Arthur arrived at the entrance of the labyrinth, his gaze sweeping over the twisting corridors of stone that stretched endlessly before him. The walls were ancient, weathered by time, yet still exuding an ominous presence. He inhaled deeply, his resolve hardening.
"Only the strong deserve to rule. The weak exist only to follow." His voice was low, yet absolute.
He had no desire to fight those beneath him—there was no glory in crushing insects. His only goal was to grow stronger, to surpass even the mightiest of beings. Strength was the only truth, the only law worth following. Those who did not seek it were destined to be trampled underfoot.
As he stepped forward, something tugged at his memory. His last battle—the fight against the True King of Oaks. A clash of titans, a battle where he had nearly reached his limit. That moment had been burned into him, a reminder of how far he still had to go.
Then, with a fluid motion, he leapt into the labyrinth.
He landed softly on the 110th floor, his body absorbing the impact effortlessly. Above him, Gwan-Ri crouched, peering down with narrowed eyes.
"What is he thinking, going into a labyrinth alone?" Gwan-Ri mused. A smirk played on his lips. "No matter. I should have some fun before they start looking for me… though that explosion back at the castle was interesting."
With that, he descended, his body vanishing into the darkness.
Arthur kept walking, his movements unhurried. Up ahead, a group of Bullocks feasted—massive humanoid creatures with bovine features, their thick arms and legs bulging with muscle. They tore into the carcasses of lesser beasts, their jagged teeth making quick work of flesh and bone.
Watching from the shadows above, something stirred. Black, slimy tendrils slithered along the surface of Arthur's skin, twisting and merging until they took the shape of a hooded cloak, draping over his frame like living armor. The shifting darkness seemed to breathe with him, a silent predator awaiting its moment.
Further away, Gwan-Ri moved through a tunnel, his eyes catching a flicker of movement. A giant ant lunged at him, its exoskeleton gleaming under the dim labyrinth light. With a casual grin, Gwan-Ri drove his fist straight into its chest, the impact so forceful that the exoskeleton shattered instantly, collapsing inward like fragile glass. The ant twitched violently before dropping lifelessly to the ground.
All around him, an entire army of ants lay in ruin—crushed, torn apart, bodies scattered like broken toys. Gwan-Ri surveyed his work with satisfaction.
"My ability always favors me in battle," he said proudly, cracking his knuckles. "No matter my opponent, I will always become stronger than them."
Then, from the depths of a dark cave, a monstrous ant emerged. Its body was three times the size of the others, with razor-sharp mandibles and a hardened carapace that glistened like polished obsidian. Its many eyes burned with intelligence and rage, locking onto Gwan-Ri with predatory focus.
Gwan-Ri laughed, shaking his head. "What an ugly thing. Are you really the best your kind has to offer?" His voice dripped with mockery.
With a screech, the giant ant lunged, its massive leg swinging down in an attempt to crush him. But Gwan-Ri was faster. His hand shot out, gripping the leg mid-air, stopping the attack with terrifying ease.
The ant shrieked, struggling, but Gwan-Ri's fingers only tightened their hold. The thick armor of the leg began to crack, splintering under his raw strength.
"Cry all you want," he mused, "but once something is in my grasp, it never escapes."
With a sudden pull, he ripped the leg clean off, a wet tearing sound filling the air. The ant reeled back, screeching in agony, its dark green blood spraying wildly over the walls. Before it could recover, Gwan-Ri drove his fist through its skull, piercing straight into its brain. The struggling ceased instantly, and the beast collapsed, lifeless.
Meanwhile, back with Arthur, the Bullocks had taken notice of him. One of them, the largest of the group, swung its massive axe with enough force to split a boulder in two.
Arthur stood his ground, watching the attack come.
"In battles like these," he muttered, eyes cold, "magic is unnecessary. All you need is brute force."
As the axe came down, he dodged at the last second, stepping forward and burying his fist into the Bullock's stomach. The sheer force of the punch sent shockwaves rippling through the beast's thick hide, its entire body cratering inward before it was launched backwards, smashing into the stone walls with a deafening crash.
