Raging Hornet: Part Five

Raging Hornet: Part Five

A couple of hours had passed since the battle with the jackal, yet the Dungeon remained unconquered.

One monster after another had fallen to Casimir’s over-friendly hugs, but still, there was no exit on sight. “How can a Dungeon this labyrinthine still be in programming?” Jacques grumbled, wiping sweat from his forehead.

Mr. Diaz didn’t answer. Instead, he raised his right hand and moved his finger in the air. *Ping!* A familiar notification sound was heard by the three students. “Yes,” they murmured in unison as a glowing blue [Window] materialized in front of them. On its light blue surface, darker blue lines sketched the map of the cavern.

”I picked one of Durere’s Dungeons so I could trash one of his precious little projects, but I never imagined he’d lie in an official report.” From the entrance, three main paths branched off. They had taken the rightmost one, but as the ’Javelinist’ compared the route drawn on the map to the path they had followed, he grimly realized that they didn’t match at all. ”A deeper Dungeon means extra rewards—boosting a specific team’s score,” Mr. Diaz revealed, lips curling into a bitter smile. ”So it seems that no matter how far one goes, people are still the same.”

“Should we go back?” Casimir asked, visibly drained—choking hundreds of monsters was exhausting even for a big guy like him.

”Nope. The system already logged this run as an official exam. If you fail to conquer the Dungeon, it’s an FFF—it’ll tank your grades.” The words hit like a Mandrakian cannonball slamming into the Great Wall of Korinth.

Only Jacques seemed unaffected, his eyes still locked on the map projected in his [Window]. “Wait a minute…” He stepped toward the wall, tapped it a few times, then grinned with self-satisfaction. “Our dear Mr. Durere helping someone? You couldn’t be more wrong, Mr. Diaz. Everyone, look here.” He punched the wall, but instead of meeting solid stone, his fist sank straight into it. “We’ve been walking in circles the whole time. The monsters kept spawning to distract us, while the Mana crystals relentlessly shifted their glow patterns to trick us into believing each area was different.” He smug. “And how did I discover this little trick? Well, if you just look at the ma—AAACK!” Jacques vanished mid-sentence. He had pushed his arm a little too far, sinking into the wall.

“Jacques!” Casimir rushed forward, but instead of jumping blindly, he cautiously poked his head through the wall, discovering a dark tunnel stretching below them like the throat of a titan. “I think Jacques might be visiting Hell way sooner than expected.” The three exchanged a quick glance, nodded in grim agreement, and jumped in together.

The tunnel was steep, slick, and spiraling, like a massive stone slide, and for five disorienting minutes, they rotated downward in total darkness. Then the tunnel abruptly ended and the three free-fell for several meters before landing on something soft. “AAACK!” A strangled moan echoed beneath them.

“Jacques!” Casimir instantly recognized the voice. “We were worried about you! Are you okay?” Another groan answered him, and that’s when Casimir realized his mistake, freeing his friend from the oppression of his totalitarian regime.

After several awkward attempts to orient in the pitch-black void, Derserk’s hand finally found Jacques. “[MeatFeast].” A wave of crimson light submerged the ’Javelinist,’ restoring his [HP]. However, even though the Red Bar had been completely refilled, the pain still lingered, anchoring Jacques’s body to the ground.

Meanwhile, Mr. Diaz retrieved a lighter from his [Inventory], its flickering flame casting a dim glare that revealed a smooth black surface marred by many white veins. “Euralian Marble,” the professor whispered, crouching to brush aside a layer of dust. “I never thought Dungeon Programming could replicate such a precious material. Unlike monsters, rock like this takes billions of years to form.”

“Cool story, Mr. Diaz,” Derserk blurted, rising to his feet. “But if we don’t get some real light in here, we’re all going to die.” As the ’Gravedigger’ spoke, a gust of cold wind swept through the chamber, snuffing out the lighter’s flame and shrouding the cave in darkness.

Mr. Diaz frantically flicked the lighter, but it refused to ignite. Then, a half-conscious Jacques, still groaning in pain, raised his trembling hand toward the ceiling. “[TorchJavelin]!” A javelin with a flaming tip materialized above his palm and shot upward, stopping just before hitting the ceiling. It hung there, suspended in midair, casting a radiant glow that sliced through the darkness like sunlight streaming through the stained glass of a forgotten cathedral, and what that divine light revealed left the four speechless.

