The heavy scent of damp stone and stale alcohol fills the air.
Principal Kenjiro walks down the dark, narrow crypt corridor, his posture rigid and formal.
He wears a sharp, charcoal-gray suit that looks entirely out of place in this subterranean gloom.
Next to him, Master Gwon staggers.
Gwon’s eyes are bloodshot, his clothes disheveled, and his hands heavily stained with red wine.
He grips a half-empty bottle tightly, tilting it precariously as he takes another uneven step forward.
“Watch your step, Gwon,” Kenjiro mutters, his voice low and tense.
“We are entering a sacred space. Pull yourself together.”
Gwon lets out a loud, wet hiccup and waves his free hand wildly.
“I am perfectly… steady, Kenjiro. It is the floor that is moving.”
Kenjiro sighs, his gaze shifting down to the object in Gwon’s other hand.
It is a basket woven entirely from the tiny, ethereal souls of children who died during their grueling quest to the Threshold.
The basket pulses with a faint, tragic light, and packed inside are dozens of glowing, pure-essence demon flowers.
“Keep that basket level,” Kenjiro snaps.
“If you drop a single petal, we are dead men.”
“Flowers for the big man,” Gwon slurs, taking another long swig from his bottle.
“Beautiful, dead little flowers.”
They reach the end of the dark corridor.
The narrow walls abruptly open up into a massive, cavernous chamber.
In the center stands a structured, ancient stone altar.
Seated atop the altar is Lord Kanji.
Lord Kanji’s appearance is strikingly human, yet terrifyingly perfect.
He has sharp, chiseled facial features and prominent, defined six-pack abs that catch the dim light.
He wears nothing but loose trousers.
Long, vibrant red hair cascades down his bare shoulders like a waterfall of blood.
The moment Kenjiro sees him, he drops flat onto his stomach, pressing his face against the cold, dusty floor.
“Great Lord Kanji! We prostrate ourselves before your absolute majesty!”
Gwon does not bow.
He brings the wine bottle to his lips and drinks deeply, loud gulping sounds echoing through the silent crypt.
Lord Kanji exhales slowly.
The sheer force of his breath carries a crushing weight, making the entire crypt vibrate.
His deep voice echoes through the cavern, dripping with absolute arrogance.
“Who brought this disgusting drunkard into my presence?”
Kenjiro’s body trembles violently against the floor.
“I apologize, my Lord! Please, forgive this intrusion!”
Still on his stomach, Kenjiro frantically reaches out and grabs the hem of Gwon’s trousers.
He pulls with all his might, trying to drag the drunkard down.
“Gwon! Get down on the floor right now! Bow!”
Gwon stumbles backward slightly from the tug but manages to stay upright.
His hand remains clenched tightly around the handle of the soul basket, though he still refuses to bow.
“Why are you yelling, Kenjiro? My ears are ringing.”
Lord Kanji sits up straighter on the altar, his eyes narrowing as he locks his gaze on Kenjiro.
“Principal Kenjiro, why are you here? State your purpose before I lose my patience.”
Kenjiro quickly rises to his knees, keeping his head bowed low toward the dirt.
With trembling hands, he reaches over and yanks the basket of demon flowers away from Gwon.
He places the basket carefully at the very feet of the stone altar.
“This is a gift from the Lecture Room 26 class, my Lord,” Kenjiro says, his voice shaking.
“We offer it as a token of our eternal loyalty.”
Suddenly, a thick, black smoke rises from the altar.
The smoke wraps around the basket, completely absorbing the demon flowers into its dark mist.
Lord Kanji leans forward and breathes in heavily.
He takes in a slow, massive breath that sucks the smoke directly into his lungs.
The power of his inhalation sends a shockwave through the room.
The entire core of the Crimson world shakes, the stone walls groaning under the sudden pressure.
Kenjiro shudders against the floor.
Gwon merely lets out another loud, echoing hiccup.
“Does… does the gift please you, Master?” Kenjiro asks hesitantly, not daring to look up.
“Of course it pleases me,” Lord Kanji says, his voice smooth and dangerous.
“I can feel the presence of my bride resting on every single petal.” He closes his eyes for a brief moment, inhaling the lingering scent.
“I sense her queenly presence. I cannot wait to have that blood.”
Gwon suddenly takes a ragged step forward.
His feet stagger unsteadily until he bumps right against the base of the altar.
He looks up at the towering red-haired demon.
“B-B-Bride?” Gwon stammers, his words slurring heavily.
“Who is the… bride?”
Kenjiro gasps in horror, his face turning pale.
“Gwon, shut your mouth! Do not question the Lord! Bow your head!”
Lord Kanji raises a single hand, instantly silencing Kenjiro.
He looks down at the stumbling drunkard with cold amusement.
He decides to answer Gwon’s question.
A single word comes out of his mouth, echoing sharply off the stone walls.
“Min-Sun.”
Kenjiro bolts upright, his eyes wide with absolute shock.
“Candidate 319? The bronze ranker from Korea? A useless, worthless asset dropped at the academy?”
The air in the room instantly freezes.
Lord Kanji’s eyes flare up with a sudden, terrifying red magic.
The intense energy explodes outward, instantly slamming Kenjiro flat into the dirt with crushing force.
“Please! Mercy, Lord Kanji!” Kenjiro screams, his face pressed back into the dust, gasping for air under the immense pressure.
“I did not mean to offend!”
Lord Kanji leans forward from the altar, his red hair swaying as he glares down at the terrified principal.
His voice drops to a lethal, quiet whisper that cuts through the crypt.
“Nobody says another word against my bride.”