Suddenly, a pathway toward where Kael needed to go painted itself through the mini-map, a clean guiding line threaded through the gray streets. It seemed to lead to what looked like a large square field with buildings surrounding it like an arena of sorts.
The shape on the map looked too deliberate, too symmetrical, like it had been designed for spectators. It only had one way into it, and it seemed to end at the edge of the square map, which meant whatever was inside had a single entrance and, likely, a single exit.
Towers loved single exits.
It wasn't that far, but that didn't mean it wasn't going to take Kael a couple of hours to reach. Distance in this place wasn't just steps; it was risk.
Every block could have ambushes, monsters, people, or traps disguised as shelter.
Kael felt that the daytime still wasn't even halfway done, so if he rushed there, he might be able to get the rune and find a place to lay low for the night.
The thought of night made his skin crawl. If goblins already struggled in daylight, what did they become when the sun wasn't there to blunt them?
Kael already knew the answer to that. And didn't want to experience it again.
He moved across the streets, making sure to keep an eye on the map, checking it not obsessively but regularly, rationing his attention so he didn't miss the wrong dot shifting.
There were a few green dots and a few red ones, but mostly dark ones. Possibly hostile humans. The dark red felt different from goblins, more deliberate, more steady, like predators who didn't need to wake up to decide to kill.
He avoided all and any path that had those on them, detouring even when it cost him time. Time was expensive. Dying was more expensive.
And if there was a green dot on the way, he'll move past them without informing them. He didn't stop. He didn't wave. He didn't call out warnings. Not because he hated them, but because contact was a gamble.
A green dot meant "a live climber," not "a friendly Climber." Most of the climbers were currently hiding in crumbled houses, waiting for something, or maybe having given up.
He could almost see them through walls in his mind: people crouched in dusty corners, clutching weapons they didn't know how to use, waiting for the Tower to become kind or for someone too foolish to think that they were safe.
The majority of those who climbed the first tower never made it past the first few floors, so they all had little knowledge of what to do and simply chose to hide and wait for someone else to help them. Quite hopeless, too, since you can't simply expect someone to hand you the fifty Cores you need to leave this place anyway.
Waiting was just another way to die, slower and quieter. Kael didn't pity them as much as he might have before.
Pity costs energy. He saved his energy for moving.
The smartest of the bunch were the ones that remained alone and hunted alone, be it hunting monsters, or humans. After all, when it comes to survival no method is too immoral. He didn't like the thought, but he didn't reject it either.
The Tower didn't punish immorality. It punished weakness. And that was the difference that kept creeping back into his mind whenever he looked at another green dot and decided to ignore it.
Kael continued on, without wasting anytime or breath, and only after several blocks did he realize something. The realization didn't come as a thought at first. It came as an absence.
The absence of burning lungs. The absence of legs turning heavy. He stopped for a moment and looked at his chest, it was barely heaving. And he had been moving at a rate faster than a jog for close to an hour or so. His sweat was minimal. His heartbeat was steady. It felt wrong, like his body had silently become a better machine without telling him.
Looking at the mini-map he just crossed the halfway point, so at this rate he'll be there in less than half an hour since he had to take so many detours earlier to avoid other people. But from now on, it's a straight line. The thought gave him a small push of confidence, the practical kind: not "I'm strong," but "I can keep moving." Straight lines were rare here. Straight lines were gifts.
Kael hurried his pace again, careful not to make unnecessary noise as he moved through the streets. He figured out that the title of [Legend] was what was helping him. An addition of 10 stats to all of his stat points was a pure blessing.
It wasn't subtle. It was the difference between limping and jogging, between breathless panic and controlled motion. He still hated the rabbit for how it delivered it, but he couldn't deny the effect.
He inspected himself, calling out, "Status Screen"
***
[Status Screen]
Name: Kael Ardent
Level: 1
STR: 24
INT: 18
DEX: 23
STM: 20
Unused Stat Points: 0
***
For someone at level 1. Those stats looked disgustingly overpowered. It made his stomach twist in the same way a too-good deal did, because power at this scale always came with attention.
It made him visible in a system that loved crushing visibility. He wasn't thankful to the rabbit since he held off him obtaining the title. After all, the title of Legend should have been a reward the moment he walked out of Ulsal's Hall of Burdens. Not when he fully left the black building.
But the rabbit held off on giving him the title until he was exposed to enemies to cause that debilitating damage and maybe even cause Kael to die. That wasn't "teaching a lesson." That was calculated.
The more Kael turned it over in his mind, the uglier it became. Torrac hadn't been careless. Torrac had been spiteful and strategic.
That was an attempted murder, and now that Kael was thinking about it, even he didn't notice how hard he was gritting his teeth at the rabbit. His jaw ached from the pressure. His tongue pressed against the back of his teeth unconsciously, like he was trying to hold words in. The rage wasn't loud. It wasn't theatrical. It was the kind that sat quietly and promised patience, because patience, in the Tower, was just another weapon.