Nash stumbled back, a hand covering his mouth, struggling to contain a scream of horror. His eyes shook for a few seconds until clarity filled his head once again. He gazed back at the cut-off head, still deeply disgusted and disturbed by its sight, but with a little more resolve.

'This...This isn't him, it's just some fucking trick of the Tower!' Nash gritted his teeth, pushing himself back up on wobbling feet. He grabbed the silver cloche from the frozen servant standing next to the table and hid the head under it. Finally, he could let out a breath of relief, similarly to everyone else in the room. The King laughed evilly, slapping one of his wife's ass.

"What, not too hungry, Prince? I'm sure you know how much you'll need the energy, though!" He chuckled before choking on a phlegm, spitting it to the side without politeness. Nash didn't bother replying, his hands tightly clenching the edge of the table. Even though he knew...that it wasn't his father, despite the perfectly similar face and the same tint of hair... He still couldn't help but be enraged by it.

'...Another one on the fucking list, then.' Nash thought coldly, drawing a deep breath before sitting back on his chair, his face expressionless except for the rage in his eyes. The King sipped on some wine, looking at the young man silently for a few seconds, before raising his cup.

"Come on, drink and laugh, people! This is a joyous occasion, after all! The Fallen Prince got his balls back!" Aethon grinned, before slamming his cup on the table. The other subjects began eating and drinking hurriedly, almost forced to do so. Nash glanced to the sides, trying to figure out why someone was placed in each or such spot, but failing.

His lack of knowledge of all of the guests' identities showed incredibly so as he creased his nose, unable to guess whether someone would be on his side among all of these people or not. Giving up on this useless query, he instead leaned forward, his face hidden in both of his hands. From someone else's perspective, it might have looked like he was trying to contain tears and cries, but it couldn't be farther from the truth.

Nash's mind was racing at full speed as it recounted all of the knights standing in the hallways, those in the Banquet Hall alongside the soldiers, the guests, anything that could serve his escape...

Sadly, there wasn't much he could come up with currently that wouldn't require more information or personal strength. Running away was useless, the whole palace was a maze filled with knights ready to cut him down. Trying to go for the King? With what strength? In his current body, Nash's might could probably compare to an old man's. Nash remembered the blue window that informed him about most things back on Earth as well as the empty waiting room lost in the void.

Perhaps he could try to summon it back to get more information?

'How am I supposed to do that, though? Should I try screaming 'status window' or something?'

Nash looked up expectantly, failing to see anything else but the King's smug look, the blue window nowhere to be. The young man sighed tiredly, rubbing the back of his head before spending the rest of his time studying the faces of every guest present, be they soldiers, knights, nobles, or even one of the King's wives. There wasn't much of anything else he could do, anyway.

'I'm not sure trying to learn of all their faces is going to help me much...' Despite his pessimistic thoughts, Nash forced himself to stare at each guest one after the other, most of them turning their eyes away with discomfort once they realized that the Fallen Prince was looking at them.

That's when Nash realized that all of these people's reactions were different, mostly separated into three main ones. The first would be those who would look away with disgust and hate, probably the King's loyalist or something. The second reaction consisted of those who looked back in shame or pity, their teeth gritted and their fists clenched tightly. Those would probably be the ones that were loyal to the previous Lord, Nash's body's father, Dante Lord Dularfell. Finally, the third reaction, which was extremely rare, was those who were holding his gaze, mostly with amusement.

Some half-a-dozen persons could do so, besides the King himself. They all seemed not too bothered by what was going on in the Banquet Hall, instead happily discussing with their neighbors or filling their mouths with exquisite food. If there was one thing that they all shared, it was this...peculiar aura surrounding them that made him want to grovel on the ground as he looked at them. Every fiber of his body was screaming in his mind that those six people were absolute monsters that would probably eat him alive.

It was similar to what he felt the first time with the Jailer but in a weakened version.

'...I feel like there's more to it, but I can't put the finger on what's making me say that...'

The King suddenly clapped, gathering the hall's attention.

"Well, I think we all had our fills. I hope you all enjoyed the food I prepared?!"

The guests cheered as they applauded him, all seemingly very satisfied with the food. The King grinned with his rotten teeth, before pointing at the empty plates with a crooked finger.

