Hans appeared in silence at the center of the clearing, his body materializing like a compact shadow after his master's [Greater Teleportation]. Before him rose a colossal tree whose crown seemed to merge with the sky. From the trunk spiraled crystalline stairs, gleaming with a cold radiance, as if fragments of solidified light marked the path into the depths of the Tower.
The ninja stepped forward, his feet barely making a sound as they touched the first step. Within seconds, a soft hum announced the arrival of several bees the size of a fist. Their stingers vibrated with venom, but Hans did not flinch. His ninjatō flashed from its sheath, and in less than a breath the insects fell, cleaved into pieces.
He advanced calmly to the entrance of the tree. There, a smooth stone surface greeted him, inscribed with ancient words still legible despite the wear of time:
"This facility was built for the training of elves.
Therefore, the devices responsible for sustaining life will not activate for any other race."
"The facility will impose no restrictions, so please be cautious, as any action you take will be under your own responsibility."
"If your property is damaged, no compensation will be given."
Hans studied the inscriptions in silence. Neither surprise nor irritation altered his expression. He simply inclined his head slightly and moved on.
The air shifted as soon as he crossed the threshold: the smell of damp earth, rotting leaves, and stale magic enveloped him. After only three steps, the mist on the ground gathered and took form. A short, clumsy body emerged from it—a goblin of weeds, with twisted roots for limbs and sap-filled eyes glowing a dull green.
[Weed Goblin – Level 1]
Hans did not even draw his blade. A translucent dagger of mana appeared in his hand and pierced through the creature's vegetal skull, pinning it to the ground. The monster dissolved into dust, leaving behind a small gem the size of a pea.
The ninja picked it up, rolled it between his fingers, and then stored it away in silence. With calm precision, he drew out a black notebook and wrote:
"The first enemy appeared upon entry. Weed goblin-shaped creature. Very weak. Upon death, generates a small gem. Possible key or accumulative resource."
A detailed sketch accompanied the notes. Once finished, he continued walking, evaluating every detail of the environment with measured attention.
The walls bore faint inscriptions, carved in an ancient tongue. Hans closed his eyes and let his perception expand. Patiently, he connected the fragments.
Though not specialized in information gathering as a ninja, his eyes were among the sharpest, and as an assassin he possessed many useful abilities—especially in a place like this, where nothing could resist someone beyond level 80.
"In total, there are two hundred levels in this Cradle. Each block appears divided into ten floors. Twenty spiral staircases interconnect the strata. Simple design, likely due to its training purpose."
He placed two fingers before him, and his shadow rippled like black water. Four identical figures emerged, mirroring every detail of his posture and armament.
[Multi-Shadow Clone].
Each replica held only a fraction of his true strength, but it was enough. The clones dispersed silently, some advancing down corridors, others probing intersections. From the darkness, Shadow Demons followed closely, ensuring that even if a clone perished, its information would return intact to the original body.
Hans left the review of the lower floors to his clones and continued upward by the staircase.
Upon reaching the tenth level, he found a central crystal stair ascending to the next floor. At its base, a stone arch blocked the way. In the middle was a lock with nine circular slots.
Each had to be filled with gems obtained from the boss monsters of the nine preceding floors.
Hans confirmed this after his clones reported encountering, on floor two, a vegetal ogre, and on floor three, a wolf-bodied beast with branches instead of fur. Each had dropped different gems.
"Each floor has a unique boss. Upon death, it generates gems that serve as keys. Nine are required to activate the door."
But the system was not the only option.
Hans placed his hand on the stone, which responded with a low rumble. The air trembled as a macabre figure emerged from the portal: a living suit of armor wielding a bastard sword, radiating hostility.
[Living Armor – Level 10]
The guard advanced with heavy steps, the ground vibrating beneath its hollow boots. Hans did not retreat. His figure dissolved into shadow and reappeared behind the armor. The sharp sound of his palm piercing through the helm rang out, followed by a crunch as the creature collapsed.
