The Gungi pieces stood aligned in a silence that felt almost sacred.
4-4-1, soldiers.
6-5-1, knight.
2-7-2, new ninja.
4-5-1, general.
The moves flowed with an unreal precision, as if the board itself were breathing in rhythm with the two players. Komugi had not blinked for several minutes. Her face, usually gentle and vacant, was now carved into absolute concentration. Every piece she touched seemed to respond to an inner call—an intuition born long before logic ever intervened.
Across from her, the old champion remained perfectly calm. His fingers slid slowly across the polished wood of the board, tracing invisible paths in the air before committing to a move. Yet, for the first time since the game had begun, a shadow crossed his eyes.
He had understood.
The trap had already closed.
Komugi advanced the general.
Check.
A quiet gasp rippled through the room. The spectators, silent until now, felt their chests tighten without knowing why. The old champion studied the configuration of the board for a long moment, then a smile—almost amused—curved his lips, like a man discovering a truth he had long refused to acknowledge.
"Checkmate."
The game was over.
For a heartbeat, no one dared to speak. Then the old man laughed—a clear, sincere laugh, free of bitterness. He slowly placed his hands on the board, as if bowing to an unseen opponent.
"I am truly impressed," he said at last. "You are exceptional, young girl. In thirty years of career… I have never been defeated like this."
Komugi lowered her head slightly, a shy smile on her lips.
"It was an honor, sir. The attack you used… the diverted knight formation… I had never seen it before."
The old champion paused, his expression growing more serious. He leaned forward, as though about to share a secret.
"That technique predates modern Gungi schools. It was created long before the game became spectacle. A blind general devised it during a forgotten war. He had lost his sight—but not his vision. He believed the board represented the world, and the pieces were lives sacrificed upon it. That attack was never meant to win… only to delay an inevitable defeat."
Komugi listened as if entranced.
"You transformed that attack," he continued. "You freed it from its original purpose. You do not play to survive… you play to understand."
She inclined her head.
"Thank you," she whispered.
"The pleasure was mine."
At that precise moment, a violent shock reverberated through the entire structure. The walls trembled, books fell from their shelves, and a deep, ominous rumble surged up from the depths of the library. Cries erupted. Some froze in fear, others instinctively stepped back.
Edrin jumped to his feet.
"What was that?! It came from below… what's happening?"
Komugi stiffened. Her hands trembled slightly as she stood.
"Where did you go… Sir Meruem…" she murmured, her voice laced with worry.
The old host, who had remained seated apart, rose slowly. His face was disturbingly calm, almost detached, despite the chaos around them.
"Dear Edrin, please excuse me. Do not worry. You are safe here."
His tone was so composed that it felt unnatural.
He offered a brief bow to his guests and headed toward the exit. As he walked, the receptionists—those who had appeared to be nothing more than polite employees—began to gather. Their posture changed. Their eyes hardened. They stood like soldiers awaiting orders.
"Return to your stations," the old host said without turning. "Reassure everyone. I will go down alone."
His face sharpened. At that instant, his aura erupted.
His En expanded violently, covering the entire library, piercing through the floors, plunging into the underground levels with crushing force. A hallucinatory presence—heavy, suffocating.
Below, Meruem stopped.
He understood immediately.
Those he faced were neither ordinary humans nor mere Hunters. Their mastery exceeded anything he had encountered before. The manager stood before him, panting, his body riddled with wounds that should have been fatal. And yet, he rose again, driven by a fanatical resolve.
Meruem had struck to kill.
Or perhaps… he had unconsciously held back.
The manager attacked again, his chain whistling through the air, smashing into stone, tearing through shelves, leaving deep scars in the walls. Meruem evaded each strike with terrifying calm, his composure stark against his opponent's fury.
Inside the glass cube, the Chimera Ant creature watched the scene, fascinated. Its eyes burned with a new light. Nen… the power it had believed exclusive to humans… one of their own wielded it now with terrifying mastery.
An idea took root.
If the King could command such power… then their entire race could evolve. On the Cursed Continent, it would mean absolute domination. A new order. A summit yet unreachable.
The underground door opened.
The old host appeared.
Both combatants instinctively paused. The air grew heavier still.
"Well, well…" the old man said lightly. "What if I joined you?"
His smile was playful, but his aura told a different story. His En crushed the space, overlapping the existing pressure, revealing a depth that felt endless.
Meruem understood then.
There were still Hunters in this world worthy of the name. Men whose power recalled that of old Chairman Netero. Men capable of concealing truths so heavy they required underground prisons and libraries as veils.
What secret could this place truly be hiding?
And more importantly… how many others like it still existed, unseen by the world?
The answer, Meruem knew, now lay at the very heart of Valmeris.
And it was already far too late to turn back.