"Well, the meat certainly seems to have pleased you all..." Aethon the Fourth chuckled with a raspy voice, before straightening himself up, giving the guests a slight curtsy.

"After all, it was our dear Dame Dularfell that you all ate!" He exclaimed as he stared at Nash wickedly, his eyes voraciously waiting for the young man's despair to appear. The guests looked at each other confusedly, until one of them paled and bent forward, puking his insides out. Soon, most guests followed him, their eyes filled with horror at the realization that they had just eaten their fellow humans.

Nash remained silent.

'...I can only guess that this Dame Dularfell was my mother... Aethon the Fourth, tsk, more like Aethon the Mad. How insane do you have to be to serve your enemy his father's head and your guest the latter's wife?' The young man scowled, shaking his head slowly. Rage continued to fill his body with a cold desire for revenge, his whole soul asking for him to rip the King's heart out of his chest.

"...Is that all you have in your sleeves, scum?" Nash spat, his voice covering the sound of the guests vomiting and the shocked discussions. The King's grin melted away, replaced by an expressionless face. He moistened his crumpled lips, before waving away.

"...Let's start the damned Trial," He grumbled, turning away as his wives helped him walk. Nash clenched his fists tightly, his eyes not leaving the back of the old fuck, already imagining himself stabbing the sharpest thing he could find in his rotten heart.

'...I'm sure I wouldn't be the only one to desire it, even more after this stunt he just pulled. Even more with these six...' Nash thought as he glanced at the half-dozen nobles that stood undisturbed under his gaze, their faces dark and their smile missing, replaced by cold hate and disgust. He couldn't observe them much longer as the now familiar squad of four soldiers grabbed him from behind and pulled him out of the Banquet Hall, pushing him through the hallways while whispering to each other.

"...This is insanity. I knew he had a screw loose, but—" The soldier who was talking suddenly grunted in pain as his colleague shoved his knee in his waist, an angry face under his helmet.

"Shut the hell up! Do you think we would be safe if someone heard us saying this? I don't want to end up like this coward's parents!" The soldier pointed his chin at Nash who was looking back at him coldly, before shoving him violently forward. Nash gritted his teeth and continued in the directions he was pushed in, trying his best to make a mental map of the palace.

"I—I mean, the Six Pillars were here, and he fed what remained of Lady Dularfell to them!" The soldier protested, still lowering his voice to be sure no one would hear him. He glanced at the nearby knights standing in front of every column, gulping heavily.

"Don't you know the Banyan's House motto?" The soldier asked grimly, the other shaking his head negatively. The senior soldier, as he appeared, leaned in, his lips moving slowly.

"Ever growing, Devour Everything." The soldier shivered, shaking his head frantically.

"Shit, this is creepy as hell. Won't our souls go directly into the Ninth Circle at this rate?" He asked worriedly, earning a chuckle not from his fellow soldiers, but from Nash.

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"...Devour Everything...What a fucking joke..." He muttered dejectedly, remembering the head of his father, no, the head of Dante Lord Dularfell waiting under the silver cloche, as well as the flesh of Dame Dularfell on the guests' plates.

"...Does that just mean he eats his enemies? Fucking disgusting..." Nash spat to the side, uncaring of the soldiers' reactions. The four exchanged a look, before pushing the young man forward, not commenting on his words.

Soon enough, they found themselves in front of another elevator, the sempiternal wooden platform, and the massive lever waiting to be activated. There wasn't a single stop for this one, though, the descent lasting for a good hour. Finally, the brakes were engaged, and the elevator slowed down with the loud sound of the metal creaking.

The bright and warm sunlight, so strange after this otherworldly moment in the Banquet Hall, was the first thing that welcomed him once the elevator stabilized. There were no wooden gates, only a row of knights in armor waiting with their halberds in their hands. Nash hesitantly stepped forward, having grown used to the crimson light of the tinted glass back in the palace, and looked at his surroundings, trying to figure out where the hell he had just ended up.

He was in an open courtyard, with soldiers moving around hurriedly, transporting weapons or heavy crates, and officers screaming orders on top of them. Nash frowned, before instinctively taking a step forward, narrowly avoiding the spear shaft of the soldier that enjoyed hitting him. The latter looked at his spear with confusion, shaking his head dismissively.

