Chapter 276 – Tutorial 60th Floor (0-2)

I had only heard one thing, yet I could clearly feel the difficulty of the 61st floor stage. The concept of sacrifice where two or more people must challenge the stage. Are you out of your mind, god who designed the 61st floor?

At this point, rather than panicking, I was calm. It was just a crisis that needed to be overcome. It couldn’t be compared to facing an enemy with a huge power gap. It was even more so because there was no room for a detour.

Depending on how powerful the enemy is, we could gain the upper hand in many ways: surprise, conciliatory, escape, ambush, etc. However, stages with a sacrifice concept for a two-man attack had no way of doing anything. It’s hard to find a person at the same level, and even if he does reach that level, he must be sacrificed.

“For now, tell me more about the stage.”

Kirikiri nodded. Come to think of it, Kirikiri also needed to rob the information this time. I didn’t ask, but she told them about gods and sources. She must have been confident that I would not be able to clear the 61st floor soon.

“Yes… Let me explain the stage first.”

I silently agreed. Let’s hear it first. There might be some leads.

“The 61st-floor stage is divided into two sections. Each section can be chosen from its starting point.”

“And two or more challengers have to target both sections, right? I can’t help the other side.”

“Yes.”

So far, it was understandable. Dungeons that were split into two often appeared in games.

“The problem is the difficulty level of the 61st-floor stage.”

“Difficulty level?”

“Yes. It’s very, very difficult.”

What was with that adjective?

There were so many stages that Kirikiri said were so difficult, but only the 6th and 35th floors came to mind.

“In fact, the 61st-floor challenger can’t clear it usually.”

“That’s pretty rough.”

“On the 26th floor alone, it is necessary to defeat the Demon King without anyone’s help, except for the Holy sword.”

That had been crazy. The 26th floor, I remembered, was a fairly large party stage. On top of that, it was a stage where soldiers, knights, and wizards of the Imperial Army carried swords. The soldiers stationed at the front line fortress serve as a deterrent to the demons until they reach the Demon King

“Are we dealing with a big party of more than 50 people?”

“No, this is just measuring the level of difficulty considering 50 people. Instead, we can weaken the enemy at the expense of the challengers.”

It was going well and suddenly it became too much. Sacrificing to weaken the enemy? Is this Yu-Gi-Oh?

“It’s not dangerous even if they’re offered as a sacrifice. It’s just that the victim challenger gets moved from the stage to the 60th-floor residential area.”

Mmm. If it was just a problem with this difficulty, I think I could manage it with my ability. Of course, if I were to attack both sections without a sacrificial sheep, I wouldn’t be able to do it by myself. If I raised Hyung-jin well…

“And once you get rid of the bosses in each section, a new place opens, where the challengers from both sides gather again…”

I had to fight him. Damn it.

“What about the rules?”

“Clear or surrender.”

It was fortunate that the surrender was an option.

“Why did you put this stage in? Sacrifice is no joke. It’s not a mafia game. Throwing away your colleagues one by one… So what are we supposed to do?”

Was it a stage where they wanted to break the trust between human beings?

It could be called excellent if it was intended to instill distrust and ill feelings toward each other. But what about the Hell Difficulty Challenger, who might be considered an apostle candidate?

“Heng. Not really.”

“Then?”

“The number of Hell difficulty challengers are low. The challengers have no choice but to go with as little loss as possible. In the end, one team has to give up.”

As little loss as possible. The main forces gather on one side, and the rest should be filled with those who were ready to sacrifice from the beginning.

“But if one side is too weak, the stage itself will fail. We need someone to sacrifice while another approaches the end.”

It was a ridiculous game, and political elements were also enforced.

“There aren’t as many forced situations as I thought. If you’re a 60th floor Hell level challenger, you’re all in a hurry. Even if the majority of the group clears out, then the rest get ready for the next challenge.”

There could be many situations. We could choose a rider and complete it peacefully in turn, if there were more than a hundred people in Hell difficulty. But if there was a shortage of numbers, there’d be a real bloodthirsty competition and political strife.

“We conciliate each other, form groups and factions, confront each other, and intervene again. It’s a stage where you have to come up with some sort of agreement after arguing.”

What a tricky stage. At this rate, a new society will be formed between the 60th and 61st floors. Some will be sitting on the 60th floor while you’re relaxing in your area.

The case was different from the 30th floor of Normal, where Kim Min-hyuk was located. There were people who didn’t want to risk their lives because it’s a good place to live and could maintain a decent life even if they didn’t have to go outside. But in this case, it would become a society created by the concept of the 61st-floor stage.

“The 61st floor, in fact, is well-received… Heng. Sorry.”

As I stared, Kirikiri quickly apologized. I couldn’t believe that the rating was good. Maybe because there were only crazy gods, the evaluation criteria were very crazy.

“Tch. This is a disaster.”

At this rate, helping Lee Hyung-jin grow was not enough. Lee Hyung-jin would definitely not come up in fear of dying if I told him the details.

