The staircases began to move.
At first the party thought it was an earthquake — the stone trembling underfoot, the balustrades rattling like teeth — but the motion was too smooth.
The Tower was adjusting itself, the way an organism shifts when a new organ begins to beat.
[ System Update: Pendulum Ascent Protocol Activated. ]
[ Rule: For every floor climbed, a mirror floor below is unlocked. ]
[ Equilibrium required. Imbalance will result in collapse. ]
[ Modifier detected: Harvester of Death — Adjusting parameters… ]
[ Pendulum Axis re-centered. ]
The air thickened. Light swung overhead like a giant clock's arm, flooding the stairwell in rhythmic pulses — up, down, up, down. Each pulse carried weight; each step forward tugged them backward.
Do-hyun cursed under his breath. "We're not climbing anymore. We're swinging."
Hae-won stood in the middle of it all, unmoving.
Every time the pendulum of light passed through him, his shadow fractured into three versions — one calm, one furious, one hollow.
Transmission had left its residue: all his regressions breathing through him at once.
The System's text scrolled again, directly above his head.
[ Synchronization required: Choose Anchor Point. ]
[ If Anchor is unbound, subject will fragment across temporal layers. ]
Arin reached out. "Hae-won—bind it to me—"
But he shook his head, silver hair flashing in the pendulum's swing.
"No. The anchor's already chosen."
He pointed upward.
The light swelled.
Out of it stepped a figure robed in white and soot, carrying a lantern that burned without flame — the Saintess.
Her bare feet touched the stair only once before the Tower itself steadied, as though bracing for her. She looked human — but the edges of her form blurred, like she existed half a second ahead of everyone else.
She smiled faintly at them all, then fixed her gaze on Hae-won.
"So it's true," she said. "The Harvester has awakened."
Do-hyun frowned. "Excuse me, the what?"
"The one who tips the Pendulum," she murmured. "The being who harvests the dead so the Tower can measure its balance. You shouldn't exist, Cha Hae-won."
Hae-won tilted his head, half-amused. "Yeah, people keep saying that."
The Saintess raised her lantern. Inside it flickered not fire, but souls — small motes of light pulsing in rhythm with the pendulum overhead. "Every Tower has its counterweights. Saints climb upward, purifying what remains. Harvesters descend, reclaiming what is lost. When one rises, the other must fall."
"So why are you here?" Arin asked, stepping slightly in front of Hae-won.
"To keep the pendulum from breaking."
The Saintess descended one step, her eyes glimmering gold. "But it's already cracking."
The stair beneath them groaned.
A fissure split through the marble, and through it they saw flashes of other levels — 50, 62, 73 — collapsing and reforming in loops. The pendulum system was overclocking, running regressions through physical space.
Hae-won's chains reacted instinctively, snapping outward to stabilize the structure.
The Chains of Regression shimmered pale, looping around pillars; the Chain of Judgment glowed darker, digging into the floor to anchor them.
For a second the world held together.
The Saintess watched with something like awe — and fear.
"You're not supposed to be able to do that," she whispered.
"I'm not supposed to be alive," Hae-won said evenly. "Guess the Tower and I have a disagreement."
The pendulum swung again. This time the light dragged something else up from below — a thousand whispering echoes, the unclaimed souls of players who'd failed their climbs. They orbited the party like dust caught in sunlight.
The Saintess flinched. "You're pulling them into you."
"They called me Harvester," Hae-won said quietly. "Might as well do the job."
His chains extended, brushing the souls one by one. Each touch transformed them — grief turning to calm, rage to stillness. They drifted upward, entering the Saintess's lantern until it glowed like a small star.
The Tower's hum softened. The pendulum slowed.
[ Balance Restored — Temporary. ]
[ Next Calibration in 6 hours. ]
Everyone exhaled.
For a heartbeat it felt like peace.
Then the Saintess spoke again, voice low. "You understand what that means, don't you? Every soul you harvest… brings the pendulum closer to zero. When it stops, both paths — ascent and descent — end. The Tower dies."
Hae-won looked past her, toward the endless spiral disappearing into light.
"If dying ends the loop," he said, "then maybe that's what it's for."
Arin caught his wrist. "Don't say that."
He looked down at her hand — small, shaking — then up again, something almost tender ghosting across his expression.
"I'm just saying," he murmured, "if the world's a pendulum, someone has to stand still in the middle."
The chains coiled tighter, their hum resonating with the Tower's pulse.
Above them, the pendulum light froze — poised between swing and stillness.
Somewhere deep below, something laughed.
The stairs stopped moving, but the world did not stop breathing.
The pendulum's hum sank into the walls, a pulse under the marble, like a giant's heart beating far beneath them.
