I Became A Thief Who Steals Overpowered Skills - Chapter 65

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Episode 65. Recruiting for the Masung Palace Floor 8 Conquest

Nakcheon.

A fallen sky.

Once an idol among Raiders who had reached the eighth floor of Masung Palace.

The man who had once led Masung Palace’s greatest raiding team, the Black Lions.

Yet now he was nothing but a phantom, devoured by Masung Palace itself, guarding the edge of the eighth floor to ensure that no one could ever pass beyond to the ninth.

And all the while, his decaying body was held together only by Masung Palace’s gift of life itself.

And the blade that phantom Nakcheon wielded was none other than Ureungseong.

The synergy between a phantom of Masung Palace and Ureungseong was beyond measure.

For that reason, countless Raiders had challenged him, either seeking passage to the ninth floor or coveting the Ureungseong itself.

Yet the outcome, clear to this day, spoke volumes: Nakcheon remained undefeated and alive.

Krash’s intention was to fell Nakcheon and claim the Ureungseong for himself.

“This place has been a while,” Crimson Garden murmured.

The monster’s voice drifted to Krash from where it gazed out at Ravala beyond the window.

Apparently, Crimson Garden—befitting an immortal—had visited Ravala, the city of Masung Palace, before.

“Crimson, do you have any connections in Ravala?”
“None. No point investing time in a place like this.”

Krash’s eyes narrowed slightly at that answer.

It was the same when dealing with the first Spirit User.

Crimson Garden appeared to have contributed quite significantly to numerous historical events throughout the ages.

Before the regression, Krash hadn’t had time to speak with Crimson Garden about such things, so he hadn’t particularly wondered about them.

Now, looking back, there was almost nothing he wasn’t curious about.

“Just asking on the off chance—you didn’t happen to create Masung Palace or anything like that, did you?”

Masung Palace, though now fallen, was the ultimate distillation of the Bazantrium Civilization that had existed long before any empire—the work of a mad weapons engineer.

At the question, Crimson Garden let out a peculiar laugh.

“Do you think I have a hand in everything under the sun? I’ve simply stumbled into a few matters by circumstance.”

This one, it seemed, was not among them.

“Though I do know that some World Erosion agent was quite close with that weapons engineer.”

“You’re talking about a dwarf.”

The moment Krash spoke without concern, Crimson Garden went rigid.

—This regressor, I swear.

Crimson Garden had clearly wanted to say something meaningful, only to have the words snatched away, and she made no effort to hide her irritation.

She’d tried to play knowledgeable and gotten thoroughly blindsided for her trouble.

As Krash let out a quiet chuckle, the carriage suddenly jolted and came to a stop.

“We’ve arrived.”

With those words, the door swung open as the coachman announced their destination.

Aliod stood waiting outside, as expected.

Aliod stepped back to give Krash space to descend gracefully, and Krash climbed down from the carriage.

Judging from his recent second growth spurt, his height had increased noticeably.

What had once been a high step down from the carriage was now unremarkable.

The last time he’d checked his reflection, the baby fat in his face had begun to recede in earnest.

Krash had always been an early bloomer.

He had shed his childish appearance entirely and was approaching boyhood proper.

“Bianca.”

Krash, having descended first, extended his hand to Bianca, and she took it without hesitation, following him down.

“It’s large.”

Bianca glanced up at the building and offered a terse assessment.

The structure before them was indeed quite sizeable.

Masung Palace had been designated by both the Empire and the kingdoms as a mutually uncontrolled territory.

Neither the Empire nor the kingdoms dared monopolize the byproducts that emerged from Masung Palace, as the distances between them were far too great.

To ensure equal distribution of those byproducts, they had agreed to keep the region ungoverned.

This very building—the Raider Guild branch—had been jointly established by those allied with Masung Palace.

Krash pushed open the guild’s doors and stepped inside.

As he entered, several raiders glanced in his direction.

By their clothing alone—two nobly dressed youths and a retainer in attendance—

they looked every inch like young lords out on an excursion to Masung Palace, and the raiders quickly averted their eyes.

Even in an ungoverned territory, everyone understood there was no profit in quarreling with the nobility.

Krash paid them no attention and made his way toward the reception desk at the back.

The receptionist immediately recognized his noble bearing and broke into a beaming smile.

“Welcome to Masung Palace’s Raider Guild. I’m Chello, a guide here. What brings you in today?”
“I’d like to get an access pass.”
“Ah, yes—an access pass. I’ll need to verify your identity first, if that’s all right.”

Krash produced the Balheim crest without hesitation.

The moment she saw it, her body went rigid.

“B-Balheim.”

Every eye in the room snapped toward him at once.

Raiders were a breed unto themselves—sharp, capable, always alert.

There was no way they wouldn’t know the name Balheim.

As they stared at him with wide eyes, Aliod turned and gave them a look that cut off any further interest.

