…
The massive obsidian gates of our Castle loomed above us, casting long, jagged shadows against the now bleeding sky.
The wind howled, carrying the scent of ozone and ancient dust, signaling that the time had finally come.
It was time for the goodbyes.
I stood there, adjusting the collar of my black silk shirt, trying to look appropriately solemn and not as though I were mentally counting down the seconds until I could leave this shitty, suffocating atmosphere.
"Where is Mihail?" I asked, glancing around the small gathering.
"Your brother is currently on the 89th Floor," Vlad replied, his voice as monotone as a tombstone. "He is busy climbing. He sent his regards."
'Busy climbing… or just smart enough to avoid this drama.'
I looked at the woman standing next to the Emperor.
Empress Verona looked like she was about to shatter.
Her hands were trembling, clutching a lace handkerchief that she was slowly tearing to shreds.
"Oh, my big, sweet baby…" She sniffled, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "Why? Why do you have to go? Why can't you just… not climb?"
"Mother," I said, stepping forward and gently taking her hands. "You know I can't do that. The Tower calls everyone at fifteen."
I looked into her watery eyes.
Verona stared at me for a moment, her lip wobbling. Then, she let out a wail that probably alerted all the bats in the castle bell tower.
"You are just like your father! Ugh!"
Speaking of the devil.
Vlad stepped forward.
He didn't look sad.
He didn't look worried.
He looked at his pocket watch.
"It is time," he rumbled. "Go. And, don't you dare to die."
Short. Concise.
... And brutal.
"I will endeavor not to, Father."
Vlad nodded and turned around, clearly ready to go back to his study.
But he didn't get far.
Verona shot him a glare so venomous that I was surprised his back didn't catch fire.
"That's it?" she hissed. "That's your goodbye? If he comes back with a single scratch, Vlad, I swear to the Progenitor, I will turn your study into an ice rink, and I will also be taking all the Western Territories in the divorce!"
Vlad stiffened, coughed into his fist, and walked a little faster.
'Pathetic,' I thought, amused.
But my amusement was cut short.
Thump.
Something impacted my waist. Hard.
I looked down.
Wrapped around my waist, burying his face into my expensive silk shirt, was Radu.
"..."
I froze. My brain short-circuited for a millisecond.
'Did… did this little fucker just dare to hug me?'
I didn't give him permission. I didn't invite this contact.
My hand instinctively twitched toward the hilt of my sword.
The urge to grab him by the collar and throw him into the nearest bush full of thorns was overwhelming.
I wanted to teach him a lesson about personal space and the hierarchy of things.
'Get off.'
But then, I felt it.
The burning gaze of Empress Verona.
She was watching us, her hands clasped together, tears streaming down her face, looking at the scene with pure adoration.
As much as she loved me… I knew the sad truth.
Her baby, her fragile little flower, was Radu.
If I tossed him now, I wouldn't be dealing with a crying mother.
I would be dealing with an SS+ Rank Dual Ice and Blood Mage going berserk.
'…Tch.'
I slowly, painfully, unclenched my fist.
I patted Radu's head. Stiffly.
Like I was patting a bomb.
"Goodbye… Radu," I gritted out.
Radu looked up. His eyes were wide, crimson, and filled with that disgusting, distorted admiration.
"Come back even stronger, Big Brother!" he whispered, snot dripping onto my shirt.
'I will remember this disgrace,' I promised myself, mentally marking this moment in my Book of Grudges.
'Just you wait till you start climbing The Tower, you little leech.'
And then, salvation arrived.
[DING!]
[This Year's Tutorial Has Commenced.]
[Teleportation to Floor 0 Initiated.]
The world twisted.
The red sky, the gothic castle, the sobbing mother, and the snot-nosed brother… they all swirled into a vortex of white light.
A sensation of weightlessness took over, followed by a sharp hook behind my navel.
*Ziiiip—!*
Darkness.
Then, light.
"Ugh…"
I blinked, my vision clearing instantly. I wasn't home anymore.
I stood in a massive, white expanse.
It looked like a boundless arena, the floor made of white marble tiles that stretched into near infinity.
[Welcome to the Tutorial Reception Lobby.]
[Zone: 10 / 10]
[Participants: 8973]
[Time remaining until Trial Start: 09:57]
A massive timer hovered in the sky, counting down.
Ten minutes. "To see the competition," I muttered, looking around.
There was no screaming.
No "Where am I?".
Everyone here knew exactly where they were.
Turning fifteen meant the Tower called you.
It was a fact of life, as inevitable as death.
Instead of confusion, the air was thick with a tense, vibrating anticipation.
Nearly nine thousand people were checking their gear, tightening straps, or forming small cliques.
Humans, Sirens, Beastkin… Most of them looked terrified, yes, but it was the terror of soldiers in a trench waiting for the whistle, not lost sheep.
'So many ants.'
My eyes scanned the crowd, [Eye of Mimir] activating instinctively.
Most of them were trash. Rank G- and rarely Rank G. They were fodder.
Extras destined to die on the first ten floors to establish the difficulty of The Tower.