For a while, nobody spoke. The Saintess held her lantern low, the light inside flickering with hundreds of small souls now at rest.
Hae-won stood a few steps below her, the chains at his wrists whispering against the stone — impatient, unsettled.
Arin finally broke the silence.
"So what now? We just keep climbing and hope the Tower doesn't swing again?"
The Saintess shook her head. "The pendulum doesn't stop because you rest. It stops when balance is paid. Each ascent must be matched by a descent."
Her gaze moved to Hae-won. "You're the only one who can descend without losing form. That's why it chose you."
Hae-won gave a humorless smile. "Yeah. Lucky me."
He turned from them, pressing a palm to the nearest wall. The stone was warm. When he closed his eyes, it thrummed in the same rhythm as his heartbeat.
For a moment, he was back at the academy — the scent of chalk, the sterile white corridors that echoed too loud.
The hum of the Tower became the buzz of fluorescent lights.
Footsteps. Laughter. The faint hiss of whispers that weren't meant for him.
"He shouldn't even be here."
"Scholarship kid, right? He's just pretending."
"He's not like us."
The words layered over one another, until the sound became a low roar.
His hands trembled; the chains clattered against the steps.
"Hae-won?" Arin's voice was close — real — but it tangled with the voices from the past.
He saw the locker door closing in his face. The chalk dust someone had thrown at his uniform. The day he found his notebook ripped to shreds, his essays used as kindling behind the dorms.
And later, the rooftop — where he'd stood on the rail, the city below blurring like fog — whispering to no one, "If I can't rewrite it, maybe I can just stop it here."
The Tower heard that whisper now, echoing it back through the stone.
Each syllable crawled across the marble in lines of light — a regression trying to restart itself.
[ Regression Signal Detected. ]
[ Pendulum Interference — Stabilization Required. ]
The Saintess raised her lantern, alarm flashing in her eyes. "He's bleeding through timelines."
"Hae-won, stop!" Arin grabbed his arm, pulling him back — but his pupils had already dilated, a storm reflecting within.
"I'm fine," he said, but his voice carried two tones — one his, one faintly younger, desperate.
The chain around his right arm tightened, glowing a dull red.
The Saintess's breath caught. "He's changing it… mid-cycle."
Hae-won staggered forward, laughter bubbling up — cracked, wrong. "Funny thing about pendulums," he murmured, half to himself. "You can stop them… if you break the clock."
The Tower didn't like that.
The floor shifted — gravity warped sideways, sending the others sprawling. The Saintess dropped her lantern, but instead of shattering, it floated upward, spilling its light into the stairwell.
For an instant, every level above and below became visible: a thousand staircases, all moving in opposite rhythm.
And in each mirrored layer, a version of Hae-won stood, watching.
Some climbed. Some fell. Some hung from their chains, silent.
The Saintess whispered, horrified, "He's been through every regression at once."
Do-hyun and Seong-wu appeared from the lower landing then — battered, half-burned from their own fights — just in time to see Hae-won's body shudder.
The air thickened, blue chains erupting from his back like wings caught in a storm.
"Back off!" Arin shouted, shielding her eyes. "He's not in control—"
But the Saintess didn't move away. She stepped closer, raising the lantern to his face.
"Hae-won," she said softly. "The pendulum swings because it must. But you—you are not the clock."
Her words struck something buried deep.
Hae-won blinked, the storm faltering for half a breath.
Through the haze, he saw her — not the Saintess, but a reflection of someone else. A girl on the academy rooftop, hand outstretched, saying the same words with the same trembling voice.
"You're not the clock."
He exhaled. The chains recoiled, snapping back around him. The air cleared.
System text flickered faintly in the fading light:
[ Skill Evolution: Chains of Regression → Chains of Judgment (Phase 1 Complete) ]
[ New Sub-type unlocked: Chain of Heaven — active through external anchor (Saintess). ]
[ Warning: Regression function unstable. External trauma interference detected. ]
He looked up, eyes clearer but haunted.
"So," he said quietly, "if I can't stop it… I'll use it."
Arin stepped beside him, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands. "Then we climb. Together."
The light from the Saintess's lantern dimmed to a low golden pulse, the pendulum's hum fading into a tired heartbeat. Dust floated in the air, soft as falling ash.
Arin crouched near Hae-won, still gripping his wrist. His pulse was steady again—but the warmth had left it. His chains lay motionless, two lengths of molten silver and ash-black steel that pulsed faintly, like veins made visible.
Do-hyun broke the silence first. "That… was regression energy," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "Except—it didn't roll him back."
Seong-wu nodded grimly. "Because he refused it. He forced the system to evolve mid-cycle."
