The Second Coming of Gluttony - Chapter 123

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

Episode 123. The Guessing Game (3)

“Sob… sob….”
A mournful weeping drifted through the air.
A young girl sat in the meadow, her hair gone white as snow, a white headband tied neatly around it. She was the companion who had come out of Stage 1 with them, the one who’d offered guidance to help them grasp the clues leading toward the answer.
That same girl.
“Ugh…”
Hunched forward with her knees drawn up, her head buried, she wept quietly.
With each pitiful sob that followed, Seol Jihoo’s ache deepened.
He stretched out a hand slowly, meaning to comfort her, but stopped just before it could touch her shoulder.
“…….”
Seol Jihoo withdrew his hand and bit his lower lip, casting his gaze around the surroundings.
In all directions, clusters of people stood scattered, eyeing one another warily, and he felt the vicious, hostile current that arose from each of them gripping their sharpened weapons.
Most of all.
‘How did this happen.’
One hundred and ten.
The total number of people remaining on Stage 2.
The initial count of one hundred sixty-six had dwindled to one hundred ten in merely two days—fifty-six lost to flight, sacrifice, and countless other reasons.
‘How did things ever come to this.’
His eyes, which had grown steadily darker, finally shut tight.
Seol Jihoo fell silent, lost in recollection of the events that had unfolded across the meadow over the past two days.

The first day.
After sending four people and dispatching the advance team, one hundred and forty-two had made the worst possible move. Twenty had perished entirely, leaving them with no intelligence whatsoever about the difficulty of the Plaza of Sacrifice.
That wasn’t all.
The loss was impossible to ignore: the advance team, composed mostly of Level 4 operatives and including Evangeline Rose, an Upper Rank, had been utterly annihilated.
Twelve percent of their forces—and premium personnel at that, capable of immediate deployment—had been whittled away without accomplishing anything.
What followed was chaos beyond measure.
The pit disgorged corpses without warning, and the hourglass let its sand slip away with cruel indifference.
It was a situation bound to breed confusion, yet not everyone lost their composure. Some, like Seol Jihoo, who tried desperately to remain calm, moved with deliberation.
Kazuki was moving with sharp attentiveness, scrutinizing the bodies. After examining numerous corpses and, at last, lifting the severed head of Evangeline Rose to study it carefully, Kazuki reached a conclusion.
“A Devourer….”
Then, looking troubled, he lowered his voice.
“Damn it. It was a trap condition.”
Though he spoke as if muttering to himself, Seol Jihoo, standing near enough, heard every word clearly.
“A trap?”
Kazuki glanced sideways and gave a small nod.
“The Devourer is one of the undead—exceptionally powerful. Especially notorious for harboring an abnormal appetite toward living creatures.”
An abnormal appetite toward living creatures?
Seol Jihoo didn’t understand what that meant, but he didn’t press further. Something told him it was better not to know.
“For something like this to appear with only a minimum of six people… I can only think it was a trap.”
“Would twenty have been enough?”
“I don’t know how many showed up, but even if only ten appeared, twenty would’ve been nowhere near sufficient.”
Kazuki spoke with conviction, his expression growing pensive.
“…I suppose if there’d been an Upper Rank specialized in combat ability…”
But Evangeline Rose’s Class was the Great Pioneer. With her Job specialized toward Search Ability, her Combat Ability was comparatively limited.
Which is to say that Kazuki, possessing the same Job, couldn’t rashly gamble on victory against such a creature.
“What’s the likelihood it was a Lich?”
At that moment, a familiar voice cut in.
Ora Hee was watching the two of them from a short distance away.
Kazuki shook his head.
“A Lich does hunger for life too, but most of the corpses had their organs concentrated and severely damaged, so Devourer is the right call.”
“Hmm. If you say so, I’ll trust it.”
Ora Hee muttered softly before suddenly turning her head at a burst of cheering. Seol Jihoo, following her gaze, furrowed his brow.
The headless corpse, presumed to be Evangeline Rose, lay sprawled naked across the grass.
Beside it, Snake Eyes, Audrey Bastler, was gathering up the equipment stripped from the body and appraising each piece one by one.
“Wow! Definitely Upper Rank gear. The stuff I could never even dream of affording… Ha! Look how packed this equipment is—just like her body, huh? Hehehehe!”
Audrey Bastler laughed gleefully, delighted, while Ora Hee, clicking her tongue, stared at the hourglass with lazy eyes. By now, more than half the sand had already drained away.
“There’s no guarantee another Devourer will appear, is there?”
“No. But something at a similar level will.”
“Are you going in?”
“…Yes. All the way.”
“Good. You all prepare as well.”
The moment Kazuki gave his answer, Ora Hee moved with swift efficiency.
“Seol.”
Kazuki placed a hand on Seol Jihoo’s shoulder and leaned in close, speaking quietly.
“Listen carefully. Soon everyone left will be forced into the Plaza of Sacrifice one way or another.”
“Yes.”
“Don’t go in at the front. Watch and feel out the situation, then slip in around the middle. And from this moment on—whether inside or outside—never separate from your allies. Understood?”
Kazuki’s expression was grave enough that Seol Jihoo felt his own unease deepen.
“Understood.”
“Good. I’ll find her and Hugo. You take Maria and Chung Chohong and come back here.”
Seol Jihoo nodded at the order to regroup first.
Shortly after, the joint forces of Umitsutsuame and Carpe Diem assembled in one place.
Given how things had unfolded, there was only one option: everyone had to go in.
Those who understood this fact tried to suppress their dread and proceed, but the real problem lay with those who had no intention of reaching Stage 3—in other words, those who had no wish to enter at all.
The sand dwindled by the moment, and time to persuade them was critically short.
In the end, the majority and the strong began resorting to coercive measures.
Could it even be called persuasion, refusing to listen to the other side and simply demanding they go in?
Was forcing them through threats and intimidation truly persuasion?
At least it started with words—and that was merciful compared to what followed.
One man shuffled reluctantly into the pit, forced to comply when several archers leveled their crossbows and bows at him, threatening death if he didn’t obey. What choice did he have?
A few refused to yield, holding their ground against the onslaught, but overwhelming force made resistance futile.
One woman shrieked and thrashed about wildly with her arms, struggling in desperation, but Ora Hee grabbed her hair roughly and dragged her along, finally hurling her into the Plaza of Sacrifice.
As one person, then another, was thrown into the plaza, the clamor gradually died away.
About two to three minutes remained.
Having successfully suppressed and controlled the minority, the majority finally breathed easier and began to file in.
Seol Jihoo watched quietly from the sidelines.
He had no choice.
The weak, dragged against their will toward a place of high death probability, with no interest in Stage 3.
The strong, unable to make endless sacrifices.
He found himself sympathizing with both sides’ logic.
When the remaining figures in the meadow had dwindled to a third, Seol Jihoo walked toward the pit with a bitter expression.

