Fenrir strolled through the polished streets of Floor 10, hands tucked into the pockets of his long coat, his steps leisurely but alert.
The town was unlike any of the previous floors—well-maintained stone roads, trimmed gardens, and buildings that glowed faintly with embedded mana lines.
There were no soldiers patrolling, no surveillance eyes in the sky, no cries for help echoing down alleyways. Just laughter, gentle music, and people who wore smiles far too easily.
He clicked his tongue.
'Too peaceful. Too safe. Too fake.'
He stepped into a nearby café, more out of boredom than interest, and sat on the outer deck overlooking a quiet park.
The smell of baked bread and coffee filled the air, but even that failed to stir him. He watched a child chase butterflies while a couple laughed on a bench nearby.
It was a scene that felt untouched by the rest of the tower.
Fenrir leaned back in his chair and muttered under his breath.
"The tower didn't use to be like this…"