“We might have discovered an ancient Adamic temple,” Casimir exclaimed in awe. “I’ve been to the Emerald Cathedral of Zavagrad…this place…it looks exactly like the one depicted in those old paintings.” Thirty-seven statues towered around them in a perfect circle.

These massive relics of a forgotten era couldn’t be seen by human eyes alone because they had all been carved from Euralian Marble, a stone renowned for its uncanny ability to absorb light—not even the noonday sun of high summer could shune its surface. Since the walls, the ceiling, and the floor of the temple were carved from the same marble, the statues merged with their pitch-black background, vanishing from the reach of the fragile sense called vision.

Nevertheless, light, once absorbed, did not simply disappear. The marble stored it within its white veins, which, after being exposed to an artificial source of illumination, glowed with an ethereal radiance—if Euralian Black was the darkest shade found in nature, then Euralian White was the brightest.

This juxtaposition of sheer good and sheer evil across the marble’s smooth surface resembled the Implied Line Technique, a form of visual art where a few strokes are enough to suggest the whole. Hence, although the statues themselves remained hidden in the darkness, the glow of the white veins revealed just enough for for one to guess their full shape.

The entire chamber resembled a chalkboard sketch drawn by a young prodigy to pass the time during a boring detention.

image [https://files.catbox.moe/l4jz1b.png]

(WARNING: An AI-generated image to give you a vague idea of the [REDACTED] Temple—just imagine it with fewer lines but far more glowing.)

“Complete nonsense,” Mr. Diaz bellowed, staring into a cave that seemed to stretch into infinity. "This island was created by the S-Class ‘Infinitesimal Etymologist’ Hero Alfredo De Miraval. His [Skills] genetically engineered every plant, animal, and even rock. The word ’natural’ doesn’t exist within the Natural Reserve, which means someone had crafted this temple—but who? And why?!” He scratched his chin as Derserk and Casimir began to share their theories, backgrounded by Jacques’s painful moans. “It’s unrealistic to think that neither Vice-Principal Durere, Mr. Blues, nor Principal Miraval knows about this place. One of them must be our culprit.” As the ’Raging Hornet’ spoke, his gaze was mesmerized by the tallest statue in the chamber. As tall as the ’MEC,' a towering colossus that dwarfed all its children, but with one huge difference—this statue was headless.

“Adam, right? The Twelve Gods of Law at his right, the Twelve Gods of Nature in front of him, and our Twelve Gods of Chaos at his left—one statue for each of the Thirty-Seven Gods,” Derserk pointed out, then he turned to Casimir. “Do you recognize the drawings behind them?” Behind each statue, the marble’s white veins had been used to draw intricate illustrations, almost resembling comic stripes.

Epoch of Tane’Tanu’Tana—the first human who doubted. So deep was his doubt that he embarked on a sacred pilgrimage to confront each of the Thirty-Seven Gods in search of an answer for a question he couldn’t quite define, but he still felt pressing in his heart. However, since the average IQ of Ancient Adamics was far below modern standards, the Deities were forced to use metaphors filled with symbolism to make our protagonist understand. Thirty-seven chapters, thirty-seven questions, and thirty-seven parables, all culminating in the decapitation of the Father of All Gods at the hands of Tane’Tanu’Tana. His motive? Adam had spoiled him the true meaning of life.

“…How could a human kill a god?” Derserk, like all humans before him, doubted.

The elites keep their heads on their shoulders not through power, but through the fear it projects. So before you start crying and bitching like a little pussy—at least give it a try, kiddo.

Casimir’s eyes lit up as he studied the panels. “These drawings remind me of The Song of Why, Who, and How—my mom taught me everything about it. It’s a poem about a man who doubted about everything, even though he didn’t know why. So much he doubted that one day, exasperated, he set out on a journey to meet all the gods to finally get his answer. However, after Adam revealed the truth to him, the Doubtful Man lost all will to live, unable to endure the weight of the World’s End Secret.

