The Throne That Shouldn’t Exist

A massive door made entirely of steel.

It was tall—far too tall to belong in a place like this—and its surface was covered in faint, ancient carvings that had long since lost their meaning.

In front of it gathered a group of unusual people.

They all wore black clothes, their bodies hidden beneath hooded cloaks. On the exposed side of their necks was the same mark etched into their skin—a scorpion tattoo, dark and ominous.

They were whispering among themselves, their voices was low and tense.

"How the hell do we open this thing?"

"Should we try to force it open?"

"Maybe it reacts to mana?"

Before the discussion could continue, a heavy voice cut through the air.

"Silence."

The chatter died instantly.

The one who spoke stood at the front of the group. Even without seeing his face clearly, his presence alone was enough to silence everyone. He was their leader—an elder of the organization.

"Bahal."

He called out coldly.

A large man stepped forward at the sound of his name.

He was huge. Towering over the others, his build was so thick and solid that it looked like he could shatter a mountain with a single punch.

"Open it."

The elder ordered.

Everyone assumed the same thing.

That Bahal would smash the door apart with brute force.

But instead, he did something that left their mouths agape.

He walked up to the steel door, placed a hand against it… and began chanting.

In a quiet, low voice, he chanted some ancient words.

Mana gathered around his fingers, forming intricate patterns in the air.

The others stared in disbelief.

"He’s… chanting?"

Bahal wasn't a warrior.

He was a mage.

More precisely—a lock-picker mage.

A rare kind of specialist who focused entirely on spells designed to bypass seals, locks, and ancient mechanisms.

Sweat rolled down his forehead as he continued chanting.

One spell failed.

Then another.

And another.

Ten long minutes passed.

Just when frustration began to grow—

Click.

The sound echoed softly, yet clearly.

The steel door trembled.

"It—It's open!" Bahal shouted, breathing heavily.

"Elder, it’s been opened!"

Without waiting, he pushed the door forward.

The heavy steel groaned as it slowly swung inward.

Beyond it lay a vast room.

It resembled the throne room of a ruined castle.

Broken pillars lined the sides, and the ceiling stretched high above them, disappearing into darkness. At the very center stood an old, rusted throne.

For a brief moment, excitement spread among the group.

"This is it."

"The room we were searching for."

But then… they noticed something.

Someone was sitting on the throne.

A young figure and his eyes was closed.

His one arm resting on the armrest of the throne, the other supporting his cheek.

"Who's there?!" someone shouted instinctively.

That was the last thing he ever said.

Pop.

His head burst apart like an overripe fruit.

Blood and fragments sprayed across the

floor.

He couldn’t even react before the attack struck.

In the midst of confusion, everyone went on high alert.

They drew their weapons at once.

"What just happened?!"

“An attack?! From where?!”

A loud noise echoed through the room.

BOOM.

They turned around just in time to see the steel door slam shut.

Someone rushed to it and tried to force it open.

It didn't budge at all.

This time there was no lock visible either.

The elder's face darkened.

This wasn't in the intelligence reports.

There was supposed to be no monster here. Let alone a guardian guarding the room.

He hadn’t even seen the attack coming.

The person in the throne also hadn't moved.

As a fifth-circle mage and an elder of the organization, he felt it—a creeping sense of wrongness crawling up his spine.

At that moment, the room began to vibrate.

Screams echoed from all directions.

And the screams… came from their own man.

From those who had witnessed the others die.

One by one, heads burst apart without warning.

Just like the first person.

In mere moments, a third of their people were gone.

"Calm down!"

The elder shouted, forcing his voice to stay firm.

"Form up! Stay close!"

But even as he spoke, fear seeped into his chest.

An unknown enemy was the worst kind.

How do you fight something you can't see?

How do you defend against an attack you can't even perceive?

Gritting his teeth, the elder began chanting.

A massive shield formed around them.

One layer.

Then another.

Then a third.

Half of his mana vanished instantly.

A triple-layered barrier—something only a sixth-circle mage should be able to create.

He had somehow managed to create it by using half of his mana.

When the shield settled, some of them finally breathed a sigh of relief.

They thought they could form a plan, and decide what to do next

Then—

CRACK.

