Of course, before setting foot on Scottish land, I had a plan in mind.

Even a simple trip required a plan, let alone such an important schedule as this. A misstep without planning could waste precious time.

Having departed Shio-ram on Friday evening, I had roughly two days and six hours to myself.

If I had some leeway, I could return on Sunday evening, but if time was pressing, I could afford to return by early Monday morning.

Firstly, I would step onto Edinburgh land via the gate, then reach Shipnaha by train.

However, there was no direct train from Edinburgh to Shipnaha.

Being relatively remote and surrounded by rugged terrain, Shipnaha required several train transfers.

That wasn’t an issue. In fact, I planned to consume Hidden Pieces along the way, so transferring was inevitable.

And so, after multiple train transfers and a diligent search for the Hidden Pieces I remembered…

It all went to the dogs.

‘Shit.’

Once in Shipnaha, I somehow managed to secure accommodations.

Not being familiar with traveling in foreign lands wasn’t much of a concern thanks to my spatial perception.

Just scanning the information within range was enough to find the lodging and route I was looking for.

After completing the procedures, I sat absentmindedly shoving soup into my mouth in the restaurant on the first floor when my brain’s calculator started to hammer away on its own.

A tally of numbers appeared, full of minuses and devoid of profit.

Those numbers weighed heavily on me, so much so that I couldn’t lift my head and ended up burying it on the table.

My cheek was scraping against the cold touch of the surface.

‘Ugh…’

The groan of frustration reverberated inside me. I made an effort not to let it escape my lips, swallowing back tears instead.

Profit… I had rummaged through and found a total of six Hidden Pieces, but only one was secured.

And that single one had convulsed and died the moment it reached my hand.

Cost? There was an expense in obtaining that one.

Exorbitantly so.

While my spending awareness was still at rock bottom, the price was significantly higher due to it being a monster byproduct.

The horn of a Bicorn. Thinking about it again sent heat rushing to my head.

‘No…’

Bicorn.

As far as I knew, a fantastical species that has been passed down since the medieval ages of Europe… A fictitious animal, true, but in this world, it exists as a real monster.

Standard hierarchy ranks it as a sixth-tier creature, but considering various factors, it has the potential to surge up to a fifth-tier monster.

Such was the byproduct I had acquired. It was also the horn of a creature commonly referred to as a Bicorn.

Costly, indeed.

The price was lowered because a long time had passed since it was subjugated, and at a glance, it seemed to be in bad condition.

Normally, that would not be a price one could afford just by saving up their maintenance fees.

Such an expensive byproduct… turned to dust upon touching it.

The horn of the Bicorn that had turned to dust in the seller’s grip. I wanted to grab the seller by the scruff, who was evading responsibility by claiming it wasn’t a product issue…

‘Sigh…’

Thinking about it, it seems the problem might indeed lie with me.

Bicorn, as a creature, is often associated with corruption and chaos.

The nature of its magic is erosive and contaminating. That’s why wounds inflicted by a Bicorn are particularly difficult to heal.

The characteristics of a Unicorn, on the other hand, are the opposite: purity and innocence. Its magic is clean and possesses a pure quality.

Perhaps due to the difference in the nature of their magic, unicorns are relatively more docile monsters.

Moreover, unicorns and bicorns are almost always mentioned together.

Not just because they are linked in the same mythology but more so because when they encounter each other, they seem to go mad and charge like crazed beasts.

As if unable to tolerate each other’s existence, there are numerous rumors of them fighting duels as if they’ve met a sworn enemy on a narrow bridge.

And the uniqueness of those battles has also contributed to the spread of rumors.

When their contrasting magical natures collide, it supposedly causes an intense backlash phenomenon…

Backlash phenomenon.

The magic of Bicorn is corruption and chaos.

The magic of Unicorn is purity and innocence.

My magic? Pure, clean…

Since the moment I first observed the Bicorn’s horn, even without spatial perception, there was a feeling of revulsion stirring in my gut from just the magic alone.

The moment of contact, as if our energies couldn’t acknowledge each other, the fluctuating energy of the horn and my own magic…

I racked my brain. I started putting together the scattered puzzle pieces.

Rational suspicion.

Rather than hypothesizing that the Bicorn’s horn was a defective product, the weight of my guess was tipping towards it having shattered due to a collision with my magic…

‘No… How could I have known…’

I am no unicorn.

It felt incredibly unfair. Who would have guessed that just touching it would cause it to crumble to dust?

And so instantly? That it would just turn to dust like that. I have no idea what its durability is supposed to be like.

Bicorn vs. Unicorn was a spectacle I used to watch often in the original works. I even captured them on purpose to set them up for fights.

The backlash phenomenon wasn’t this immediate and intense.

At least not to the point where a horn would shatter upon mere contact…

This was just a case of blame being misplaced. The only mistake I made was not bringing tweezers when I felt the revulsion.

I mindlessly continued shoving food into my mouth, making excuses to myself.

