"These are the blessings of the Gambling Ruler."
The voice Neophyte heard was strange, coming from an unknown direction… It echoed in a specific corner, yet it was impossible to pinpoint.
Neophyte glanced around in all directions, speaking to himself:
"Blessings of the Gambling Ruler? Who is this ruler? Is it because of his blessing that I got a blackjack and won? This is really strange… And now, by killing these people, I'll move on to the fourth floor."
Neophyte ascended to the fourth floor. Upon reaching it, he noticed a cowboy leaning against the wall, as if waiting for someone. At the end of the corridor, there was a door leading to the next floor. Neophyte's gaze shifted toward a set of wine bottles lined up neatly.
The cowboy lifted his hat with a single finger and spoke:
"It looks like you're the first guest to arrive. How about a challenge?"
Neophyte observed the cowboy's hand movements before shifting his eyes to his peculiar finger gesture.
"What's your challenge, cowboy?"
The cowboy pointed at the bottles and began to explain:
"It's a simple challenge. We have twelve bottles. Each of us takes six. The one who destroys the most bottles… won't be killed."
Neophyte muttered to himself as he studied the cowboy's hand:
"Hunter's vision and speed… I'll take this bastard down before he even realizes it."
A sinister grin spread across Neophyte's face as he said:
"The punishment is death, is that right, pig herder?"
The cowboy lifted his hat slightly and smirked.
"It seems you understand the rules well. Then let's begin the challenge… And just so you know, I go by 'Cowboy,' not 'pig herder,' you clown."
Both Neophyte and the cowboy took their positions, preparing their weapons.
The cowboy held his revolver and shouted:
"On my mark. One… two… three—"
Before the cowboy could even react, Neophyte fired, shattering all his bottles in less than a second. The shock was so overwhelming that the cowboy didn't even manage to fire at the remaining bottles.
Without hesitation, Neophyte swiftly beheaded him, sensing the threat the cowboy posed.
Neophyte held his eyes shut for a moment, then burst into hysterical laughter. And that could only mean one thing—something crimson, something unknown, was watching him.
"If it weren't for this strange power I possess, I wouldn't have been able to match him. What's even stranger is that there was only one person here… Didn't they say each floor has three challengers? And they never mentioned a mixed floor either. When I looked down at the buildings from above, they were all separate and in sequence. Could this be a manipulation of the mind? Or perhaps a fundamental distortion of this world's structure?"
Neophyte placed his thumb and index finger on his chin.
"It seems this place has been tampered with in a way that allows someone to move and merge everything around them as they please."
He touched the wall, analyzing it carefully.
"A person with magical capabilities? Could it be that Jason possesses this level of power and magic? If that's true, it's completely unexpected. No matter… Let's move forward—I've reached the fifth floor."
In the midst of an eerie silence, an unsettling stillness enveloped the place. As the investigator climbed the stairs cautiously, he noticed a group of people running toward him in sheer panic.
Without hesitation, he drew his gun, preparing for an encounter.
But in a shocking instant, he witnessed something horrifying—their heads were severed midair before crashing down at his feet. It happened so quickly, so brutally, that he couldn't even process it.
From the shadows emerged a grotesque creature. It was of medium size, moving on four legs, with three additional arms protruding from its back. Its head resembled that of a deadly scorpion. Its movements were savage, its speed terrifying, and there was no trace of mercy in its black, soulless eyes.
After mercilessly slaughtering those unfortunate souls, the creature immediately set its sights on Neophyte, lunging toward him at a terrifying speed. In that moment, there was no room for thought—only survival.
Neophyte dodged the acidic spit the creature hurled at him. It attacked with its powerful legs, grabbing Neophyte by the head and hurling him against the wall.
A second later, another glob of acid shot toward him, and upon closer inspection, Neophyte realized it wasn't just ordinary acid—it was something that corroded both the walls and the floor upon contact.
Neophyte leaped out of the way, letting out a low chuckle that mirrored the madness of the situation.