"Fallen Prince, follow me. We'll lead you to the start of the Trial." The senior soldier stepped forward, not looking back to verify that Nash was following him. The young man didn't make himself wait, still taking the time to observe as much as he could. The soldier's faces were strained and tensed, a barely hidden tension floating in the courtyard. Whatever was going on, it was nothing good for them.

'...But if it bothers them, it'll probably be of help to me. Shit, if only I had more information on this world... What's the point of throwing me into the world with nothing to defend myself?' Nash grunted, his question left unanswered. The group walked along the walls when they passed under a huge shadow. Nash couldn't help but lift his head, his heart missing a beat when he realized the height of the Citadel, and how low they currently were. The elevator had been stuck against the side of a mountain, whose top was hidden behind thick white clouds.

With a size that was probably higher than the Burj Khalifa, the Citadel stood. A giant of stone and architecture, so tall it should be impossible for it to not crumble on itself. Nash took a second to enjoy the sight, before following back in the senior's soldier steps.

'I remember the prison being higher than the clouds. Shit, this is probably the worst prison in existence. They can just break that bridge and the prisoners will have no way to escape...' Nash heaved in awe, shaking his head slowly. At least, things were becoming slightly more positive; the lower he was, the more his chances to find an escape grew.

"We're here." The soldier announced, his hands on his waist as he looked up at the gigantic construction that reached above the clouds. Nash glanced around, trying to find something that screamed "Spider", but he utterly failed, the purpose of his Trial entirely hidden away from him.

There were only the four soldiers and him in front of the wall, in a relatively hidden corner of the courtyard. The senior soldier sighed, rubbing the corner of his eyes tiredly before pointing at the wall.

"Fallen Prince, do you see the stairs?"

Nash's eyebrows creased and he looked closer at the wall. At irregular intervals, with different distances between each of them, stones were coming out of the wall, serving as the worst possible stairs in existence. The young man hesitantly nodded, the soldier smacking his lips in reply.

"...Great. Let me give you your Trial..." He pulled out an adorned scroll, similar to the one the King's Crier had read in the Throne Room, breaking the wax seal open and reading its contents.

"...Nash Dularfell, Son of Dante Lord Dularfell and Priscilla Dame Dularfell, Fallen Prince of the Citadel, I, Aethon the Fourth, give you the Divine task of retrieving the egg of the Skysilk Weaver, who's nesting at the very top of the Citadel. If you succeed in this task, your freedom shall be given back to you, as the Pale Lady, Noroas, has decided. May Her grace be upon you." The senior soldier rolled the scroll back, sighing as he did so.

His colleagues looked at each other, biting down on their lips.

"...This pretty much is an execution. Good luck, Prince." The senior soldier bowed respectfully, followed by the other three. Nash looked back and forth between the wall he had to climb and them, trying to judge which was the easiest to defeat, his eyes stopping on the cold glint of their spears. The young man shook his head dejectedly and looked at the ridiculously small steps on the wall, and the height he needed to climb.

'...This is fucking ridiculous.' Nash almost wanted to laugh at how ridiculous this 'Trial' was. He could understand now the reactions of all the people in the Throne Room back when he made this choice. The other two Trials would probably be doable compared to this one.

"Phew, alright, then..." Nash approached the wall, grabbed a stone, and began the climb, his body as close to the wall as possible. He flexed his knees as he began his ascension, his eyes still madly searching for another way out. With the soldiers down there waiting to make sure he wouldn't just come back, the only way forward was up.

"...I'm almost certain I'll die even if I bring that egg back, so why am I even trying...?" Nash muttered through his teeth, climbing one stair after the other. The ascension was insanely hard, as he couldn't permit any mistakes. There was no rhyme either as the stones were all separated by different distances, some almost impossible to cross without helping himself of cracks in the wall. It was more of a climbing wall than stairs, only with a few stones sticking out to help.

Without even realizing it, Nash climbed quite high, a gust of wind making his clothes flutter. He looked down without thinking, almost letting go of the stone he was tightly grabbing, a sudden vertigo taking him. He had progressed on the side of the tower and was now behind it, at the furthest distance possible from the courtyard. Lying under his eyes, a gigantic city decorated with hundreds of burning lights was waiting for him to fall.