I had ordered a suitable dinner menu, but it consisted mostly of fried foods.

Perhaps due to the climate making it difficult to obtain vegetables and the geographical feature of being near the coast leading to a diet heavy in meat.

As a result, Scottish food is said to be greasy, but with my taste buds, I couldn’t ascertain the truth.

By appearance alone, it certainly looked rich and greasy.

…

…

…

I really wanted to immediately head out to the dungeon upon arrival in Shipnaha.

Having already spent time with no harvest made me feel increasingly impatient.

But thinking rationally, I knew that would be unwise.

I had left Shio-ram right after a duel with Professor Atra, and besides briefly sitting and resting on the train, I had taken no breaks.

It wasn’t as if my stamina had been completely drained. I felt mentally exhausted, but it was nothing more than a petulant complaint of fullness.

But my destination now was a dungeon.

Not like in Shio-ram, where all traps had been removed, information was abundant, and there was no safety device provided by the Vice-Principal.

A misstep could mean actual death.

Even though my skills were growing rapidly, if asked whether I had enough confidence, my head would involuntarily shake no.

So it was only after at least a short nap that I set out from the city.

Of course, I didn’t quite manage an hour’s sleep and a nightmare had spoiled my mood, but still, my physical condition had improved somewhat due to the rest.

– Thud

The grade-four dungeon, [Echoes of the Gorge], was located in the middle of a mountain valley.

The terrain around Shipnaha is rugged.

The city itself is surrounded by mountains, making it secluded, with less frequent train access.

I set out in the dawn before the sun had even risen.

I had only a rough idea of the location. Even this much was based on game information, so I planned to take my time finding it.

As expected, it took some time to locate the dungeon. Even with spatial perception, it took time, so without it, it would have probably taken days to find.

“…….”

The cataclysm inflicted a deep wound on humanity.

Dungeons sprouting out of nowhere consumed the lands where humans thrived, and monsters that appeared like cockroaches harmed and devoured people.

Such disasters continued for over a hundred years. During that era, it was a struggle just to live like a human.

It was different from now. The peace we had was obtained through the bloodshed of ancient heroes.

If things go as in the original story, this peace will come to an end in a few years, but that’s how it is.

That’s why such a profession was earnestly called heroic.

The esteem might have dropped relatively in the present day, but in the past, they were indeed treated as heroes.

Those heroes cherished such acclamations and took pride in them.

Heroes considered killing monsters a noble act.

Assaulting dungeons that spawned monsters was also considered a matter of honor.

Because of this, there is a culture of old heroes that is hard to find nowadays.

A culture where, at the site where a dungeon was conquered and left floating, they would carve their or their comrades’ traces.

“……”

The Echoes of the Gorge… the place where it should be.

An unnatural clearing right in the middle of a long mountain range.

In the center, a somewhat damaged stele and the names written on it…

——-

May this deed shine as a beacon on a dark day.

Georok Grass.

Denis Bardon.

Richard Carlyle.

Artovan Maxwell.

Trian Slade.

——-

‘Ah.’

One of the reasons for my impatience became clear.

This isn’t a game but reality. This area is bustling with active hunters. Someone might have already found it or others might have already conquered it.

My head tilted back on its own.

The sky was invisible.

The feathers of the Wings of the Sky draped over my shoulder limply drooped.

‘Shit.’

I shouldn’t have come out.

What a shitty situation.

* * *

A dungeon relatively close to Shipnaha.

Inside the dimly lit cave, shadows flickered from the faint light source.

– Grrrrrr

Having defeated and devoured all outsiders, the monster let out a satisfied rumble from its throat.

The cave resonated with the sound that was merely a vibration from the throat. Weaker kin busily moved at the sound of the leader.

Red-furred dogs buried their heads, aiming for whatever little flesh was left.

The monster, watching this scene, turned its body and checked its own flesh as it suddenly writhed in pain.

Though regenerating, there were plenty of scars etched between the fur marks.

The outsiders had been strong. Their limbs, devoid of nails and appearing emaciated, were actually imbued with tremendous strength.

Had they fought head-on, even a monster might have found it difficult to defeat them.

That’s why it hunted.

It pushed the weaker kin forward to induce carelessness.

The outsiders did not have good night vision. They also didn’t make an effort to carefully check their surroundings.

The monster hid its body in the darkness, held its breath, and at the perfect timing, killed the one that seemed to be the leader.

The outsider was strong, but it lacked the regeneration the monster possessed. The beheaded outsider died easily.

The rest were easy and tasty prey.

– Grrrr…

The monster, which could be mistaken for a large boulder, tilted its head.

There was no sky to be seen.

To the monster, born not long ago, the sky was synonymous with the stone ceiling.

It was just a gloomy stone that made up the sky.

But at this moment, something else shone in the eyes of the monster.

The self-awareness of this space.

The space that granted it strength whispered.

The sky was about to open.