Inside the Plaza of Sacrifice, chaos had reached its apex.
Inevitably, since they’d simply shoved people in without order, there was nothing but confusion and disorder.
Inside, the Plaza of Sacrifice was not dim but bright—a spacious, circular chamber easily large enough to accommodate a thousand people, quite different from how it appeared from outside.
Ten doors lined the walls at regular intervals around the perimeter, giving the sensation of stepping into a gladiatorial arena from ancient Rome.
But not as a spectator—as a gladiator.
Then seven doors opened simultaneously, and a long cry poured forth.
A howwwwl—!
A desolate, spine-chilling cry. As monsters stepped forth from the seven doors with long strides, Seol Jihoo’s brow furrowed.
Over twenty creatures emerged from each door. And they were monsters he recognized from encounter.
Their entire bodies covered in short, pale yellow fur. Even the smallest of them exceeded two meters in length, their sharp claws unmistakable to the eye.
That wasn’t all.
Scattered among them were noticeably sleek, nimble creatures, and several with distinctly massive frames stood out.
A moment later.
“Lioneers—!”
The moment someone screamed the name, the pack of Lioneers surged forward in a synchronized, vicious assault.

The battle ended in humanity’s victory.
The Lioneers were no trivial foe, but the full human force that had entered was formidable in its own right.
A considerable number of female Lioneers reached Level 4 warrior strength, and several Lioneer commanders matched Level 5 warriors.
Yet because this was a grand event held once every two years, the human contingent had assembled no shortage of Level 4 combatants, and there were those of Upper Rank as well.
Though twelve deaths did occur, the losses multiplied during the initial chaos when they were caught off guard. Once formations were restored and proper combat began, even the strong grudgingly admitted it was “more manageable than expected.”
After the battle concluded, those who managed to escape outside checked the hourglass first.

