I entered the control chamber and found Ramiris and Veldora already present. Vesta seemed to be taking a rare day of rest—he had been exhausted lately, and I allowed it.
Ramiris and Veldora, on the other hand, were a storm of energy. Fatigue was a concept foreign to them; their vigor seemed endless. As long as they had a purpose, they could keep going indefinitely.
"Commander Atem! You're here!" Ramiris called out, her voice brimming with urgency. "The situation remains unchanged—for now!"
I gave a nod, my eyes turning to the massive display screen dominating the room. It showed three individuals advancing through the labyrinth at an extraordinary pace, conquering one floor after another. Their fighting style was precise and highly unusual.
One of them, a tall, muscular man with brown hair, moved his arms as though throwing something invisible. The air itself seemed to fracture and surge with power at his gestures. That was no ordinary skill—it was far beyond human strength. The jeans and tank top he wore marked him unmistakably as an otherworlder.
The other two were distinct: one a thin man in a black robe, the other a young man in a white lab coat over chain mail. The lab coat, while commonplace in some worlds, signified advanced knowledge here. His features marked him as East Asian—likely Japanese.
Observing the trio, I concluded that the tank top warrior and the lab coat strategist were certainly otherworlders, while the black-robed individual appeared to be their scout and tactician.
The screen shifted, revealing a new threat: six death wolves charging the trio. These were no ordinary monsters; their speed and intelligence were frightening. In packs, B-plus ranked creatures could overwhelm ordinary challengers easily. Their dead spirit nature rendered them impervious to physical attacks unless wielded with magic or holy-infused weapons. Their magicule-based bodies could regenerate even when shredded. Mistakes meant instant death.
"Do not underestimate us!" the brown-haired warrior roared, launching forward with the Minos's Bardiche raised high. The weapon descended in a sweeping arc, obliterating three of the death wolves into light particles with a deafening impact.
Of course. The Bardiche was no ordinary weapon—it was unique-grade, forged from a holy alloy of silver and magisteel, optimized against undead. Its magical power alone was enough to pierce through the dead spirits.
Veldora's voice cut through my analysis. "That weapon came from Gozer. He wields it with unmatched precision. Look at that swing—it's like he's been training with it for decades."
As the battle unfolded, their roles became clear. The brown-haired fighter dealt raw damage, the black-robed man identified threats and traps with surgical precision, and the lab coat strategist—Shinji—provided tactical support and medical intervention.
On Floor 51, the traps escalated in lethality. Poisonous gas, acid pools, corrosive swamps, and death rooms designed for instant execution awaited any who misstepped. Yet the trio navigated flawlessly. The black-robed man's Unique Skill pinpointed every trap in advance, while Shinji neutralized poison and injury with clinical efficiency.
Even the combat against Gozer revealed their capabilities. Shinji deployed a neurotoxin from a syringe, incapacitating Gozer and allowing the brown-haired warrior, Mark, to strike decisively. A final blow from Shinji's scalpel ended Gozer with surgical precision.
The three operated like a masterfully coordinated team. Leadership rested with Shinji, allowing Mark and Xin to act freely within their specialties.
Just then, Shuna entered, carrying registration records for the trio.
"Here are the forms collected at the time of their entry into Eterna," she reported, bowing slightly.
The forms listed:
Shinji, 23, Magician
Mark, 26, Warrior
Xin, 17, Hunter
Their hometowns were minor towns within the Empire, claiming they sought to challenge the labyrinth based on merchant rumors. Obviously, it was a fabrication. Beretta's analysis confirmed all three possessed Unique Skills and had deliberately formed a party—this was no ordinary registration.
Magician Shinji wielded both spirit and elemental magic with notable talent. Warrior Mark mastered hand-to-hand, throwing, and weapon combat, particularly with his Bardiche. Hunter Xin exhibited perfect trap detection, pathfinding, and monster subjugation skills.
Essentially, they were a party optimized for dungeon conquest, a rare combination of talent, strategy, and specialization.
"Those three must be spies who took the bait," I concluded, my voice calm but authoritative.
Diablo materialized beside me, frowning. "True, but would they really expose themselves so recklessly?"
"Possibly a diversion," I replied. "Yet the town remains calm. No panic, no interference. If it's a trap, it's subtle. They may be testing their capabilities—or ours."
Veldora grumbled. "Overthinking again, Atem. Honesty might be the best policy here."
Ramiris nodded, energetic as ever. "Regardless, the priority is handling them correctly."
I allowed a small smirk. The trio's abilities were undeniable. Their movements, strategy, and coordination marked them as extraordinary—but their registration and behavior were almost comically transparent, perhaps intentionally so.
Mark's attacks were overwhelming, throwing monsters and debris alike. Xin's foresight made traps irrelevant. Shinji's medical and tactical expertise ensured they could sustain themselves against almost any hazard. The trio was, by design, suited for this labyrinth's deadliest floors.
Three days passed in observation. Veldora, Ramiris, and I watched as they ascended floor after floor. Diablo quietly studied in the corner, while Shion learned dessert-making from Shuna.
Tea perfumed with apple scent accompanied our analysis.
Veldora finally asked, "So when you said they 'took the bait,' what did you mean?"
