I turned the page slowly, not sure what to expect. The title Charred Blood Orange Tart stared back at me, and I felt a chill crawl down my spine.
Bitterness. This was it—the final flavor. I didn’t know what would come, but I had a feeling it would be something different.
Compared to sourness, Bitterness was deeper, more lasting. It lingered in ways that sourness couldn’t. Sour was sharp, immediate—something that shocked you.
But bitterness? Bitterness settled in. It stayed with you long after the moment had passed.
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The Fourth Pillar: Bitter
Recipe: Charred Blood Orange Tart
A dish defined by its complexity and its endurance, much like the trials faced by the red warrior.
The Charred Blood Orange Tart is not for those seeking comfort or joy.
Instead, it is for those who understand that some flavors, much like life’s hardest lessons, must be endured rather than enjoyed.
The blood orange, a fruit that promises brightness and sweetness, is first scorched by flame.
Its once-vibrant flesh is blackened, its promise of sweetness turned bitter under the heat.
But even though the bitterness overwhelms, the sweetness beneath cannot be erased—it is simply buried, obscured by the char.
The bitterness that lingers on the tongue is a reminder of potential lost, of promises unfulfilled.
Yet beneath the surface, if one dares to dig deeper, a hint of sweetness remains—a ghost of what could have been.
The crust of the tart must be strong enough to hold the weight of the fruit, yet it too carries a slight bitterness.
This bitterness is not accidental—it is intentional, serving as a warning. The red warrior, too, learned this the hard way.
His path, once bright with promise, was scorched by a flame he could not escape. He, like the blood orange, was left with bitterness—his potential, hidden beneath layers of char, forever out of reach... Or until a new red warrior manages to reach him and rescue him from the corruption that has dulled his taste for life.
For the red warrior himself has lost the meaning behind all the flavors he once experienced on his journey.
All he needs... is someone who has faced the same trials, someone to remind him of the flavors that were never meant to be lost, of the taste that was never meant to be consumed in the first place.
Only those who have tasted the full breadth of the dungeon’s flavors—who have reached the end of its course—will be able to reach him.
....
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As I stared at the recipe for Charred Blood Orange Tart, something didn’t sit right with me.
This was supposed to be about Cyrus, right? The fourth pillar of my old party. And yet, there was no mention of him. It was strange, because each of the previous flavors—Sour, Sweet and Salty—had been clear metaphors for Elara, Jasmine and Arlo. But here, in Bitter, it didn’t seem to reference Cyrus at all.
I read the words again, slowly, trying to figure out what was really going on.
"A dish defined by its endurance, much like the trials faced by the red warrior..."
The red warrior? It was odd to see that term again, after it had only been mentioned in the introduction. I had assumed the pillars were about my party members, but this? This was pointing to something else.
I continued reading.
"The blood orange, a fruit that promises brightness and sweetness, is first scorched by flame..."
The idea of scorching something immediately caught my attention. It seemed wrong, destructive even. But maybe that was the point.
I tried to break it down.
The blood orange—it promised sweetness, much like potential or hope in a person, but it was ruined by flame. Could this be about Cyrus? No… Cyrus wasn’t someone who showed much emotion, let alone vulnerability. He wouldn’t let his story be told like this.
So, if this wasn’t about him, who was it about?
"Acceptance of the flaws, the scars left behind by the flames..."
Flaws? Scars? This wasn’t just about bitterness in the literal sense—it was about something deeper, something hidden behind layers of pain. And then it hit me. This wasn’t about Cyrus. It never was.
It was about Valerian.
I kept reading, and the pieces started to fall into place.
"The bitterness that lingers on the tongue is a reminder of potential lost, of promises unfulfilled."
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
Potential lost. Promises unfulfilled. It all made sense now. Valerian had been the red warrior, full of potential and promise, but something had happened to him—something that had scorched his path.
I stared at the lines, the weight of the words pressing down on me. "The red warrior, too, learned this the hard way. His path, once bright with promise, was scorched by a flame he could not escape."
The mention of a flame couldn’t be ignored, but what was it talking about? Was it a literal fire? No, that didn’t make sense.
So, what was it really saying? This felt deeper, more personal. It wasn’t just about the dungeon’s challenges, but something that burned Valerian figuratively.
"He, like the blood orange, was left with bitterness—his potential, hidden beneath layers of char, forever out of reach."
Bitterness. I kept coming back to that word, this was saying his potential was lost, buried under layers of... char? Scorched away?
I went back to the metaphor of the blood orange. A fruit with sweetness and promise, but scorched, leaving bitterness behind.
The more I thought about it, the clearer it became. This time it wasn’t about his struggles—it was about his downfall. His very potential had been ripped away from him.
The flames weren’t symbolic of those kinds of challenges. It was something darker—something that had consumed him completely.
But why?
I continued to read.
"Or until a new red warrior manages to reach him and rescue him from the corruption that has dulled his taste buds."
Corruption.
