”Let’s go.”

He stepped into the tunnel.

The torches flickered slightly as they passed, though there was no wind.

The sound of their boots echoed softly.

Behind them, the entrance disappeared into shadow.

As they walked, Diana’s voice resonated within Victor’s mind.

”Master,” she said lightly, ”why didn’t you ask me whether I wished to proceed?”

Victor blinked once.

”Huh? Isn’t our contract clear? You remain with me until my death.”

There was a pause.

”How dull,” Diana replied, her tone feigning annoyance. ”I was merely teasing you.”

In truth—

She was smiling.

Ever since she realized who he truly was—who he had once been—something inside her had shifted.

The Blood Monarch.

And yet— Even in this incarnation, even stripped of ancient power, and his that life memories he was the same.

Reckless.

Hungry.

Alive.

The tunnel widened at the far end.

Victor slowed.

The mana concentration intensified.

Then—

They stepped into an underground chamber.

Dozens of villagers stood there.

Silent.

Motionless.

Eyes unfocused.

Arranged like pieces on a board.

And at the center—

A man in a gray cloak.

A smooth mask concealed his face.

He stood relaxed, hands folded behind his back.

As if welcoming guests to dinner.

”Oh,” he said pleasantly, voice echoing through the cavern, ”our guests have arrived.”

The masked figure inclined his head slightly.

”Welcome to my humble abode.”

A faint chuckle escaped him.

”I am Alibaba, the master of this place.”

His tone was polite.

Cultured.

Almost warm.

”Though our meeting will be brief,” he continued smoothly, ”it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”