"The ever-merciful Adam, seeing and feeling the pain of his child, decided to sacrifice himself in order to gift humanity the only antidote against doubt—hope. He ascended to the Spiritual World where he founded the ’Paradise’—a kingdom of everlasting joy. The Father of the Gods then instructed his first children to turn life into a test in which the worthy would be rewarded with a place beside him in Heaven, thus giving purpose to our lives.” Casimir concluded the tale, beaming with pride.

Oh yes. We made up that bullshit after Adam’s death to prevent our slav…ahem…I mean, our cattl…ahem…I mean, our fellow intellectually disadvantaged companions from revol…ahem…I mean, committing stupid mistakes. Despite being a Cripto-Atheist, Derserk’s conception of reality got smashed by a breaking ball.

“Oh right, I almost forgot about that. My mom’s religious too, and, every Hero’s Day, she calls me just to ask if I went to mass.” Mr. Diaz scratched his head, a guilty smile visible across his face. “It seems I’ve lied to her more times than I can count, eheh.”

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

The group spent the next hour fruitlessly searching for a way out—no doors, no secret passages, and the ceiling was too high even for Mr. Diaz to reach. Meanwhile, Jacques, still groaning from the fall, began to hear a buzzing inside his blood-soaked ears. At first, it was as soft as a fly, but it gradually sharpened—like nails scraping across an old blackboard—grating against the 'Javelinist's' already fraying nerves. Tormented by the pain lingering throughout his body, Jacques hastily clutched his ears, twitching on the ground and rolling in desperation to escape the piercing sound.

Wake up, Messiah—I am waiting for you.

A soft, seductive, and—most importantly—familiar voice replaced that torture. He heard those words again and again, insistent and enchanting like a lover’s whisper, urging him to rise. Then, a surge of adrenaline coursed through his veins, dulling the pain just enough for him to stand.

“Jacques? What the hell are you doing? You need to rest,” the 'Raging Hornet' called out, but the 'Javelinist' didn’t respond, walking like a sleepwalker toward Adam’s colossus. There, hidden in plain sight, was a staircase carved from veinless Euralian marble—visible only to Jacques—stretching from the feet to the top of the gigantic statue. He climbed it step by step for ten full minutes until he reached the statue’s severed neckline, where something lay hidden on the surface.

“Kaz, catch meeeeeeee!” Jacques screamed as he freefalled toward his big classmate, who effortlessly caught him in his massive arms. "Thanks, bro. Anyway, guys—look what I found up there.” Ater staning on his feet, Jacques opened his hands to reveal to the three what he was holding tightly—a black box.

“What are you waiting for? Open it,” Casimir urged, his emerald eyes fixed on the small cube that perfectly blended with the Euralian Black of the background.

“I can’t, Kaz. My hands can’t find an opening.” He moved his fingers over every centimeter of its surface. “Seriously, how the hell am I supposed to open this little shit when I can’t even find the lock?” Just as he said it, the four of them heard a voice—clear and resonant—echoing through their minds.

What is the meaning of life?

What is the meaning of life?

What is the meaning of life?

“Did...you hear that too?” Mr. Diaz stammered, a trace of terror visible in his eyes as his students nodded slowly. “If this place is really a test created by Mr. Durere...then our only way out from this Dungeon is to open that box by answering the question.”

I know the answer but won’t tell you! Himself bragged to an annoyed Derserk, who was now kinda afraid of what he would ask for in return.

“It’s a difficult question, indeed,” Casimir pointed out. “What is the meaning of life…mhhh…how can I answer that? We’re just teenagers. I should live through all of it before I can answer that.”

“Once all the parts of a problem are well-stated, there is no room for paradox,” Jacques took the reins of the conversation. “First of all, let’s define the word life. Can a rock be considered alive?” The others stared at him, perplexed. “C’mon, why not? After all, we’re both made of the same construction material—atoms.”

“Jacques…I don’t feel bad breaking a rock, but I’d feel awful breaking a person in half,” the 'Scarecrow' admitted.

“Clearly, you’ve never met my cousin.” Jacques waved the comment away. “Anyway, I’m sure we can both agree that the word life is very ambiguous. So, let’s reframe the question by choosing a broader term—’What is the meaning of existence?’ Do you agree that a rock can exist?” Casimir, Derserk, and Mr. Diaz nodded. “I exist. A rock exists. Everything that exists—also exists. So let’s define ‘X’ as anything—no restrictions applied to it. Then, in our universe, X can either exist—1—or not exist—0.”