The Saintess sank to her knees, exhaustion dulling her glow. "He shouldn't even be standing. That much cross-timeline resonance…" She shook her head. "No human body could—"
"He isn't just human anymore." Arin's tone was sharp but quiet. "And he hasn't been for a long time."
Hae-won's eyes opened then—dull silver, reflecting nothing. He sat up slowly, brushing dust from his coat. "How long was I out?"
"Six hours," Arin said softly. "The pendulum stabilized. For now."
"Good." He rose, the motion unsteady but deliberate. "Then we move."
No one argued, but the air around him felt heavier. The Tower itself seemed to hesitate, the walls breathing in quiet rhythm with his steps.
They reached the threshold of the next landing—a long bridge of glass suspended over a void that shimmered with faint constellations. The System's text floated across the chasm like a silent decree:
[ Floor 50 — Descent of Balance ]
[ Condition: The one who carries judgment must meet the one who heals. ]
[ Victory Condition: Only one path may ascend. ]
A low wind sighed across the bridge.
Arin's hand went instinctively to her weapon. "That doesn't sound like—"
Her sentence broke off as the air rippled, light folding into shape. A figure emerged from the opposite end of the bridge—a young man in plain white armor, his cloak bearing no emblem, only the faint mark of a cross fading in and out of existence.
The Saintess inhaled sharply. "That's…"
"The Healer," Do-hyun finished grimly. "Yoo Ji-an."
He was exactly as the legends whispered: clean-cut, calm, expression unreadable. His eyes were pale, almost colorless, as if divinity had burned out whatever humanity had been there.
And above his head, faint but visible, hovered a single line of System text that made everyone still:
[ Protagonist Path: Healer of the Last Cycle ]
Ji-an's gaze slid across them before stopping on Hae-won.
For a heartbeat, neither moved. Then Ji-an smiled—the kind of smile that doesn't reach the eyes.
"So you're the one the Tower calls the Harvester of Death."
His voice was level, quiet, almost polite. "I was wondering when we'd meet."
Hae-won didn't answer. The chains coiled once, instinctively, but he kept them still.
Ji-an continued, stepping forward. "I've seen your records. Five hundred and four regressions. You've rewritten entire timelines, stolen fates, killed gods and men alike. Tell me, Cha Hae-won—how many people had to die before you decided you were the hero?"
The words landed harder than any weapon.
Arin flinched. The Saintess looked down. Even Seong-wu's grip tightened around his blade.
Hae-won's expression didn't change, but the silver in his eyes deepened—like mercury spilling across glass. "You talk like someone who's never died before."
"I've died plenty," Ji-an replied, his smile fading. "The difference is, I didn't drag the world down with me each time."
The air between them crackled. Two system signatures, opposite and incompatible, pressed against each other until the glass bridge began to groan under the tension.
Arin took a step forward. "Stop—both of you—"
But Ji-an lifted a hand, and a soft green barrier bloomed around them, shimmering like sunlight through water. "Relax," he said. "I'm not here to fight. The Tower wouldn't allow it yet."
Then he turned back to Hae-won. "But understand this. Every scenario so far has collapsed because of you. Every worldline I've healed rots when you appear. The Tower called me here to restore equilibrium."
He paused. "That means erasing your path."
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Finally, Hae-won chuckled—a small, weary sound. "Equilibrium, huh? You sound just like the headmaster used to."
He looked up, meeting Ji-an's pale gaze. "You want balance? Then you'll have to climb the same hell I did."
Ji-an's eyes narrowed. "And if that means cutting your chain?"
Hae-won's grin was slow, feral, but tired. "Then you'd better pray your healing magic works on souls."
The System flared in response, their identifiers briefly overlapping:
[ Conflict Designation: Harvester of Death vs. Healer of Paths ]
[ Relationship: Antagonistic / Shared Timeline ]
[ Forced Alliance Duration: 24 hours — scenario overlap. ]
Both men froze as the golden sigil of a pact appeared between them, locking their wrists in a single band of light.
Do-hyun groaned. "Great. A healer and a psychopath chained together by the gods. What could possibly go wrong?"
Arin smacked his arm. "Shut up, Do-hyun."
Hae-won looked down at the glowing chain that linked his arm to Ji-an's. "Guess the Tower wants a show."
Ji-an's voice was calm again, but his words dripped like acid. "Enjoy your hour of freedom, Harvester. After that, the clock resets—and I'll be waiting."
The light between them pulsed, sealing the pact. The pendulum above the Tower began to move again.
Up.
Down.
Two paths swinging toward inevitable collision.
Hae-won nodded once, glancing toward the pendulum's glow. "Together," he echoed — but the small twitch in his jaw said what the System already knew:
He didn't believe in "together" anymore.