But then… My gaze stopped. In the sea of mediocrity, a faint light flickered.
Standing near a pillar, looking calm amidst the nervous tension, was a boy.
He had blond hair that looked like spun gold and piercing blue eyes.
He wore simple brown leather clothes, but the way he carried himself… it was distinct.
------| System Interface |------
[Name]: Hans Kroenen
[Race]: Human
[Status]: Healthy
[Age]: 15
[Rank]: G+
[Class]: Assassin
[Legacies]: Man Of Nine Faces (D-)
[Traits]: Absolute Killer (S+), Multi-Faced Phantom (S-)
[Laws]: Illusion
[Masteries]:
Basic Swordsmanship ★★★☆☆ -(Progress: 87%)-
Basic Mana Manipulation ★★☆☆☆ -(Progress: 32%)-
Basic Stealth ★★★☆☆ -(Progress: 78%)-
------------------------------
'Not bad,' I mused. ' A decent pawn. He also survives quite a while in the original novel.'
I was about to look away, dismissively categorizing him as "useful extra," when a jarring dissonance struck my senses.
It wasn't excitement.
It was… surprise.
I turned my head to the far left of the zone.
There, sitting alone on the floor, surrounded by an aura of gloom and madness so thick it was almost tangible, was another figure.
Ragged brown clothes stained with fresh, wet blood.
Messy black hair that covered half his face.
And unlike the others who were checking their weapons or whispering strategies, he was just staring at his hands.
Trembling.
When he looked up, glaring at the timer in the sky with a mix of shock and hatred, I saw it.
One eye was a dark, captivating black.
The other… was glass.
A lifeless, fake orb reflecting the timer above.
'No way.'
My heart actually skipped a beat.
This… This was supposed to happen?
This scene wasn't written in the novel.
Because, unlike everyone else here who had packed their bags and waited for the summons… this guy looked like he had just been dragged out of a grave.
The Protagonist.
------| System Interface |------
[Name]: Alastor Necro
[Race]: Human
[Status]: Confused, Relatively Healthy
[Age]: 15
[Rank]: G-
[Class]: Necromancer
[Legacy]: One Who May Rule Over Death (A-)
[Trait]: Death Codex (EX)
[Laws]: Death
[Masteries]:
Basic Necromancy ☆☆☆☆☆ -(Progress: 0%)-
Basic Scythesmanship ☆☆☆☆☆ -(Progress: 13%)-
Basic Mana Manipulation ☆☆☆☆☆ -(Progress: 0%)-
------------------------------
He looked like a corpse that had forgotten to die.
And judging by the lore I remembered… he essentially was.
Alastor was a nobody.
A villager from the 20th Floor, destined to live a useless life. But fate is a cruel mistress.
A group of Cultists, worshippers of the Outer Gods, went to his village.
And, they didn't just kill.
They toyed with everyone.
They slaughtered everyone, from the oldest elder to the youngest babe, in a specific order, forcing the survivors to watch.
Alastor was the last one.
They held him down.
They carved out his left eye. And just as the knife was about to slit his throat… salvation came.
A Knight of the Empire. He killed the cultists with a single swing.
But he didn't help Alastor.
He looked at the boy, bleeding, traumatized, broken, and sneered.
He looked at him like he was trash.
He tossed a glass eye, a trophy he had taken from a dead Cultist, onto the bloody ground. "Be thankful you breathe, rat," the Knight had said.
That was the moment Alastor broke.
He didn't cry.
He laughed.
He laughed like a maniac, swearing to kill them all somehow.
Cultists.
Knights.
Everyone.
But the universe wasn't done spitting on him.
Years passed.
And, today, on the day of the Tutorial Beginning, while eating a rotting animal carcass just to survive, wishing himself a "Happy Birthday," another Knight passed by.
He "mistook" the boy for a monster. A spear through the gut.
Thankfully, as Alastor lay dying, cursing the world, the Death Codex answered his hatred.
It healed his corpse. It chose him. And it teleported him here.
I stared at the boy, who was currently clutching his stomach as if checking for a wound that was no longer there, his single real eye darting around in utter bewilderment.
'This fucker must be pretty confused,' I thought, a twisted smirk forming on my lips. 'Going from dying in the mud to having one of the five Great Codexes of the Tower in the span of a heartbeat.'
To think I was in the same Starting Zone as the Protagonist… It changed things.
It made things… infinitely more interesting.
I rested my hand on the hilt of my Miao Dao.
'But…'
My eyes narrowed, scanning the crowd with renewed intensity.
'If this stupid ass protagonist is here…'
I looked past Alastor, searching for someone.
'…That must mean "She" is also here somewhere.'
._._._._._._._._._._._._.
A/N: I should say this now to avoid any possible future confusion: Climbers have the ability to return to any floor they have previously visited (excluding Floors 0-9), including their birth floor (provided they are not currently engaged in combat, have some restrictions, or something similar).
HOWEVER, for any Climber to return onto another floor, they must first successfully complete the entire Tutorial (Floors 0-9).