The tension in the throne room was thick, the silence broken only by the faint drip of blood from Baren's body. No one dared to speak, their eyes shifting nervously between the bird and the corpse. Luka's stomach churned, but he forced himself to focus. He had no idea what this "game" was, but one thing was certain: the stakes were deadly.
The bird, perched on the edge of the broken throne, ruffled its iridescent feathers and let out an annoyed chirp. "Well, now that the theatrics are over, let's get down to business." Its glowing eyes swept across the room. "You've all received the notification, but let me clarify the rules for those of you too thick to read between the lines."
The mercenary, Serra, stepped forward, her hand resting warily on the hilt of her sword. "Rules?" she asked, her voice steady despite the faint tremor in her hand. "What kind of game is this?"
The bird tilted its head, its tone almost playful. "Oh, it's a simple game. You've all been granted a second chance at life. To claim it, all you have to do is climb the tower."
"Climb the tower?" Garrett repeated, his voice shaky. "What tower?"
The bird flapped its wings and hopped onto the arm of the throne, its glowing eyes narrowing. "The tower that exists at the intersection of time and space, of course. Each floor is a challenge. Beat the boss on each level, and you advance. Reach the 100th floor, and you win the game. Simple, isn't it?"
A murmur of disbelief rippled through the group. Luka's eyes narrowed as he tried to make sense of it. A hundred floors? Bosses? This sounded like something out of a nightmare—or worse, a cruel joke.
"And if we fail?" Serra asked, her tone sharp.
The bird let out a cold, mocking laugh. "Then you die. Again. Permanently, this time."
The group fell silent, the weight of the bird's words settling over them like a shroud.
Suddenly, a soft chime filled the air. Luka flinched as a translucent screen appeared before his eyes, glowing faintly. He blinked, realizing he was the only one who could see it.
Player Stats
- Name: Luka
- Level: 1
- Class: Novice
- Strength: 4/10
- Intelligence: 8/10
- HP: 10/10
- Skill: Low Class
- Swordsmanship: 5/10
- Defense: 4/10
Luka stared at the screen, his breath catching in his throat. It was like something out of a dream, except it was painfully real. He glanced around and noticed the others reacting similarly, their eyes wide as they examined their own stats.
"What the hell is this?" Serra muttered, waving her hand through the air as if trying to dismiss the screen.
"Your stats, obviously," the bird replied with a bored tone. "Basic attributes to give you an idea of where you stand. Not that most of you stand a chance, but hey, miracles happen."
Luka clenched his fists, feeling a mix of unease and determination. His stats weren't great, but they weren't terrible either. If he played smart, maybe—just maybe—he could survive this.
The bird fluttered down to the ground and began pacing, its talons clicking against the marble. "Now, before you start whining about fairness, I've prepared a little something for each of you. Consider it a parting gift."
With a flick of its wing, a series of weapons appeared in the air, shimmering as they hovered before each person. Luka's heart raced as a sleek steel blade materialized in front of him. Its edge gleamed with a faint silver glow, and the hilt fit perfectly in his hand as he reached out to grab it.
Another chime sounded, and Luka's stats updated.
Weapon: Steel Blade (F)
"F rank?" he muttered under his breath, frowning. It wasn't impressive, but at least it was something. He glanced around, noticing the others examining their own weapons. Serra received a dagger, its edge serrated and deadly. Garrett clutched a rusted pitchfork, his expression a mix of disbelief and despair.
The bird hopped onto a broken pillar, surveying the group with a smirk. "Now, for the fun part. Let's begin the game, shall we?"
Before anyone could respond, the bird spread its wings and screeched, a sharp, piercing sound that sent shivers down Luka's spine. The air around them shimmered, and a massive gate began to materialize in the center of the room.
The gate was unlike anything Luka had ever seen—a swirling vortex of light and shadow, its surface rippling like water. It was impossible to see what lay beyond, but the sheer energy radiating from it was enough to make his knees weak.
"What... what is that?" Garrett stammered, stepping back.
"The Rift of Space and Time," the bird said, its tone almost gleeful. "Your gateway to the tower. Go on, step through. Don't be shy."
One of the mercenaries, a burly man with a scar across his cheek, stepped forward and hesitantly reached out to touch the gate. His hand disappeared into the light, and he yanked it back with a gasp, staring at his intact fingers as if he expected them to be gone.
"What the hell?" he muttered, his voice shaking.
"Stop stalling," the bird snapped, its eyes glowing brighter. "You wanted a second chance, didn't you? Well, there it is. Take it, or stay here and rot. Your choice."
The group hesitated, their fear palpable. Luka gripped his blade tightly, his heart pounding in his chest.
Taking a deep breath, he stepped forward, his legs trembling but steady. One by one, the others followed, their weapons clutched tightly in their hands.
As the last person stepped through, the bird fluttered into the air, its voice ringing out with a mocking lilt. "Good luck, everyone. You're going to need it."
And with that, the gate swallowed them whole, leaving the ruined throne room empty once more.