The deeper forest was a labyrinth of shadows. Trees twisted like warped pillars, their roots curling into half-formed paths that led… somewhere.
But Ilwoo had learned to trust his gut about these things, and his gut was telling him exactly where the path went.
The first sign of trouble came as a low growl in the dark. Three shadow wolves stray from a larger pack. Perfect for gaining experience without alerting the whole forest to him.
The fights didn't last long. What had once been deadly encounters now felt like drills. His blade flowed from strike to strike, each kill so clean the wolves barely had time to snarl.
[LEVEL UP!]
[LEVEL 4↑]
The sensation of leveling up felt like bathing in a hot spring, warmth spreading through every muscle and bone, washing away fatigue, sharpening his hearing until he could count the rustle of individual leaves in the breeze.
That's when he saw it thirty meters ahead, hidden behind a curtain of trees grown so close no light could slip between them.
Stood a ruin, its shape vaguely resembling an old temple. Cracked stone walls were swallowed by thick vines and moss, nature claiming every inch.
At its center, an archway stood stubbornly intact, its heavy door sealed tight.
"This is the place," Ilwoo muttered, recognizing the familiar sight.
"It has to be."
He moved slowly, every nerve on edge for a possible ambush. The forest around the ruins felt too quiet, like even the animals were smart enough to stay away.
The door looked exactly the same as he remembered. He stared at it. There was no handle, no visible way to open it.
But Ilwoo grinned, because he knew how to open the door.
He slowly drew his sword and dragged the blade across his palm.
A sharp jolt shot through him, he'd cut deeper than expected. Blood welled up from the wound, trickling down his fingers.
Pressing his lips, he took a deep breath and pressed his bleeding hand against the door's surface.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then his blood stirred, seeping into thin cracks in the stone that he hadn't noticed before.
It spread in twisting patterns across the door, forming symbols he didn't recognize, but somehow understood. It was a kind of language, one that belonged to this tower.
The markings glowed briefly red, then faded back to bare stone.
The door opened silently, swinging outward, the century's worth of dust falling.
He was coughing, looking at the inside of the open door.
Beyond was a room that looked nothing like the outside. While the outside had fallen into crumbled debris, the inside was untouched, like time had simply stopped.
The stone walls were covered with detailed carvings of ancient battles, and the floor was made of neat tiles that looked freshly placed.
In the center of the chamber stood an altar.
A stone platform stood about waist-high. Planted right in the middle was a sword. Its blade shimmered with a faint light, glowing as if it had a heartbeat of its own.
But rather than heading straight to the altar, Ilwoo circled it slowly, eyeing the murals on each wall, images he'd seen a thousand times while playing the game.
The paintings showed warriors locked in battle, fighting off beasts that looked a lot like the monsters now roaming the world.
"Same old stuff now…" he muttered. His head whipped toward the thing he'd been looking for, and then his eyes landed on it.
"Gotcha."
He stepped toward the corner of the chamber, where a stone dragon loomed, its open mouth aligned with his eye level.
"Do you know how long it took me to figure this out the first time?" he muttered at the statue.
It didn't respond, just stared back with empty silence, the red crystal in its chest sockets glinting faintly as they reflected his face.
"Whatever," he grumbled, rubbing his head.
He put his hand on the crystal and pushed it.
He heard a faint click from beneath the floor.
Behind him, a section of wall swung sideways, revealing a hidden chamber.
Inside, a sword lay on the floor wrapped in old clothes.
The sword looked rough next to the altar weapon. Its blade was stained with rust, chipped, and dull from years of use. The handle was wrapped in what was probably leather once, now just crumbling strips.
But when Ilwoo's fingers closed around the hilt, he felt the weight of real steel—a weapon that had seen genuine battle and survived.
[YOU ACQUIRED ??? SWORD]
"Found you," he murmured, looking at the worn blade.
The sword in the altar was a trap—he remembered that much from his gaming days.
The first time he played this part, he had snatched up the shiny weapon without thinking and paid a heavy price for being greedy.
The cursed blade had dropped his level all the way to one and kept draining his health until he finally died.
He spent months digging through articles and chatting on forums before he finally found the hidden room and the real prize inside.
He held the sword tighter. This was his only shot at changing the game in this godforsaken tower.
He strapped the wrapped sword firmly to his belt, next to his sword. Two blades now, one for show, the other for real work.
Before stepping outside for the last time, he glanced at the sword shining on the altar. Maybe someday, some foolish person would take it and repeat the mistakes he made in his life.
Then, he turned away from the temptation and walked back toward his party.
They had a guardian to kill, and now he had the weapon to do it.