First of all, there was a risk that two people had to solve a 50-person stage. Besides, there was a suspicion that the sacrifice could actually die.

Even if Kirikiri kept that part to herself, Lee Hyung-jin won’t come up because of the last criteria. There were only two results that Lee Hyung-jin would face in that section.

Being left behind on the 60th floor or dying to me. Either way, it was like death. If you were as timid as Lee Hyung-jin, you might be consumed with fear that I might neatly kill you and leave.

Perhaps, as soon as Lee Hyung-jin gets the information about the 61st floor, he would seat himself on the right stage. If he had enough ability, there were some stages that were better to stay at, than the residential area. There were already other challengers who spent their time challenging the stage, which was easy to attack, enjoyable, easy to live on, and more. Lee Hyung-jin would take that path, too, instead of coming up to the 61st floor and taking risks.

The conclusion was that Lee Hyung-jin should not know the information on the 61st floor. No matter how much I lied, Lee Hyung-jin would be curious about the information on the 61st floor that I cannot clear.

I’ll ask Kirikiri separately.

Naturally I looked at Kirikiri. Kirikiri crossed her fingers over her lips.

It seemed like a gesture of not telling, but it wasn’t. When asked, Kirikiri said that there was a price.

“Privacy.”

“Heng.”

The information value for the 61st-floor stage should be raised so that Kirikiri could not answer Lee Hyung-jin. One of the few elements with abnormally high prices was privacy. Just like how information about the gods was scarce, information related to privacy was difficult to find. Many just made up their own tales.

“I’m the only challenger here to reach the 61st floor of Hell’s difficulty level. The 61st-floor stage where I’m blocked can be a clue to infer my ability. I’d like to designate information about the 61st-floor stage as private to protect my power from others. Is it possible?”

“It’s possible if you pay.”

“The price?”

There was a price for privacy settings?

“Certain amount of information.”

There was plenty of information. It was Kirikiri who’d been giving me any information, but she’d often blocked my questions, saying I had to save money on information. Thanks to this, the amount I had, had been overflowing by now. I didn’t know the exact figures.

“You said before that if you got enough information, you could give me privacy, right?”

“I did.”

It was a long time ago. The first time I met Kirikiri, the second time, or the third time. I didn’t even remember.

“The value of information required to know privacy is proportional to the value of information paid when designated as private.”

“Okay. Then I’ll pay for all the information I have for privacy designation.”

Kirikiri nodded. I wondered if Kirikiri had been managing my information in a frugal manner. Come to think of it, the price of information was not expressed in figures. The only way I could tell was for Kirikiri to tell me the price of the information was just around the corner. If she had collected my information price steadily starting a long time ago.

The dragon, whom I met as a manager, did not say anything about my information. It told me there was no problem with the source, the gods, or any story. If my thoughts were true, the price of the information I had could be much higher than I guessed.

“That part is my privacy. Heng.”

“Whew.”

I decided to put an end to this idea. I didn’t have to worry about what I couldn’t figure out.

“Did you set up my privacy?”

“No, not yet.”

“Not yet?”

“Yes. Not yet,” Kirikiri said again. There was another requirement I didn’t know of.

“Please let me know if there is another way to control information.”

Kirikiri told me not to forget that information costs were being spent on telling me that, but I still asked.

“Unlike privacy that applies to everyone, there is a way to control information about a single person, a specific person.”

“How can I do that?”

“It’s only applicable if the target person says the given keyword himself.”

Who’s the target person? The one who’s in charge of information control?

“Yes.”

Should we let Hyung-jin tell Kirikiri the keyword himself? It was tricky. Why do you have this kind of function? I should only tell Kim Min-hyuk later. There may be people who are already using it.

“None,” answered Kirikiri. As I stared at her, she made an X on her mouth again. It was a little different from before. Oh, she also needs the price of information to tell me this.

“Okay, let’s move on. What’s the keyword? No, I guess I should decide it myself.”

Kirikiri nodded. Of course. Not all keywords were set in one word.

What should be the keyword? I thought about it. Nothing really came to mind. I looked around, and I couldn’t think of anything. All that was here was a blue field, a gentle breeze, and a trembling pair of rabbit ears.

“Terrapin.”

(T/N: It’s a soft-shelled turtle, originally written as Ja-ra or Ja-la, can also mean sleep.)

“What do you mean? Did you mean sleep?” Kirikiri asked back. I guessed she didn’t understand my thoughts because it was so spontaneous.

“No, it’s a reptile. Terrapin.”

“Ew. I hate reptiles,” Kirikiri mumbled. Her face crumpled up as if it were gross. She must really hate it. “Why a reptile?”

“There’s an old story that’s been passed down in our country. Byeoljubujeon.”

(T/N: Byeoljubujeon literally translates to The Rabbit Exhibition, but I’m using the original term, for originality’s sake ^^ )

(Note from Imagine: The former TLs used “turtle” as the keyword but for accuracy sake we are changing it to “terrapin”)

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