SSS Talent: From Tra Chapter 347: Thousand Steps [I]

Chapter 347: Chapter 347: Thousand Steps [I]

The carriage rattled softly as it rolled along the stone road, its mana engine humming with a steady, restrained pulse. It was not an expensive vehicle, nor an elegant one, but it moved with purpose, covering distance far faster than any walk would have allowed. Through the wide side windows, the land slipped past in long stretches of muted color, the city gradually thinning into open terrain.

Then the mountain ca into view.

It dominated the horizon in a way that made everything else feel provisional. A colossal mass of stone rising straight from the earth, its height asured not in ters but in scale, the kind that forced the eye upward until it instinctively gave up. The peak itself was hidden behind a thick veil of clouds, as if the sky had chosen to keep that part of it to itself.

Trafalgar watched it in silence, his gaze steady. The size registered imdiately, not as awe, but as comparison. ’It’s on the sa level,’ he thought. ’Just as tall as the Morgain mountains.’ The realization grounded the image, stripping it of exaggeration. This wasn’t legend. It was simply big enough to matter.

Beside him, Bartholow leaned closer to the window, his breath escaping in a low murmur.

"It’s... enormous," he said, almost to himself. After a second, he glanced forward. "That’s really the monster hunting ground?"

The driver let out a quiet chuckle. He was an elderly man with a weathered face and calm hands on the reins, the kind of person who had driven this route too many tis to find it remarkable anymore.

"Oh yes," he replied easily. "That’s the place. They call it the Mountain of a Thousand Steps."

Trafalgar shifted his attention to him. "A thousand steps?"

The old man nodded, eyes still on the road. "That’s right. The mountain’s layered. Natural platforms carved into the slope itself. A thousand of them, they say." He lifted one hand briefly, gesturing toward the massive incline. "Each step is its own ground. Monsters appear on every level."

Bartholow listened closely.

"The lower steps are the safest," the driver continued. "Weak creatures. Common ones. That’s where most people work." His tone changed slightly, becoming more matter-of-fact. "Once you get past the first hundred or so, things start changing. Different monsters. Higher Core Ranks." A pause. "Most folks don’t go that far."

The carriage rolled on, the mountain growing larger with every passing mont. The explanation settled into Trafalgar’s thoughts without stirring anxiety. The danger wasn’t hidden here. It was structured. asured. Familiar enough that people had built routines around it.

A hunting ground, not a battlefield.

By the ti the driver finished speaking, the road had already begun to curve toward the base of the mountain, the colossal structure looming close enough now that its sheer presence pressed against the senses.

The carriage slowed as the road widened, the stone beneath the wheels giving way to a broad, worn clearing at the base of the mountain. The mont they arrived, the sense of scale shifted again.

There were people everywhere.

People moved through the space with practiced ease, so alone, others in small groups, their gear worn but functional. rchants had set up along the edges of the clearing, tables and carts laid out with neatly sorted monster materials, cores, and items wrapped in cloth or sealed in simple containers. This wasn’t a gathering driven by excitent or danger. It was routine. Work.

Mana-powered carriages idled nearby, engines humming softly as they waited to be loaded. Beside them stood traditional carts hitched to horses, already stacked with crates and sacks ant to carry spoils back to Salca. Others were preparing for longer routes, discussing prices and destinations in low voices. So would sell here. Others would take a Gate and head for larger cities like Velkaris, where demand and coin were higher.

The hunting ground wasn’t isolated.

It was connected.

The carriage ca to a stop, and the driver climbed down with a familiar motion. Trafalgar, Bartholow, and Rhosyn followed, thanking the old man before parting ways with him. He waved them off easily, already turning his attention to his next fare.

Without discussion, they fell into a natural formation as they moved forward. Trafalgar took the lead, eyes scanning the flow of people and paths ahead. Bartholow walked to his right.

Rhosyn kept pace on his left, blending into the scene as if she had always belonged there.

As they moved toward the lower steps of the mountain, Trafalgar spoke without looking back.

"You’ve been here before," he said to Rhosyn. "Do you know a spot that isn’t too crowded?" A brief pause. "We’re also here because of the Rifts. Academy business."

Bartholow nodded in confirmation.