I allowed myself a moment of consideration before responding. "We deployed disaster drills, capable of isolating an entire city within the labyrinth. Ramiris's Labyrinth Creation skill makes it feasible. Floors and surface cities can be anchored for twenty-four hours, without compromising air, water, or sunlight. It's an excellent lure for spies. The labyrinth gate is the only point visible aboveground—they will investigate. That is how they've been drawn in."
Veldora's grin was infuriatingly cheerful. "Thanks to me, Mentor, you've gotten stronger too, huh?"
I inclined my head, maintaining calm authority. "Your contribution was acknowledged. It was necessary."
Diablo offered his usual quiet support. "At least someone appreciates order."
The screen flickered—Mark and his team were advancing toward Floor 60.
"Should we capture them?" Veldora asked.
"No," I said firmly. "I want to evaluate their strength. How far they can truly go. Reward or not, the insight is invaluable. At worst, the option to seize them exists."
Shuna sighed, rolling her eyes. "Even with the guaranteed drop, Minos's Bardiche appearing on the first floor? Undead creatures had no chance."
I analyzed the upcoming Floor 60 guardian: Adalmann, whom I titled "Immortal King". While powerful when leading armies, alone he was weaker than Gozer and Mezer. As a wight, he was vulnerable to holy and light elements.
With Mark wielding Minos's Bardiche, Adalmann's odds were slim. The floor's real challenge lay in the traps—but the guardians themselves? Inadequate. I allowed the trio a minor advantage, knowing they would need to push further.
I turned my attention toward the higher floors, curious to see how far these challengers would ascend. The true test awaited beyond Floor 70.
"Immortal King" Adalmann curled his fleshless lips at the intruders entering his domain. His jaw locked, teeth grinding with a faint, eerie creak, forming what could only be described as a macabre grin.
"You seem pleased, Adalmann-sama," a voice spoke—a tone familiar yet formal, belonging to Albert, a companion of centuries past. Once a paladin loyal to Adalmann, Albert had perished alongside him in a long-forgotten trap.
In the aftermath, Adalmann had risen through the ranks of the undead hierarchy, embracing his current skeletal form with pride. Albert, however, had initially devolved into a mere skeleton swordsman—a low-tier monster scarcely clinging to existence.
Yet now, Albert stood before him, fully articulated and speaking with ease. How?
The answer was simple. Albert had transcended his previous form. He was no longer a skeleton swordsman, nor merely a death knight. He had ascended to the death paladin, an elite class of dead spirit capable of independent thought and power rivaling high-tier mortals.
Though still a spirit without a living body, Albert's appearance mirrored his prime human form. Blue will-o'-wisps shimmered around him, and his pallid complexion hinted at his undead nature—but nothing diminished the aura of his former life. His pride in his human visage remained intact, reinforced by his mastery of magicules to construct a body worthy of his identity.
Adalmann, for his part, cared little for his past human form; his skeletal body was his new identity, a symbol of power and rebirth.
"Indeed," Adalmann's hollow voice resonated with authority, "I am in high spirits. Albert, the guests have arrived."
Albert inclined his head in silent agreement.
"They've come at last," he said tersely.
A glance, a shared expression—these two understood each other without words. Their synchronization was absolute.
"Yes," Adalmann continued, his voice ringing like a bell of war. "The time to prove our worth has come. Atem-sama has granted us life, and with this power, failure is no longer an option."
"I am well aware," Albert replied, calm and commanding, his tone carrying the weight of
centuries.
Adalmann's skeletal form gave a soft laugh. "Perhaps my excitement makes me verbose. It has been long since I felt such purpose."
A low rumble shook the air, heralding the arrival of another presence.
"GRAAAAAH!!"
The roar was primal, violent—a sound that vibrated through the desolate city of the dead.
Adalmann's hollow eyes seemed to shimmer with approval. "Ah, you too are eager. Very well. Let that fury serve this day. Let our loyalty and might honor Atem's dominion!"
Their energy radiated across the domain, heavy and suffocating to any intruder.
Once, Adalmann had abandoned all faith, lost to bitterness and death. Now, his devotion was absolute. Atem, sovereign of games and supreme authority of Eterna, was the center of his allegiance.
Months after their prior defeat, Adalmann had dedicated himself to regaining and surpassing his former strength. His growth as a wight king had been meteoric, fueled by unyielding devotion and strategic discipline. He sought perfection, a reflection of the meticulous and calculating mind that ruled Eterna.
Albert, no less, had followed the same path, mastering his abilities and refining his tactics. Together, they were an unstoppable force, fully aware of the stakes.
Yet Atem's mind, as always, was several steps ahead. Calm, calculating, and utterly commanding, I observed this display with the quiet authority of a king assessing pieces on a chessboard. Their eagerness, while genuine, would not determine victory here—only strategy, precision, and adaptability would.
Adalmann and Albert were blissfully unaware of my anticipation. To them, the arrival of intruders marked the start of glorious combat. To me, it was an opportunity to measure, test, and execute judgment.
From this point forward, failure was unacceptable for the undead duo—they were to enforce the will of Eterna and demonstrate the supremacy of my authority. With careful deliberation, Adalmann and his companions prepared to confront the foolish intruders who would soon step into their domain.