The remaining Bullocks roared, charging at him. Arthur didn't hesitate.
He moved like a shadow—his fists and legs cutting through them effortlessly. One strike crushed a skull, another shattered ribs, another sent a creature's massive arm flying off its body. They were strong, but not strong enough. Not against him.
By the time he exhaled, every single Bullock lay at his feet, torn apart, crushed, defeated.
Arthur straightened his cloak, brushing dust from his shoulder.
"Pathetic."
Arthur moved deeper into the labyrinth, his presence alone warping the very air around him. The walls, ancient and unyielding, seemed to bow in silent reverence. The stone beneath his feet did not dare to echo his steps.
The strong did not ask for permission. They took.
Then, from above—a voice, thick with arrogance.
"So this is the real you, huh?"
Arthur did not react.
Gwan-Ri grinned, the dim light catching in his sharp eyes as he loosened his tie, letting it fall.
"All that time… playing along. Letting the others think they won." He scoffed. "But now I see it. You were hiding. And now?" His lips curled, anticipation flashing across his face. "Now, I finally get to see what you're really made of."
Then—he dropped.
The instant his feet struck the ground, the earth cracked beneath him, deep fractures splitting outward.
And then—he moved.
A flash of motion, faster than the human eye could follow.
A fist—blurring through the air, aimed directly at Arthur's face.
Arthur raised a single hand.
The world shuddered.
The impact exploded outward, a concussive blast tearing through the space around them. Walls fractured, chunks of stone ripped free, and the sheer force howled through the labyrinth like a storm.
Yet—Arthur did not move.
Gwan-Ri's breath caught for half a second—but he didn't stop. He twisted, his stance shifting, and launched into another attack.
A blur of lethal precision.
Each movement calculated. Every strike honed to perfection. His fists moved in a seamless, relentless rhythm, each blow carrying enough force to shatter bone, to break defenses, to dismantle opponents before they could react.
The air itself trembled under the assault.
And yet—Arthur blocked them all.
No wasted movement. No hesitation. Effortless.
The sound of Gwan-Ri's strikes echoed like thunder, yet each one was caught, deflected—as if Arthur wasn't fighting an equal, but swatting away something lesser.
Then—Arthur vanished.
Gwan-Ri exhaled sharply, his muscles tensing—where?
And then—a whisper.
Soft. Cold. Absolute.
"You misunderstand power."
A weight dropped into Gwan-Ri's chest.
Slowly—too slowly—he turned.
Arthur stood behind him, his eyes unreadable, his presence suffocating.
Then—the world shattered.
Darkness spilled outward, swallowing everything whole. The walls, the ground, the very air collapsed into the abyss.
Nothing remained.
And then—they opened.
Eyes.
Towering.
Vast.
Fox-like, gleaming with violet light—not a light of warmth, but of dominion.
They did not simply see Gwan-Ri.
They looked through him.
He felt it—a force far beyond himself, far beyond anything he had ever comprehended.
Arthur's voice, calm as death, carried through the void.
"Power is not speed. Not strength. Not talent.
Power is not the ability to strike first or strike last.
Power is the right to decide.
Power is the certainty that no force beneath the heavens may defy you.
Power is the will that turns men into kings, and kings into dust."
The abyss pulsed. The air thickened.
Gwan-Ri's breath came short, sharp. His body trembled—why? Why was he trembling?
He clenched his fists, forcing himself to stand straight. No. He refused to kneel.
His ability had saved him countless times.
It would now.
…Right?
Then—he saw it.
His vision tilted.
His balance wavered.
And then—he understood.
It was the way a man sees when his head has already been severed from his body.
The last thing he saw was Arthur walking away.
Untouched. Unchanged. Unchallenged.
His body hit the ground.
His mind did not.
As darkness claimed him, his final thoughts were not of anger.
Not of regret.
But disbelief.
"Power… was mine. Power was… always mine. So how? How did I lose?"