The word stuck with me, twisting around in my mind. Could it be... the dungeon itself? Was that what had taken him? Not just the trials or the battles, but the very essence of the dungeon?
I could feel the pieces slowly sliding into place. And that’s when it hit me.
I could feel my chest tighten as the realization settled in.
The "flame" that had scorched him was the dungeon’s corruption, and it had claimed him.
Valerian was no longer just a legend or a fallen warrior—he had become part of the dungeon?
Valerian hadn’t just died in the 100th floor. He had become part of the dungeon itself? But how?
But the text wasn’t done.
"All he needs... is someone to remind him of this..."
Someone to remind him? Remind him of what? His strength? His purpose?
And then the final line hit me like a punch to the gut.
"Only those who have reached the end of the dungeon’s flavor will be able to reach him."
I sat there, staring at the words, letting them sink in. The end of the dungeon’s flavor—those who had endured all the trials, faced all the challenges, those who had tasted every bitter, sour, sweet, and salty moment the dungeon had to offer.
It spoke of those who dared to delve into the dungeon, specifically the rare few who could manage to reach its end—a feat unheard of, other then for my Bloodzerker and the four pillars who had stood by his side.
Cyrus. This wasn’t about Cyrus after all. The bitterness wasn’t his—it was Valerian’s. Cyrus had stayed silent because his story wasn’t the focus here. The real story was about Valerian’s fall and his corruption.
But what does it mean to be corrupted?
If Valerian had simply died after stepping into the 100th floor, that would have been the end of it. There wouldn’t be any mention of "corruption." Death in the dungeon was final—plain and simple. But corruption? That was something else.
Being corrupted meant being consumed—by dark thoughts, by sinister energy, by malevolent forces. It wasn’t just death; it was a transformation, a twisting of the self.
And in the context of the dungeon, the implications were clear. Was this recipe, this hidden message, trying to tell me that Valerian—my bloodzerker—had been consumed by the dungeon itself? Had he become a part of it?
The more I thought about it, the more it pointed at this possibility.
Wait! When I opened the 100th floor, the screen had gone black. I didn’t see what was beyond the door. Could it be? No, surely not...
I felt my heart rate quicken. Don't tell me... the 100th-floor boss, the guardian that protects the final door—is Valerian?
The realization hit me like a punch to the gut.
If Valerian had been consumed by the dungeon, it would explain everything.
The corrupted red warrior, his potential lost to bitterness, scorched by a flame he couldn’t escape.
The dungeon itself must have trapped him, twisted him, turning him into a soulless guardian—a final obstacle for anyone daring to reach the end.
Now that I think about it, the concept is... perfect in its cruel logic used in this twisted game known as [Dungeon End].
Who else but the only person to reach the end of the dungeon, the strongest outside and inside the dungeon, could stand as the final hurdle? The last boss.
A trap, a cruel irony. The warrior who was supposed to conquer the dungeon now was the dungeon, guarding the very door he was meant to open.
The thought left a sour taste in my mouth, a deep bitterness that resonated with the theme of this entire chapter.
He hadn’t died—he’d been corrupted, and turned into something else entirely.
A soulless guardian, eternally blocking the path he once traveled. He stands as an unyielding obstacle, preventing anyone from surpassing him or glimpsing what lies beyond his accomplishments.
I felt a chill run down my spine.
No one knew better than me...
No one knew how impossible it was...
No one knew just how insurmountable this challenge truly was...
It was impossible to beat him. My Bloodzerker was far too overpowered.
His items. His stats. His skills. All of them carefully tailored to perfection, designed to be unstoppable.
And then there was his Blood Rage skill.... Upgraded beyond what I've managed to reach in any character.
[Blood Rage Of Asura - Lv.9]
https://i.imgur.com/IY2V2Uo.png [https://i.imgur.com/IY2V2Uo.png]
[Blood Rage of Asura – Lv.9]
[Blood Rage of Asura amplifies the user's damage output based on their health. For every 20% decrease in health, the user materializes spectral arms made of blood on their back, with each arm multiplying the damage output and adding additional strikes. The effect stacks up to four times, reaching its peak when the user’s health falls below 20%.]
Effect:
Lose 5% of your Maximum Health every second
* At 80% Health: First spectral arm manifests, damage output multiplied by 2x.
* At 60% Health: Second spectral arm manifests, damage output multiplied by 4x.
* At 40% Health: Third spectral arm manifests, damage output multiplied by 8x.
* At 20% Health: Fourth to Sixth spectral arms manifest, damage output multiplied by 12x.
Spectral Arms:
* Each arm mirrors the user’s attack, including weapon held and skill used. The arms do not disappear even if health rises back above 20% during combat.
[Usage: Blood Rage of Asura increases the user’s damage exponentially as health decreases, adding six bloody spectral arms that mirror attacks and enhance the user’s offensive abilities. The skill dramatically increases combat power in critical situations.]
A walking force of destruction that could obliterate anything in his path.