“The so-called Adam’s Axiom,” Mr. Diaz interjected, recalling his studies. “The single statement on which our reality is built.”

“Exactly. All statements that hold true in our reality can be logically derived from this foundational axiom through a formal proof—Emperor Mandrake’s interpretation of the Theory of Everything. So, if we accept that, then the question becomes—’What is the meaning of being 1?’ Furthermore, we must define 0 as the antithesis of 1—always within the framework of our context, which we call reality.”

“Sounds complicated,” Casimir admitted. “For me, it’s reproduction. One plus one equals two, and so on.”

“A pretty good answer, Casimir, but remember—rocks exist too. So, how do they reproduce?” The 'Scarecrow' frowned. On his farm, he had witnessed various species in the act of reproduction, but never rocks. “They don’t, right? However, in our timeline, there is a period when a rock does not exist, and another when it does. So, what do we call the exact moment a rock ceases to NOT exist? To be born. Every X, from humans to insects and from rocks to planets, has been born—X takes the value of 1—and one day they will die—X takes the value of 0. So, what do we call the infinitesimal amount of time during which an X holds the value of 1? Life.

“Bringing all these facts together leads us to a grim conclusion,” Jacques’s tone darkened. “Is the universe’s total production of 1s enough to counterbalance their inevitable decay into 0s? There are three possibilities. First, we fool ourselves into thinking the universe is self-sufficient. Second, we accept our doomed fate. And third, we put in good use the 1s Adam has gifted us to fight against our destiny. Thus, our question becomes—’How can we stop the inevitable collapse of our reality?’” Jacques paused, watching three faces eagerly waiting for his next words.

“As I said before, when every part of a problem is well-defined, there’s no room for paradoxes. Thus, before we can even begin to think about any answer, we must first fully understand the context, premise, and elements of our question—uncovering all the mechanics, components, and rules by which this perfect machine called the universe operates. And how do we do that? By learning the language Adam—our 'Author'—used to write our universe—learning the Language of God.”

A tense silence followed. “So, your answer is?” Derserk asked, voice tight with anticipation.

Jacques smiled. “What is the meaning of life? Learning math.”

*Ka-chunk!* With a soft click, the box opened by itself. Unlike its pitch-black exterior, the inside was pure Euralian White and contained…absolutely nothing. “Well,” Mr. Diaz said, crossing his arms. “That was anticlimactic.”

“Is this some kind of philosophical lesson?” Jacques frowned at the box. “Like, ‘Your mind alone is enough to decapitate God?’ Or is Mr. Durere trolling us?” Troll was a military term for soldiers tasked with harassing enemy lines to break their formations. Over time, it evolved into a slang term for those who deceive others for petty entertainment.

While Mr. Diaz, Casimir, and Jacques debated what to do with the box, Derserk remained silent. For the first time since the fall of his homeland, his face betrayed a long-forgotten emotion—terror. As his body froze, the ’Gravedigger ’ managed to lift his trembling hand just enough to remove his red-round glasses, and after that, the pitch-black darkness vanished. In its place, he saw a greenish landscape where all the previously undefined figures were now fully visible—all except one.

A blob, a fog, an unshaped black miasma was slowly rising from the open box, aiming at the ’Javelinist.’

Derserk’s mind screamed, but his throat clenched—Himself stopped him from interfering with the inevitable. From that black essence, the ’Gravedigger’ felt a concentration of power that mocked every Class S he had ever encountered. The titans of the Fall of Bloodmarch, the masters of Miraval Academy, and even the Entity within his own body were ants in comparison—not even a god could have rivaled what was now devouring Jacques. Derserk knew there was nothing he could do to save his teammate, but not like a son watching his father’s execution. In that case, the son might still cling to the chance of a hero’s arrival. No, this was more akin to watching the sun fall from the sky.

