Elian walked until his feet hurt. He didn't know where he was going, but his legs knew the path better than he did.
When he finally looked up, he was standing in front of the massive obsidian gates of the Tower.
"Of course," Elian scoffed bitterly. "Where else would I go?"
The tavern was full of painful memories. The inn was too quiet. But the Tower... the Tower was just numbers. Kill or be killed. It was simple. It was safe.
He touched the portal.
[Floor 10: The Crypt of the Forgotten.]
He bypassed the skeletons. He ran straight for the Boss Room. He needed to hit something.
He kicked the doors open. The Death Knight sat on its throne, just as before.
"Get up," Elian growled, drawing The Reaper's Edge.
The boss rose and charged.
Elian didn't use strategy this time. He didn't target joints. He just swung.
SHIIIING.
The modified Greatsword sang through the air. The lighter, slimmer blade was fast—terrifyingly fast for its reach.
CLANG.
He parried the boss's massive zweihänder, sparks flying. The impact vibrated through his bones, shaking the image of Seraphina's sad smile out of his head.
"Again!" Elian roared, stepping in and slashing the Knight's chest.
[Effect Triggered: Bleed.]
Black smoke poured from the cut.
The fight lasted three minutes. There was no purple light. No "Crypt Resonance." No mutation. The boss was just a standard Level 10 mob. When Elian delivered the final blow, it shattered into standard bone dust.
[Boss Defeated.]
[Loot: 2 Gold, Rusted Gauntlets.]
No secret chests. No black cubes.
Elian stood in the empty room, his chest heaving. It felt hollow. The victory felt like nothing.
"Good," Elian whispered, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Nothing is good."
He waited for the respawn timer.
Ten minutes later, the Death Knight formed again.
Elian attacked again.
He spent the entire night there. Kill. Respawn. Kill. Respawn. He practiced his footwork with the new weapon, learning exactly how much momentum he needed to sever a limb, exactly how long the "Bleed" effect lasted.
He turned his trauma into muscle memory. By the time the sun rose outside, Elian had slaughtered the boss twelve times. He was exhausted, but his mind was finally silent.
Two Days Later
The morning of the Tournament.
Elian stood in his room, staring at his bed. It was covered in gear.
In his past life, he would have brought a sword, five potions, and a whetstone. That was standard for a Level 10 tournament.
But the "Standard" was dead. The Black Cube in his inventory and the Mutated Boss proved that the Tower was changing.
"Over-prepare," Elian muttered. "Assume everything will go wrong."
He began packing his belt pouches and inventory slots.
20x High-Grade Health Potions: (Bought from Luna at a discount).
10x Stamina Draughts: (Standard).
5x Flash Pellets: (Bought from a shady rogue merchant. Blind enemies for 2 seconds).
3x Vials of Acid: (For melting locks or armor).
1x Grappling Hook: (Standard).
1x Bag of Flour: (To reveal invisible enemies).
2x Alpha Blood Serums: (Emergency use only. The heart damage was risky, but dying was worse).
He picked up his Wolf-Hide Vest. It was repaired, stitched together with black thread. He strapped on his Fang-Studded Boots.
Finally, he lifted The Reaper's Edge. He wrapped the hilt in fresh cloth to absorb sweat.
"I look like I'm going to war, not a sporting event," Elian noted, looking at his reflection. He was bristling with tools and weapons.
Most players entered tournaments light to maximize speed. Elian looked like a survivalist.
"Let them laugh," he said, equipping the massive sword on his back. "Dead men don't laugh."
The Coliseum of Beginnings
The Tournament grounds were located in a massive open-air arena just outside the Starter Town. It was packed. Thousands of players cheered from the stands. Flags of different guilds waved in the wind.
The atmosphere was electric. This was the first major event since the Tower opened. Everyone wanted fame. Everyone wanted the prize money.
Elian walked to the Registration Desk.
"Name?" the bored clerk asked.
"Elian."
"Class?"
"Drifter."
The clerk paused. He looked up, smirking. "A Drifter? Kid, this is the main event. Maybe try the spectator seats?"
Elian slammed his hand onto the desk. He leaned in, his eyes cold.
"Write the name down."
The clerk swallowed hard, the smirk vanishing. He felt a chill run down his spine. "R-right. Elian. Drifter. You're in Block C."
Elian took his number tag—#404—and walked into the waiting area for the combatants.
The holding room was filled with players flexing their muscles and sharpening weapons.
"Look at that sword," someone whispered. "It's huge."
"Is that the guy from the rumors? The Ghost?"
"Nah, looks like a hobo. Look at all those pouches."
Elian ignored them. He found a corner, sat down, and closed his eyes. He visualized the Death Knight. He visualized the swing.
"Attention!" a magical voice boomed over the arena.
[The First Tower Climber Tournament is about to begin!]
[Format: Battle Royale.]
[Objective: Survive.]
Elian's eyes snapped open.
Battle Royale.
In the past timeline, the first tournament was 1v1 Duels. Organized. Civilized.
"It changed again," Elian whispered, gripping his sword.
[Rule Update: 100 Fighters will enter the arena. Only 10 will advance to the finals. Anything goes.]
The gate to the arena groaned open, revealing the blinding sunlight and the roaring crowd.
Elian stood up. He checked his pouches one last time.
"I knew I brought the flour for a reason," he muttered.
He stepped out into the light, ready for chaos.