"Damn… If I hadn't been paying attention, I would've died in the worst possible way. But how do I kill this bastard? He keeps spitting that acid non-stop. I need to focus on his legs… He has four. If I can at least sever two—or even one—I'll throw off his balance and strike him down."
Neophyte started running randomly, shifting left and right. The creature struggled to focus on a fixed target. Seizing the opportunity, the detective swiftly severed two of its legs, causing it to collapse to the ground.
But Neophyte remained vigilant—when he cut the legs, a corrosive acid sprayed from the wounds, scattering in the air like a deadly rain for a few seconds.
He needed to find a way to kill this disgusting beast without endangering himself.
'If I get too close and cut off the remaining legs, it could cause even more trouble.'
Gripping his sword tightly, Neophyte muttered to himself,
"The best solution is to throw the sword directly at its head. That way, I can finish it off within seconds and move forward."
With precise aim, he hurled the sword straight into the creature's skull, shattering it completely. The acid splattered violently, but Neophyte had already calculated the safe distance.
After a few moments, he approached the creature's lifeless body to retrieve his sword, only to find that it had completely dissolved due to the acid.
He crouched slightly, irritation flashing across his face.
'Damn it… I expected this to happen, which is why I conserved my ammunition. Now, only the sixth and final building remains. Once I clear it, I can put an end to this bizarre and frustrating challenge.'
Upon reaching the sixth building, Neophyte found a man twirling knives between his fingers.
The man tossed a blade into the air and caught it effortlessly, speaking to himself before turning to Neophyte.
"So, you've finally arrived. I've been waiting for you. Took you long enough."
Neophyte smirked mockingly.
"And what? Are you in a hurry to get to hell?"
Both of them chuckled. The knife-wielding man took a step closer.
"You seem like a fun guy. Out of respect, I'd like to know your na—"
Before he could finish his sentence, Neophyte fired a bullet straight through his hand.
The man immediately retreated, darting from one cover to another. The building had plenty of obstacles, making it easy for him to hide and reposition himself.
Then, without warning, he appeared right in front of Neophyte, slashing at his stomach and injuring his arm and leg.
Neophyte fired a round of bullets at his chest, but the man quickly struck the detective's hand, making him drop the gun.
A fierce struggle began. Neophyte tried to push the man back to reclaim his weapon, but his opponent hurled a knife straight into his hand.
Pain surged through him, but he fought to suppress it. The man attempted to decapitate Neophyte, but in a desperate move, the detective pulled out a pen and stabbed him in the neck.
Again.
And again.
He stabbed relentlessly, dozens of times, until the man's head began to detach.
Blood splattered across Neophyte's face. He stood up, wiping it off while staring at the pen in his hand.
'So… the Red Raven and the Clown were right when they told me to keep it. Whether for this moment or others to come… I need to hold onto it.'
Neophyte tore a piece of fabric from the man's clothes and wrapped it around his wound as a makeshift bandage. Then, exhausted and drained, he left the building.
A heavy weight pressed on his chest. The air felt thicker, heavier.
He lifted his gaze.
Only Nialan was there.
Neophyte frowned.
"Where's Sheson? He was supposed to be with you."
Nialan was sitting on a wooden barrel, his head tilted downward, fingers interlocked, one foot tapping anxiously.
Neophyte cautiously approached.
His voice carried both shock and concern.
"Nialan, where is Sheson? Why isn't he with you?"
Darkness suddenly engulfed the area.
A strange, oppressive aura filled the air.
Neophyte turned his head in every direction—everything had turned pitch black.
He looked back at Nialan.
But Nialan was gone.
Then, in the eerie silence, Nialan's voice echoed through the void, cold and emotionless.
"Didn't he tell you never to trust anyone, Germaine?"
Neophyte froze.
That name—Germaine?
Memories rushed into his mind. The bloodstained notebook. The enigmatic figure who always wore a single-lensed eyeglass.
The one they said feared nothing.
Neophyte muttered under his breath, struggling to process the truth.
"No way… Don't tell me…"
But before he could finish his sentence, the voice interrupted him.
"That's right, Germaine."
The voice grew heavier.
"I am… Gilgamesh."
"The one who fears nothing."