From within emerged another gem, larger than the previous ones. Hans stored it with the same detachment as before and noted:
"Alternative exists. Gate Guardian. Allows advancement without collecting prior boss gems. Low level, no real threat."
With the final note completed, the ninja closed the notebook and resumed his ascent, the shadows of his clones spreading like a net across the lower levels.
Hans advanced along the spiral staircase. His steps multiplied in echoes, while the bluish light of the walls illuminated his way. Reports from his clones flowed steadily into him: weak monsters, variations of plants and minor beasts—nothing that posed any real obstacle.
Before reaching the twentieth floor, one of the clones detected a side passage covered in vines. The ninja headed there without hesitation. After pushing aside the vegetation, he entered a natural chamber, more alive than the rest of the Tower. A soft scent of moss and flowers permeated the air.
Though the place seemed poorly maintained, the greenery had grown far beyond what it should have.
At the center, leaning against a trunk sprouting from the wall, was a female figure with green skin and hair like young branches. She resembled a child, though her eyes held the stillness of an ancient forest.
[Dryad – Level 21]
At his arrival, the creature sighed with a weariness that seemed to carry centuries.
"No… I won't fight. I'm out of mana… come back later when I've recovered." Her voice was slow, drowsy. "Although… even if I recover, I doubt I could defeat you."
The girl squinted as if to see something in him, but quickly tired and leaned back again.
Hans stopped before her. He opened his notebook and asked calmly:
"What is your function in this Tower?"
The dryad stared at him without comprehension at first. Then she tilted her head against the trunk.
"…Speaking takes too much effort… can't you ask someone else?"
Hans gave no answer. A kunai flew, slicing off a strand of her leafy hair, which fell to the ground.
The dryad's eyes widened in fright, and she raised her hands.
"W-wait, wait! I'll talk, I'll talk!" She swallowed hard, trying to compose herself.
"Answer," Hans said, his tone unchanged.
She pressed her lips for a moment and then, in a faint voice, began to speak:
"When I'm in good condition… I can open a hidden access. Records are kept there, left by the Tower's creator for visitors: knowledge, instructions…" A yawn interrupted her words, and she covered her mouth with a childlike gesture. "I could also activate a teleporter… up to the hundredth floor. But right now, I have no mana."
Hans wrote down her answers in his notebook.
The dryad hugged her knees and muttered softly about the existence of another dryad higher up. However, that one had already withered due to lack of care. Hans made no comment, but noted it as well.
When he finished, Hans snapped the notebook shut and approached the wall covered in hidden runes.
"It won't work…" the dryad murmured weakly. "Without my mana, that passage can't be opened."
The ninja gave no reply. He placed his hand on the stone, and a crackling sound ran through the corridor. The runes lit up, and the wall slid open, revealing a hidden passage.
Hans's class, descended from the lineage of thieves, granted him skills to disarm traps, open locks, and force hidden passages with the same ease others swung a sword. For him, breaking the seal of that wall was a mere formality.
The dryad blinked in astonishment.
"H-how…?"
Hans did not answer.
The girl pouted in response, more annoyed than intrigued, and dropped her head back against the trunk.
"You're… strange. And you don't even smell like an elf…"
Hans jotted more notes into his notebook before offering a few words in payment for her earlier cooperation.
"I'm not an elf. I was sent by the new owner of the Tower."
The dryad straightened slightly, surprised.
"New owner?"
With her voice trailing in the background, Hans entered the hidden corridor, his steps swallowed by the gloom. Reports from his clones continued to flow through the network of shadows, ensuring that no detail would be lost.
He slipped the notebook back into his cloak and advanced without looking back. The dryad remained slumped against the trunk, eyes half-closed, murmuring words that were lost in the chamber's damp breeze.
The ninja did not stop to listen. To him, all of it was just another entry in the record. What mattered was what he would deliver to his master.
The dryad watched him for a moment, as if she wished to ask another question. In the end, she only sighed and shut her eyes, surrendering once more to exhaustion.
