Tower of Endless: Death Granted Entry

Slave 135 didn’t just hold the blade. He bonded with it.

He was lost inside the familiar yet unfamiliar sensation for a time he failed to follow. He simply failed to let go of it or let his focus drift away from it.

The weight and balance were by no means that of a blade, but more of an axe, not because the weapon was flawed.

But because he himself, Slave 135, was holding it for the first time with his own body.

It was also because his body was lying. He was still a novice when it came to blades, let alone such a special design of blade.

In the memory fragment, the Warrior had moved with a lethal, jarring accuracy that made the blade feel like a natural extension of his spine. But here, in this sterile, silent room, the short blade of Liquid Mountain felt heavy.

The blade felt like it was laughing at him, even mocking him, but that didn’t shake his excitement, didn’t calm his faltering heart.

He swung it.

Whish.

The sound was sharp, cutting through the rotten air of the trial grounds.

He swung again, harder this time, trying to bridge the gap between the ghost-memory of a master and the dull reality of a slave’s muscles.

It wasn’t anywhere near perfect, not even slightly close to what perfection now felt and looked like to him, but compared to the rusted scrap he’d scavenged on the battlefields of the past, this was more than a weapon.

It was a kind of freedom, a sharp and heavy liberation.

Liquid Mountain was a name whose significance he didn’t know, nor what it meant to the one who named it, but the heaviness and possibilities of the blade made the name very befitting.

Eventually, the surge of excitement began to taper off.

He turned his attention to the rest of the rewards.

He began to dress, sliding into the clothes with a wary caution. They weren’t just apparel.

They were his very own identity as a free man.

The T-shirt clung to his frame with a precision that felt engineered rather than tailored. The pants were light, durable, and unrestrictive.

Even the shoes, felt stiff, or rather, reinforced on the outer edges, as though they were designed to absorb the shock of a thousand vertical drops.

The shoes and clothing were so much different from the leather rags the Warrior had, or what was left on his body at the time.

He thought of a reason, but in the end he concluded that it was meaningless. He would accept gifts given to him with gratitude.

He looked down at himself.

Gone was the tattered, blood-stained rag of Slave 135.

In his place stood something that resembled a human being, still blood stained to a certain degree. Though the Mountain emblem imprinted on his chest, his thigh, and his footwear felt less like a brand, honor, or manufacturer’s serial number.

It was something like an identity, or his mind chose to interpret it that way.

His eyes chased after the crimson screen one last time, trying to find anything he had missed during his surge of excitement.

And indeed, a line was lying there, waiting for him to read it.

[You wanted a spear, but a spear would get you killed faster.]

[So make use of this for now 🙂]

’He knew I wanted a spear?!’ his mind screamed. It was a desire he had kept buried in his heart since his return from the bright space.

He kept it locked, unspoken. He didn’t even allow it to show during his fights.

”I’ll use it well, thank you.”

As he finished speaking, his eyes fell on the yellow circle.

Moon stared at the yellow circle. For some reason, he couldn’t avert his gaze, forcefully locking eyes with it.

His gaze froze onto that static, unblinking smile.

And from that face, he felt unspeakable terror creeping into his heart.

A chill, cold and sharp as the blade now fixed at his waist, ran down his spine.

For some reason, that frozen, unblinking smile seemed more threatening than everything in the trial.

He shut his eyes tight for a moment, his forehead drenched in sweat.

”People with the mountain emblem are indeed dangerous,” he thought, though in the end it was just a regular smiley face.

Ding!

The screen flickered again, dropping a third reward.

Slave 135 bent down to check the new item.

It was a pendant, small and worn, with a copperish color similar to the tone of his skin.

His fingers brushed against the cold metal. A button existed at the top. He pressed it, and the pendant opened.

Inside, there was nothing.

It was rather dirty, full of specks of unmoving dust-like particles that did not come off when he tried to rub them away.

He was left skeptical, so he checked the window for anything that would help him understand what this item was.

[Old Rusted Pendant]

Keep it safe.

He didn’t argue. He couldn’t. He strapped the pendant around his neck and secured the blade to his waist.

Ding!