The first layer shattered.

"What—?!"

The elder shouted in disbelief.

BOOM.

The second layer burst apart.

The elder's face twisted in horror.

He knew it then.

Whoever he was facing… he couldn't win.

SHATTER.

The final layer scattered like glass.

Panic erupted.

That was when they noticed it.

The boy on the throne slowly opened his eyes.

They were completely red.

Blood-red.

The moment their eyes met, every one of them felt a fear they couldn't describe.

The elder felt it too.

Fear flooded his body—deeper than anything he had ever experienced.

As an elder in his late forties, he had faced his share of fear. He had confronted powerful mages, warriors, monsters… even psychopaths.

But none of it compared to this.

This wasn’t fear of death.

It was death itself.

Like standing before fate.

In that moment, a memory surfaced in his mind.

A story the organization head once told him.

About someone with blood-red eyes—and a cold-blooded mind.

A being capable of controlling time and space—someone who could reverse his own age.

Many believed it was a myth.

But the head had met him once… in the Dead Forest.

He had survived only by offering a special-grade artifact.

And the head had given the elder one piece of advice:

"If you ever meet someone like him, BOW. Maybe he'll pity you. Because you cannot win. And you also cannot escape."

The elder's voice trembled as he screamed, "Prostrate! Everyone—prostrate now!"

Without hesitation, without pride, they dropped to their knees.

Foreheads pressed to the ground.

They didn't question at all. They knew that that was their only way to survive.

In their minds, they were praying, begging, hoping—that the being on the throne might feel even the slightest hint of mercy.

***

I don't know how much time passes as I crawl through the long, suffocating passage.

Minutes? Hours?

By the time I finally stumble out of it, my whole body feels sore, and my clothes are soaked with sweat.

"…Finally."

I take a few deep breaths and look around.

Five different paths stretch out in front of me.

For a moment, doubt creeps in—but only for a moment.

'I know this place.'

According to the novel, if my memory isn't failing me, the correct path is the third one from the left.

So I don't hesitate.

I step into the third passage.

After walking for a while, I enter a room filled with hidden mechanisms.

Traps.

Wires so thin they're almost invisible. Pressure plates disguised as normal tiles. Holes in the walls positioned at perfect angles.

Normally, this place would be a death sentence.

But I already know about them.

I move slowly, carefully, dismantling each mechanism one by one. I take my time. I don't rush. One mistake here would mean instant death.

After what feels like forever, I finally make it through.

And then I see it.

A massive door.

So tall that just looking up at it makes my neck hurt.

'That's… not my destination.'

I stop myself before approaching it.

Because I know what lies beyond.

Even if I somehow manage to open that door, the room behind it is filled with layered traps—ones that activate instantly. You wouldn't even have time to realize you're dead.

So instead, I turn away.

I take a detour and stop in front of what looks like an ordinary wall.

Seemingly ordinary.

But I know better.

There's a hidden chamber behind it.

For this exact moment, I brought magic scrolls.

I take them out and tear them open one by one, in order.

First—ice.

Then—fire.

And lastly—light.

The three elements strike the wall in sequence.

For a moment, nothing happens.

Then—

The wall trembles.

Lines of light spread across its surface, and a hidden door slowly reveals itself before opening.

"…Good."

I step inside.

This is the room.

The room that holds the artifact I need.

I spot it immediately.

It rests at the center of the room, as if waiting for me.

I also notice several other artifacts scattered around, along with a pile of gold coins.

But something else catches my eye.

A small spatial magic bag.

A bag capable of storing far more than its size should allow.

My heart skips a beat.

'I got lucky.'

I take the bag first.

Then, without wasting time, I begin collecting everything that looks even remotely useful. Artifacts, coins, materials—everything goes into the bag until it’s completely full.

Once I'm done, I leave the chamber.

As expected, I can't go back the way I came.

The wall behind me seals itself shut.

In this place, for some reason, every door closes permanently once it's opened.

After walking a short distance, I enter another room.

A throne room.

The very room that lies beyond the massive door I avoided earlier.

'I don't want to st

ay here.'

I start moving immediately.

Then I notice it.

Something faintly glowing on the throne.