***
Satoru rested with his elbow on the throne's armrest and his cheek supported by his hand. His eyes were half-closed, silently reviewing the information Zen had provided about the Tower. The distant echo of the corridors mingled with the faint flicker of magical lights.
Suddenly, he opened his eyes.
"…So, you are the first to arrive."
He turned his head and saw the servants entering the hall. There were eight of them, identical, blonde, and silent like soulless dolls. Apart from their hairstyles, there was nothing to distinguish them at a glance. Each wore pieces of armor and carried various weapons.
Behind them advanced three golems carrying chests and bags enlarged with altered internal space.
They knelt at the foot of the carpet. The sound of metal and stone echoed softly through the chamber.
"Well done." Satoru's voice was as serene as a knife laid on a table. "Now, show me the mana potions."
The servants exchanged barely perceptible glances.
Some of them stepped forward, carrying boxes full of glowing vials. One golem bore two more stacked in its stone arms. They placed them before the throne. Satoru leaned forward as if to inspect them and deliberately turned his back.
That was the moment they had been waiting for.
The golem extended its arms and seized him violently, imprisoning him within its stone grip.
The metal creature closed its hands around Satoru. The screech of steel reverberated through the hall, harsh and heavy, yet the Overlord did not move. He remained seated, trapped in iron arms, without showing the slightest resistance.
Seven of the eight servants surrounded him with weapons raised. Their identical faces showed neither hatred nor doubt, only the icy obedience of dolls created for a single purpose.
Silence stretched, broken only by the scrape of shifting plates as the golems adjusted their weight.
Zen stirred at once, the violet flames in his sockets blazing with fury. Shadow tentacles sprouted from his robe, but halted when Satoru's calm voice cut through the air.
"Enough." Without struggling to free himself, he merely raised his voice slightly. "I will give you a chance: what is it you seek?"
One of the homunculi stepped forward. Satoru recognized her as the girl who had stood at Zen's side when he first arrived. The servants had no names, but he recalled she was referred to as No. 1.
"We want to free our master."
Zen slowly lifted his skull. The violet flames of his eyes burned brightly, and his hollow voice filled the hall.
"My purpose is here."
No. 1 stepped forward, each of her movements echoed by the metallic tread of the golems. She stopped a short distance from the undead and clenched her fists.
"And your dream, master?" she asked with a hint of plea.
The flames in Zen's eyes flickered, but his answer was firm.
"That dream no longer exists. My priorities have changed."
The tension became unbearable. No. 1 lowered her head, closed her eyes for a moment, and murmured:
"…Then forgive me, master."
From her garments she drew an amulet marked with runes. Its glow ignited upon contact with her mana. Zen reacted at once: shadowy tentacles burst from his body, lashing like beasts ready to strike.
No. 1 raised her voice:
"No. 2! No. 7! With me!"
"Yes!" they replied in unison.
The three advanced on Zen, while the shadows churned like a raging sea, closing around them.
The hall was charged with tension. The three servants, led by No. 1, grappled with Zen. Tentacles tore the air as they forced their way forward with the determination of those who knew no fear.
Satoru, still imprisoned by the metal golem, observed in silence. His eyes drifted toward the homunculi surrounding him, all with weapons poised. Internally, he let out a sigh.
"This is pointless," he finally said, his tone low and cutting.
He moved his hand slightly, pointing his palm at the golem restraining him.
"I am a necromancer. Taking Zen away will change nothing. The only way to free him…"
From his hand erupted [Silent Magic: Shockwave]. An invisible wave shattered the golem's body, twisting its metal like clay and hurling it against the wall.
Satoru finished his sentence with the same frozen calm:
"…is by defeating me."
The servants tensed, but did not retreat. One raised her weapon, her gaze hardening.
"We will fight for our master. So I declare."
They advanced, striking with mechanical precision. Blades clashed against Satoru, but the impacts bounced harmlessly off his body, unable to leave a mark. It was the simplest barrier among his abilities: absolute immunity against low-level beings.