간신히 살아서 밖으로 나온 사람들은 모래시계부터 확인했다.
The hourglass had stopped. Even as people waited anxiously, it showed no sign of moving again, and only then did they allow themselves to breathe easier.
Apparently, successfully clearing the stage for the first time was the condition for stopping the sand timer.
Of course, with no way of knowing when it might start again, no one could be certain—but those who had set aside that worry at least proceeded to account for their numbers.
That was when the problem surfaced.
One hundred forty-two had entered; twelve had died, so one hundred thirty should have remained. But when they opened the door and counted, only one hundred twenty-eight were left.
Taking advantage of the chaos, two people had managed to slip away and sneak into the Plaza of Twisted Desires.
“These damned bastards….”
The rest ground their teeth in frustration, but catching someone who’d already fled was nearly impossible.
Those who decided to focus on Stage 2 gathered their representatives to hold a meeting. Now that the sand timer had stopped and they had breathing room, they felt a pressing need to establish rules for how to proceed.
The meeting went nowhere.
With so many parties involved, each faction’s position was bound to differ—but the sharpest clash came between those saying “everyone must keep going in” and those saying “we won’t.”
“Go in again? Surely this is asking too much!”
The man representing the first faction spoke hotly,
“How can we know what to do? You’ve just experienced it firsthand—and yet you’re forcing us?”
A woman, one of the representatives of the second faction, replied with cold mockery.
Looking at results alone, everyone going in had indeed been effective.
“That’s precisely why I’m saying this!”
But the man wasn’t without counterargument.
“This raid isn’t just for people with solid backing like you lot. You move as teams, but we move as individuals. Your average level is 4 or 5, but ours is 2 or 3.”
“What are you getting at?”
“Put simply—you didn’t stick together in that last battle, did you?”
Now it was the woman’s turn to fall silent.
“You forced us in when it suited you. Then in actual combat, you acted like it was none of your business? We’d obviously die first if we went in—so why on earth would we want to?”
“Good grief. I hate hearing you whine. If you’re not strong enough, then you shouldn’t have come in the first place.”
“Knowing our limits, that’s exactly why we’re saying we want to withdraw and leave!”
The woman’s gibe provoked the man to sharp anger.
“Then what exactly do you want?”
The woman raised her voice as well.
“…Phew. Fine. Let me propose this.”
The man, who had been bristling, spoke.
“Your concern is that we might enter the Plaza of Twisted Desires first, which could eliminate slots available for Stage 3, yes?”
……
“Then it’s simple. Instead of entering the Plaza of Sacrifice, we’ll enter the Plaza of Twisted Desires last.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean we’ll enter after you’ve all gone in. That solves it, doesn’t it?”
“Ha!”
The woman laughed as if unimpressed.
“How convenient. You’re leaving out the Plaza of Twisted Desires altogether, aren’t you? In the end, you’re still asking us to sacrifice.”
“I’d argue that’s considerably more humane than using us as meat shields like you did.”
“Humane? You’re looking for humanity in Paradise? Besides, it sounds noble, but while we’re grinding away clearing that stage, who’s to say whether you’ll actually go to the Plaza of Twisted Desires or not? How would we know?”
The man, who had been thinking, opened his mouth.
“If you’re that worried, station someone to watch us.”
“That’s rich. You’d need at least ten or twenty people to manage dozens over there. And you want us to do that when we’re already short-handed?”
“This doesn’t work. That doesn’t work. What exactly do you want?”
“If you want to eat, then you have to earn your share.”
In truth, the man’s proposal had some merit—minor adjustments would have made it a reasonable compromise.
Or rather,
it would have.
Had there been slightly more high-tier personnel, they might have at least deliberated on it.
But with one Upper Rank and nineteen Level 4s dead, the woman was right—there was no margin left.
Simply losing those who refused to participate would create a gap; if they also redirected skilled fighters to surveillance duty, the burden would become astronomical.
It was absolutely out of the question.
Seol Jihoo pressed his forehead. Watching the meeting, he felt as if he were trapped in an endless loop of parallel lines.
If things had reached this point, both sides ought to have been willing to yield just a little. Instead, unwilling to lose even a sliver or make any sacrifice, they refused to budge, and no common ground emerged.
“It’s absurd. You realize we’re not forcing this because we can’t—right?”
“Yeah… fine. Let’s try it. Even a worm writhes when stepped on, so did you think we’d just sit still?”
The atmosphere was reaching a breaking point.
“Now, now, now. Let’s stop this. Let’s just stop.”
A man with slicked-back hair and an aquiline nose stepped in.
“It’s fine that you’re each making your case. But let’s not dig in our heels. If another disaster like the fourth raid breaks out here, what then?”
At that, the man and woman turned around simultaneously, their faces etched with disbelief.
The Slicked-back Hair Man had been one of those who, before the first conquest succeeded, oppressed the minority with unmatched zeal.
“The day’s waning anyway. Let’s rest for a bit.”
Now that he mentioned it, the Meadow seemed to exist under the same cycle of sun and moon—the sky was gradually igniting in the colors of dusk.
“We’re both worked up. Let’s cool our heads.”
“What if the Hourglass runs while we’re taking it easy?”
“There aren’t just one or two of us here. We can regroup quickly enough. Besides, don’t we need rest? You fight better when you’re properly rested.”
It was sound reasoning.
Those who had just passed Stage 1 had been running without pause until now, so they needed time to recover their strength.
So, to clear their minds and eat, they dissolved the meeting and scattered across the Meadow in small groups, setting up separate Campsites.
It was a mistake.
More precisely, the incident occurred in the early evening, when their vigilance had loosened just slightly.

(To be continued in the next episode)

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