Nash squinted his eyes, trying to figure out whether his mind was playing some sort of trick, but now, it wasn't. Around fifty meters away, on a massive communal plaza, hundreds of villagers were watching him silently, their torches held high, the flames burning vividly. Nash gulped and slowly turned back to the wall, trying to ignore this disturbing bit of information.

"...Is this a fucking show...?" He hissed through his teeth, fastening his ascent. The more he climbed, the more he progressed on the tower, and the faster he progressed, the further he would be from these perverted sickos waiting for him to fall. Or perhaps they were just watching their Prince take the most nonsensical Trial, he couldn't care less anyway.

"It's not like they're going to help me, are they?"

Nash's fingers were the first things that started to hurt, soon followed by his meager arms. Between how starved he was, and how abused he had been, the young man was pleasantly surprised at how endurant he had remained. Climbing was an exhausting sport, and he didn't have any experience in it, so each move felt awkward and dangerous, but it couldn't compare to how tired he already felt.

"I'd do...anything...just for a slice of steak...and a nap..." Nash whispered, gasping for air. He regulated his breathing and continued, hoping that the sooner he would reach the top, the faster he could rest. And in the worst case, he would just die, right?

It wasn't that horrible of an experience, just very, very painful and traumatizing. Nash almost shook his head to get rid of those thoughts but decided otherwise, considering his strength better spent focusing on the walls and the ridiculously small stairs. Suddenly, Nash missed a beat, his right foot slipping from the stone it was trying to reach. His whole body swerved back, away from the wall against which he had been trying to stay stuck since the beginning of the climb.

A push of adrenaline shot through the young man's veins and he pushed on his left leg, jumping forward to try and reach the stone that caused his fall. He managed to grab a crack in the wall with his hands, the skin over his fingers ripped apart by the violent movements as his feet found a new foothold.

"Hah, hah, hah..." Nash gasped for air, his arms tensed and his heart racing madly. He pressed his forward on the cold stone wall, the blood beating in his temples. After a long minute of rest, Nash resumed his climb, much more careful and even slower than he already was, his movements all calculated to the last inch. His legs were burning with exhaustion, his hands were sticky with blood, and his head was turning madly from exhaustion, but he kept going.

Finally, like a mirage, a large stone platform protruded out of the wall, with metal bars to be grabbed for convenience. Nash forced one last wisp of energy out of his limbs and climbed on the platform, lying face down on the cold stone. He remained like this for what felt like an eternity, until he pushed himself up, observing the platform a bit closer. There was a hollow in the wall that would allow him to shelter from the wind, the platform protruding out of it like a helping hand held out to poor souls like him.

Nash dragged himself into the hollow and leaned his back against the wall, his eyes closed as he sighed loudly. He waited patiently for his headache to calm down and for the strength to come back in his arms, the sound of the wind whistling past his ears. The young man opened his eyes tiredly, finding out that there were a few things he hadn't noticed in the hollow, namely a fat, brown mushroom growing on the side of the wall, and a book tied to a chain encased in the wall.

'A...A book?'

Nash couldn't help but blink confusedly, wondering who the hell could have had the excellent idea of putting a book in what was probably the hardest place to reach in the whole fucking Citadel. He glanced at the mushroom, his belly screaming at him to be filled, but he averted his eyes away, instead concentrating on the book. He already had a hard time climbing the damned Citadel, he wasn't going to add food poisoning to his already numerous handicaps.

The cover was clean, without even a single speck of dust, made of brown leather. Nash opened it, the scent of old paper reaching his nose, making the corner of his lips curve upward slightly. The young man gazed upon the letters, unsurprisingly discovering a language entirely different from the English he was used to.

No, what was truly shocking, was that he could understand it. But, somehow, something made him even more surprised than this magic that let him read something in another language.

On the first page, written in black ink and with fine calligraphy, were a few words that he simply couldn't help but question.

"To the Princes and Princesses of the Citadel, here's my guide to surmount the Trial of the Spider."

Signed: Mazaeth, Lord of the Sky