Satoru regarded them without emotion, recalling fragments of the original tale. The homunculus maids, created to test adventurers—always obedient, always ready to sacrifice their lives. They even possessed a technique that consumed them entirely in exchange for greater strength. Zen had unleashed them upon Satou in the higher levels of the Tower, hoping to forge him into the hero who would defeat him.
At that time, Satou had merely knocked them unconscious one by one. Only afterward had Zen revealed his true desire: to die and reunite with his wife. A wish he could not fulfill himself.
Blessed by the deity who had brought him to this world, Zen could only die by the hand of a hero wielding a sacred sword.
Satoru turned his gaze from his attackers and looked forward again. In that instant, he saw a tentacle pierce the body of No. 1. The leader fell, but before collapsing she tossed the amulet to one of her sisters.
Satoru observed the scene without stirring. The homunculi around him did not cease their futile assault.
"This is useless," he repeated coldly.
In his mind, the image completed itself: when Zen finally died, those same servants had accepted Satou as their new master, without needless bloodshed. Satou had given them a place, even a purpose. He, on the other hand, saw only corpses piling at his feet.
"With such meager strength… what do you hope to achieve?" he asked, his voice so calm it sounded crueller than a shout. "You say you fight for your lord, but all your lord desires is death."
Satoru's eyes gleamed in the gloom.
"I can grant him that death. But I am not charitable. If I help him, it will be because I gain something in return: his knowledge. And once I have it, Zen will die."
None of them answered; their expressions remained firm, hardening as if they refused to believe his words.
Soon after, another tentacle pierced a servant. The darkness thrashed violently.
At last, the servants' expressions shifted, and two rushed to aid the last of their sisters locked in combat with Zen.
"I do not understand."
The air around Satoru thickened, his aura seeping slowly into the hall. Within him, a pang of displeasure grew: everything was straying, everything was diverging from how it should have been.
"They have no names. No strength. No intellect. No worth…"
His words dragged like invisible blades.
"…Why do they refuse to follow their script?"
Satoru knew, deep inside, what this feeling was… annoyance.
Everyone in the hall froze, as though gravity itself had increased, a glacial chill sinking into their limbs. Even the golems, mindless beings, seemed to falter under the weight of Satoru's aura upon their metal bodies.
The air trembled under the invisible pressure, but then the weight vanished. Satoru's aura extinguished as if it had never existed.
The Overlord raised his gaze toward the cracked ceiling, indifferent to the trembling weapons still pointed at him.
"It no longer matters." His voice was flat, as though he had cast off all annoyance. "Hans."
The name was an order.
A flash of light cut through the hall like a blade. The servants and the golems barely managed to turn their heads before the radiance engulfed them.
It no longer mattered; if they would not play their role, neither would he.
***
Time passed without leaving a clear trace. When calm returned to the hall, the corpses of the homunculi had already vanished, and several of Satoru's undead servants worked silently among piles of books and opened chests. The records of the Tower's original creator lay spread across improvised tables, and the shadows of the [Death Mages] bent over them like silent scribes.
Satoru observed them only briefly. In his mind, that task was already settled: the research could continue without him. Officially, everything that interested him in Seiryuu was finished.
He turned his gaze to Hans.
"Your findings accelerated this process more than expected," he said in a neutral tone. "Therefore, you will receive a reward."
With a gesture, he conjured a pair of black daggers wrapped in a burning edge, imbued with magical fire. The glow of the blades lit the ninja's impassive features.
Hans inclined his head.
"I do not need it. Serving you is enough."
Satoru regarded him in silence, then replied calmly:
"Every good subordinate must be rewarded. Besides, equipment has always been the greatest shortcoming of mercenary NPCs." He extended the daggers. "This will allow you to serve better."
Hans hesitated only an instant before taking the weapons.
"Understood. I will accept them."
Satoru turned toward the hall's windows. The sky was tinged red; he had arrived at the Tower at midday, and now the sun was already sinking on the horizon.
The day was ending—just as the stage of Seiryuu had come to an end.