Rhosyn answered without hesitation. "I know exactly where they appeared." Her tone was calm, certain. "I can take you there."

Trafalgar glanced at her then. Just for a mont. They exchanged a look that needed no explanation.

Bartholow noticed nothing. He simply followed as they changed direction, trusting the path that had already been chosen.

Around them, the work continued uninterrupted.

Monsters would be hunted. Materials would be sold. Coins would change hands.

They climbed.

One step at a ti, the mountain revealed its structure exactly as it had been described. Each platform was broad enough to stand as its own small territory, carved naturally into the slope and connected to the next by narrow stone bridges worn smooth by countless crossings. From above, the steps ford a staggered path spiraling upward; from below, they looked like layers of a colossal staircase pressed into the mountain’s side.

The lower levels were busy, though not chaotic. Monsters road openly, unhidden and unsurprised by the presence of hunters.

Creatures of earth dominated these steps. Thick-bodied beasts that blended with the stone, giant crabs scuttling sideways across the rock with shells scarred by old battles. So had massive pincers attached to almost comically small bodies, moving in awkward bursts of speed before stopping again. Others were slower, like land-bound turtles with layered shells, trudging across the platforms as if ti itself bent around them.

As they ascended, the composition changed.

The monsters beca fewer, the space between encounters widening. Shapes grew stranger. Movents less predictable. The air itself felt quieter, less cluttered by voices and steel.

Eventually, they reached a step where no other hunters were present.

Trafalgar slowed, taking in the empty platform. The stone beneath his boots was unmarked, untouched by recent combat. Instinctively, the three of them prepared.

Maledicta ford in Trafalgar’s right hand, its presence imdiate and familiar. Bartholow stepped back half a pace, already fitting an arrow to his bow, posture steady and focused. Rhosyn stood beside them as she was, calm and unard, her gaze fixed on the monsters ahead.

They were unpleasant to look at.

Deford, frog-like creatures clustered across the far end of the platform. Their bodies were squat and heavy, lacking hind legs entirely. Two thick forelimbs supported their weight, dragging bloated torsos forward, while long tails scraped against the stone behind them. Their mouths were far too large for their faces, stretching open to reveal slick interiors and thick tongues that coiled and uncoiled with slow anticipation.

Trafalgar leaned slightly toward Rhosyn, keeping his voice low enough that Bartholow wouldn’t hear.

"You don’t use weapons?" he murmured.

"I don’t intend to fight," she replied just as quietly. "You said you wanted to clear your head." Her eyes flicked briefly toward the creatures. "These are Pulse Rank. They aren’t a real threat to you."

Trafalgar straightened, then spoke more openly.

"This was the exact spot, right?" he asked. "Where the Rifts appeared."

"Yes," Rhosyn said. "Here."

Bartholow heard it anyway.

The tension in his shoulders sagged almost imdiately. He had known it was unlikely. The notebooks they carried, the records they studied, all suggested the sa thing. Whatever traces had existed were long gone. Decades. Centuries. Perhaps longer.

Still, a part of him had hoped.

"So... nothing," Bartholow said quietly, looking around the empty platform.

Trafalgar glanced back at him. "We don’t know how old those notebooks are, Barth," he said evenly. A brief pause followed. "But if you think about it..." He let the words settle. "All things considered, it’s been a good experience."

Bartholow nodded once.

Trafalgar shifted his grip on Maledicta, eyes returning to the monsters ahead. "Since we’re already here," he said, tone even, "we might as well make use of it."

Bartholow hesitated, then shook his head. "I think I’ll stay back," he said. "I’ll observe. With Lady Rhosyn."

Rhosyn did not object.

Trafalgar stepped forward alone.

He let the noise of the world fall away. No bloodlines. No destinies. No unanswered questions pressing at the back of his skull. Just distance, weight, timing.

’I don’t want to think,’ he told himself. ’I just want to move.’

The monsters noticed him then. Mouths widening. Bodies shifting.

Trafalgar didn’t wait for them to act.

He launched himself forward, blade low, body already committed, diving straight into the cluster with a clarity he hadn’t felt since before the night began.

For the first ti since everything had been said, his mind went quiet.