A leather boot sank deep into the snow as a man cloaked in black trudged toward the skeletal silhouette of a tree.
The howling winds battered him without mercy, the cold gnawing through the layers of cloth and scraping at his skin like knives. His thoughts slowed, dulled by the frost seeping into his bones.
He knew—without needing to count the minutes—that he wouldn't last long like this.
Still, he kept moving and took a look at the blue display hovering before his eyes.
[Floor 56 — Clear conditions: Eradicate the Frost Apocalypse.]
'Eradicate… it most certainly isn't possible.'
As the man had such a thought, through the screaming gales came the sound of a faint sob.
Moving toward the sound, the man made out several figures gathered at the bottom of the hill.
Even through the raging blizzard, he could feel a sense of panic and sadness in the unrestrained sobs.
"I beg you! Please… please use that blessing or my sister won't make it!" cried a young woman with pointed ears, hugging a motionless body in her arms.
"How many times do I have to say it?" snapped a man with fat bearings, his breath steaming with every curse.
"That blessing can only be used once on this floor. I'll use it when everyone's life is on the line. When we've all fallen in grave danger!"
"We should leave the baggage behind," someone muttered. "They'll only slow us down."
"I agree."
"These two elves barely contributed anything anyway."
The group clustered around the man, their gazes heavy with disdain as they looked down at the sisters.
"In your next life," a tall man said coldly as he turned away, "come better prepared before challenging a floor. Move. The blizzard won't wait."
From a distance, the man in black robes watched in silence.
A cold glint soon flashed in his eyes.
He skidded down the slope, blending into the snow like a phantom as he inched closer to the departing group.
The young elf holding her sister only saw a faint shadow brush past her before a scream of excruciating pain rang out.
"Ahhhhhh!"
The group surrounding the fat man halted at once.
"What?"
Before they could make sense of it, more terrifying screams echoed through the snow.
The fat man trembled as each scream lasted only a second before falling completely silent.
There had been people around him just moments ago. Now, they disappeared one by one, until only he remained.
"W-what's happening…"
He staggered backward and fell onto his buttocks. Snow engulfed his hands and feet, the cold biting into his skin.
It was then.
As if having heard his question, a hoarse voice answered.
"I won't kill you."
"W… who…"
A man in black robes appeared before the fat man. His face was hidden beneath a hood and scarf, revealing only strands of messy dark hair and a pair of cold eyes.
The black-robed man tossed something to the fat man's side.
When the fat man turned to look, his eyes widened and every strand of hair on his body stood on end.
A warm liquid seeped from between his legs as he pointed a trembling finger at the robed man.
The man shook his head. "I will not kill you because you possess the blessing."
"The blessing? You want the blessing?" the fat man asked hurriedly.
The robed man nodded lightly. "Use it and bring us to safety."
The fat man knew he had no choice. He was certain that any hesitation or deviation would mean instant death.
All his comrades were dead. They had not even been given a chance to fight back. The man before him was monstrously strong.
"O-okay. I'll invoke the blessing. Please don't hurt me."
He struggled to stand, but the robed man seized his collar and dragged him toward the sobbing elf.
The young elf had seen everything. Terror hollowed her eyes as she hugged her unconscious sister tighter, not daring to make a sound.
The robed man released his grip, letting the fat man collapse to the ground.
Pulling himself together, the fat man hastily assumed a praying posture. No explanation was needed. He knew the robed man intended to bring the elves along as well.
With clasped hands, he prayed, "Oh lord, please bring our group out of this extreme cold and guide us get out of this floor swiftly."
A blinding light pierced through the clouds and descended upon the four of them.
When it faded, so did they, leaving nothing but headless corpses in the blizzard on whom snow slowly piled up.
…..
A grand spire looked down on the four people that stood at its entrance.
Behind them raged the winter storm, while before them lay a massive metallic gate.
If one saw the four figures properly, they would see multiple cuts across their bodies, inflicted by the hail, along with purplish burns left by the cold.
"Go inside," the robed man instructed.
The fat man didn't dare refute and pushed the metallic gate, walking inside.
A few minutes later, the robed man turned toward the silent elf carrying her sister on her back.
"Come back after two minutes."