Derserk, we need to ru…no—it’s useless, there’s nothing we can do. He’s back—HE’S BACK! The wheel of time is finally mov…no, that’s wrong—the wheel of time has returned to its starting position. Now listen to me, kiddo. After He takes control of Jacques’s body, do exactly as I say, and maybe…maybe…He’ll spare us. Derserk nodded, jaw clenched, watching in cold horror as Jacques’s fate unfolded. First, the black miasma consumed his arm, then his torso, and then the rest of his body—until only the head was left free.

“Oh, there’s something in here,” Jacques suddenly announced, taking a ring from the box. ”It’s completely white, that’s why we couldn’t see it.” He held it up with casual curiosity, as Casimir and Mr. Diaz leaned in, eyes wide. Derserk, meanwhile, wasn’t looking at the ring, staring at the dark Entity still hovering over Jacques’s head, but now, it struggled to advance. The black haze was pushing violently upward, failing with each attempt as if some unseen force was pushing it downward.

“Give it a second.” The 'Raging Hornet' stepped forward, taking the ring from Jacques. He turned it over in his hand, finding a black inscription inside—‘From the 'Author' to his first creation.’ So it really was Mr. Durere who tampered with Connor’s Memento. Then, there’s only one way left to help him. But to do that…I’ll have to let myself be humiliated by that monster. Mr. Diaz exhaled heavily, bracing himself for a very uncomfortable conversation, but it had to be done. Then he returned the ring to Jacques. The ’Javelinist’ slipped it on his right ring finger as the black blob continued to struggle above his head. Then…

*AHHHHHHHHHH!* It was a cry only Derserk could hear, high-pitched, piercing, and terrified. The black miasma fled from Jacques like a routed army—broken and desperate—and within seconds, it had completely vanished from his body—all that remained of it was a single black dot on the otherwise white ring. At that moment, Derserk felt a strange and overwhelming feeling from that Entity, one he could never mistake—the sweet relief from guilt after a kiss from the ’Grim Reaper.’ And just like that, what he once believed to be the most powerful being in existence was gone.

“Eerg…I just felt a shiver,” Jacques exclaimed, rubbing his arms.

“Could it be Tetanus? This place has been sealed for a long time,” Mr. Diaz theorized.

“It’s really dangerous,” Casimir warned his friend, deadly serious. “Last year, we found my Uncle Georgy’s corpse in a barn with his head severed. We rushed him to a doctor as fast as we could, but it was too late. The blood test confirmed the horrible truth—he died poisoned by Tetanus. Jacques, you should go to the hospital immediately.” Before Jacques could respond, they all heard the sound of something cracking, followed by the thunderous crash of massive blocks of stone collapsing to the ground. The Adam Colossus crumbled before their eyes, forming a hill of debris.

At its peak stood the entrance to a tunnel—the exit of the Dungeon—and without wasting further time, they began to move out, finally free from that suffocating chamber of shadows—all except Derserk.

Derserk, do you remember when I told you that one day I would find a way to kill you and steal your body? “Yes.” I officially surrender. From now on, I am powerless against you. Congratulations—you have won. For the first time in eight years, Derserk felt his body free from the crushing weight that had burdened him day and night. “But why?” Because there is something I hate more than anything else in the world—the word ‘utopia.’ Perfection doesn’t exist, and those who lust for it insult this absolute truth. Take a circle, for example, a simple, intuitive geometric figure indeed. Yet, it doesn’t exist in reality. Every single point on a circumference must be equidistant from the center? Impossible to achieve by hand, by machine, or even by magic. There is always an infinitesimal error in the real world, and that’s exactly why utopia can’t exist. Because by its definition, it leaves no room for approximation. And yet, even in the rule that ‘utopias can’t exist,’ there’s an approximation error. One utopia is possible. When all atoms in our universe cease to exist. When the definitions of 0 and 1 overlap Then, and only then, will a true utopia be born—THE NOTHING!

Derserk stood in silence for a long moment, staring at his friend’s back. The memory of the Dark Miasma's torment, his own years of suffering, and the final words of Himself, all echoing in his mind. “I understand…I’ll do it.” His voice resolute. “For my life, for the citizen of the Holy Rolandish Empire, and for all of humanity…I’ll stop the inevitable collapse of reality…I will...

"Kill Jacques.”

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image [https://files.catbox.moe/ewd6iv.png]