The stares scattered as quickly as they’d gathered.

“R-right, confirmed. Please wait just a moment.”
“While you’re making the pass, I have one more request.”
“Y-yes, of course. Please, go ahead.”

Krash’s mouth curved into a slow smile.

What he said next would have knocked the employee off her feet.

“Post a recruitment notice for a team to conquer the eighth floor.”

It was time to put the name of Balheim to work.

* * *

A recruitment notice for the eighth floor.

Normally, everyone would have laughed it off—but not this time.

The reason was simple: the one behind this recruitment was a direct agent of Balheim itself.

“Balheim’s direct line is conquering the eighth floor?”
“Insane—why would Balheim suddenly move on this?”

The eighth floor had been a wall of failure, stopped again and again by Nakcheon.

The rumor spread across Ravala like wildfire.

Most who heard it were baffled.

Masung Palace was not a World Erosion site, but rather one of the few places that existed as a remnant of some ancient era.

For common nobles, the byproducts from Masung Palace were worth a glance or two.

But for Balheim, a name known across the world, there was no need to bother with such things.

Yet Balheim had just declared they would conquer the eighth floor of Masung Palace.

“Are they after the Ureungseong?”
“But it’s Nakcheon we’re talking about. Is that even possible?”

A phantom of Master rank—Nakcheon—numbering fewer than four digits across the entire world.

In the Starry Generation, Masters were treated as common enough, but those who had reached Master rank within Masung Palace were nearly non-existent.

And Nakcheon’s former comrades had all succumbed to the ravages of time; save for Nakcheon himself, they were long dead.

There had once been those who challenged the eighth floor of Masung Palace, but that was ancient history.

Masung Palace currently operated only up to the seventh floor.

Of course, if an empire or kingdom set their minds to it and pushed hard enough, they might manage to bring down Nakcheon.

But expending Master-class talent in such an undertaking simply didn’t pencil out.

If those forces attempted to challenge Nakcheon, a phantom of Master rank, and failed—if they died in the attempt—

it would be not merely a catastrophic loss of human resources, but a stain upon the nation’s honor as well.

So no one had been willing to bear that risk.

Thanks to that, the Ureungseong had remained firmly in Nakcheon’s grip all this time.

“But Balheim, you say?”

Now, much time had passed since Nakcheon had seized the eighth floor’s depths.

And now one of Balheim’s direct line had appeared, claiming they would defeat that very Nakcheon.

“All those raiders who attempted the eighth floor before—wouldn’t they gather now?”

At that moment when everyone’s hopes had converged upon this single venture.

Krash sat sprawled in the guild hall, drawing out a prolonged yawn.

‘Slower than I expected.’

Were they consulting the heavens, perhaps.

Krash tapped his index finger lightly against the desk, watching the raiders who had yet to gather despite his recruitment notice.

He’d posted the call with every intention of reaching the eighth floor as swiftly as possible.

He’d never imagined the raiders’ reluctance would prove so heavy.

-Do you know what characterizes those standing at the very threshold of Master rank?

At that moment, Crimson Garden, perched atop the table, let out a thin, mocking laugh.

-They mistake the world for lying beneath their feet.

Krash offered no disagreement to that.

Between Expert and Master there exists a wall.

And countless are those who cannot surmount it, even through a lifetime of striving.

Yet these raiders stood on the very brink of crossing it.

What did that mean?

It was like announcing himself as some sort of genius in this world.

-Without even knowing that true genius and mediocrity were divided there.

Master was a far more intricate stage than Expert.

Nascent, intermediate, advanced, peak, mastery, and perfection itself.

That single barrier was far steeper than the wall that broke through nascent Master.

-In the old days we only used the words nascent, mastery, and perfection, but what in heaven’s name has your generation taken to adorning everything with such flourishes? Do you not find it laughable that you’ve forgotten even the dream of becoming the greatest under heaven?

Krash gave Crimson Garden an exasperated look, asking when he’d started telling old stories.

‘Just like that old coot. Though I suppose, having lived through the same era, it can’t be helped.’

Watching Crimson Garden, Krash often found himself reminded of an elderly man to whom he had once owed a debt.

A man who had helped him learn to wield curses so he could protect himself, an old hermit now waiting out his remaining days in seclusion.

‘I wonder where he is now.’

-The ripened grain bows its head the fuller it grows. The unripened grain, by contrast, knows nothing of bowing.

-That’s far by my measure, I suppose.

Krash cradled her head and let her settle onto his lap as he sat back against the sofa.

Bianca nestled into his embrace with a contented murmur.

“Well, if she won’t come to me, that’s fine.”

Krash shielded Bianca from the sunlight streaming through the window as he spoke.

“I can always go and find her myself.”

Making people bow—that was his specialty, after all.

But first, he needed to decide on his target carefully.

Krash scanned the list of those who had reached the eighth floor and made his choice.

This one.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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