The elf's brows quivered. She nodded and stepped through the gate.
Unlike the fat man, the elf was not overwhelmed by fear. She bore no enmity toward the robed man and was instead grateful for his actions.
Aside from her and her sister, the entire group had been human. When the elves proved useless, they were abandoned without hesitation.
Compared to that fate, the end they met now felt soothing to her soul.
Because of this man, she had escaped the frost and entered a place of safety.
Once the elves disappeared and two minutes had passed, the black-robed man's expression turned grim.
He pushed open the metallic gate and looked inside.
A narrow passage stretched ahead. At its end stood the fat man and the two elves, side by side and completely motionless.
The man knitted his brows and advanced cautiously, his guard raised.
There was no sense of danger at all.
When he reached them, he noticed their gazes fixed on the wall.
He followed their line of sight and saw an ancient painting etched into the stone.
In that instant, every hair on his body stood on end as an overwhelming sense of death pressed down on him.
He tried to avert his gaze at once, but it was already too late.
He had seen something he never should have.
It was a dark chamber.
A hooded figure with nothing but darkness where his face should have been held a quill in trembling hands. He muttered under his breath as he stared at a blood-colored hexagram drawn on goatskin parchment.
Anyone who witnessed this scene would find it impossible to look away, their gaze trapped against their will.
The robed man bit down on his tongue with all his strength, nearly biting it off.
The immersion shattered.
He returned to reality only to vomit mouthfuls of blood, his body convulsing as crimson poured from his seven orifices.
Soon, a murmur echoed in his ears, distorted and unhinged, like the chant of a madman.
"…it was… all… wrong…"
"…it was all wrong…"
"…it was allwrong…"
"…itwasallwrong…"
"Itwasallwrongitwasallwrongitwasallwrongitwasallwrongitwasallwrong!Itwasallwrong!Itwasallwrong!TheSixPathsshould'veneverbeenabandoned!Itwasallwrong!Itwasallwrong!Itwasallwrong!Itwasallwrong!TheSixPathsshould'veneverbeenabandoned!Itwasallwrong!Itwasallwrong!…"
He clawed at the ground, nails scraping as his bloodied fingers dug into the floor in a desperate attempt to find purchase. He clung to the last fragment of life within him.
It was already too late.
A blue screen with white text appeared within his blood-blurred vision.
[Floor 56: Abnormal activity detected.]
[Current survivors: 0]
[Notifying Administrator…]
[Reclassifying Frost Apocalypse difficulty…]
[Assessment complete.]
[Conclusion: Apocalypse exceeds Tower capacity.]
[Replacing…]
The narrow passage vanished. The floor dissolved. Everything ceased to exist.
What remained was boundless space.
Around him, near and far, all he could see through his crimson haze were the corpses of Hunters drifting in silence.
He would soon join them.
Moments passed.
The void was replaced by a vibrant, unfamiliar world.
The corpses fell across the land. Some plunged into water. Some were buried beneath the earth. Others crashed atop buildings.
The man and three bodies landed together in the heart of a forest.
Not long after, a wild beast wandered into view.
The last thing the man saw before his vision faded completely was the drool dripping from the jaws of a lion-like creature with a wool-covered body.
.
.
.
The sound of flowing water rang in his ears. It lingered for a long while before his vision slowly returned.
The world was a haze.
Dark. Desolate. Doomed.
These were the words that came to mind the moment one looked upon the collapsing orange skies.
Cling!
A sharp tug at his hands and feet, followed by intense pain at those same places, dragged him out of his stupor.
"Get moving!" A commanding voice snapped, reminding him that he could hear again.
A group of people clad in tattered clothes held red gemstones in their hands as they shuffled toward a gigantic metal gate.
The structure to which the gate belonged stretched endlessly upward, dwarfing everything beneath it until even mountains seemed like specks of dust.
Before such a sight, the already insignificant lives of the slaves felt even smaller. Their lifeless eyes turned away from the overwhelming grandeur as they continued forward in a single line.
At last, the former black-robed man, now dressed in coarse linen, crossed through the gate.
A blue screen appeared before his eyes, white letters forming upon it as a cold mechanical voice echoed in his ears.
[Welcome to the Tower, Hunter.]