The week following Jobaer's grueling trial felt like stepping into a different world. The contrast between the soul-crushing intensity of the Tower's challenge and the relative calm of his village was stark. He knew he had earned these seven days, a reprieve to rest, recuperate, and prepare for the trials ahead. But Jobaer was not one to waste time. For him, these days were an opportunity—one he would seize with everything he had.
The Training Ground
"Up, Jobaer! The Tower won't wait for lazybones!"
The booming voice of his grandfather, Aziz Al-Fahim, shattered the pre-dawn stillness, pulling Jobaer out of a deep sleep. Groaning, Jobaer threw an arm over his eyes, trying to cling to the remnants of his dream.
"Five more minutes," he mumbled.
Aziz didn't answer. Instead, the sound of cold water splashing across Jobaer's face sent him bolting upright.
"Grandpa!" he sputtered, wiping his face and glaring at the older man. Aziz stood there, a wooden training sword resting on his shoulder, his face a mixture of amusement and stern resolve.
"Five minutes won't save your life in the Tower," Aziz said, handing Jobaer a sword. "Now, get up. We're starting."
Reluctantly, Jobaer followed him outside to the training ground. The clearing behind their house was simple but effective—a wide space surrounded by trees, with several wooden dummies positioned at intervals. A faint mist hung in the air, and the morning light painted everything in soft gold.
Aziz didn't waste time with pleasantries. He launched into an aggressive series of strikes, his wooden sword moving with speed and precision that belied his age. Jobaer scrambled to block, his movements clumsy and slow in comparison.
"Too slow!" Aziz barked, his sword slipping past Jobaer's defense to tap his shoulder. "Again!"
The training was relentless. Aziz's strikes came from every angle, forcing Jobaer to react instinctively. The first day left him bruised and exhausted, his arms trembling from the effort of holding the sword.
By the third day, something shifted. Jobaer's reactions became quicker, his movements smoother. He started to anticipate Aziz's attacks, blocking and even countering on occasion. Aziz nodded in approval after one particularly well-timed block.
"Good," he said. "But don't think for a second that this is enough. The Tower will test you in ways I can't."
Quiet Moments of Reflection
After each grueling morning training session with his grandfather, Jobaer often sought solitude by the river that bordered their farmland. It was a place of serenity, where the gentle murmur of flowing water seemed to soothe the aches of his body and the turmoil of his mind. The river was wide and slow-moving, its surface reflecting the sky like a silver mirror. Willows lined the banks, their slender branches dipping gracefully into the water, and the occasional splash of a fish breaking the surface added to the tranquility.
Jobaer carried the great sword he had earned in the Tower with him, its presence both a comfort and a reminder of what he had endured. Resting it against a smooth boulder, he would sit cross-legged in the soft grass, staring at the weapon. The blade was flawless, its silvery surface etched with intricate patterns that seemed to shimmer faintly in the sunlight. It was a masterpiece, yet its weight was more than just physical.
"Who am I now?" Jobaer often asked himself, his voice barely above a whisper. He had survived a trial that had pushed him to the brink of death, awakening a talent that was as mysterious as it was powerful. The talent, Super Adaptation, intrigued and unsettled him. What did it mean to "adapt" infinitely? How would it shape his journey through the Tower?
The river seemed to hold no answers, only a quiet reassurance that life flowed on. Sometimes his grandfather joined him, sitting silently on the grass with a look of quiet pride. They didn't talk much in those moments; words felt unnecessary. The shared understanding between them, born from their bond and their mutual recognition of the challenges ahead, spoke volumes. Aziz's presence was a grounding force, a reminder that Jobaer was not alone in his journey.
When alone, Jobaer would occasionally close his eyes, letting his mind wander. He would recall the Tower—the surreal staircase, the harrowing illusions, the endless arrows. The images were vivid, almost tangible, and they replayed in his mind like a waking dream. But he also thought of the triumph, the hard-earned steps forward, and the moment he had passed the trial. These memories fueled him, reminding him of his resilience and his potential.
One afternoon, as he sat by the river, he spotted a group of children playing on the opposite bank. Their laughter carried across the water, a sweet, carefree sound that tugged at his heart. He couldn't help but smile, though a pang of longing followed. It had been a long time since his days of innocent play. The responsibilities he now bore were heavy, and the Tower loomed large in his future.
Still, the children's joy reminded him of why he was fighting. The Tower wasn't just a personal ambition; it was a means to protect and provide for those he loved. His grandfather, his grandmother, Rafan—they were his anchors, the reason he endured the pain and fear.
Every evening before he left, Jobaer would unsheathe his sword, holding it steady as he practiced slow, deliberate movements. The river became his silent audience, its waters reflecting the arcs of the blade as it cut through the air. With each swing, he imagined himself stronger, more capable.
Though his body ached and his mind wrestled with doubts, these quiet moments of reflection became his sanctuary. They were a time to process the past, prepare for the future, and find peace in the present. As the sun set behind the distant hills, painting the river in hues of gold and crimson, Jobaer would rise, pick up his sword, and make his way back home, a little more determined with each passing day.
A Day in the Town
The seven days of rest that Jobaer had earned after his trial were not just about physical recovery; they were also a precious opportunity to reconnect with the world around him. While he had spent much of his time training with his grandfather, he also allowed himself moments of leisure—simple joys that reminded him of the peaceful life he had once known.
One morning, after another intense training session with his grandfather, Jobaer decided to visit the town. The sun hung high in the sky, casting a warm golden light over the cobblestone streets as he made his way through the bustling marketplace. People were everywhere—vendors calling out their wares, children running in and out of stalls, and customers haggling over prices. The air was filled with the sweet scents of freshly baked bread, roasting meats, and colorful spices.
The town had always been a lively place, but Jobaer felt like he was seeing it with new eyes. The noise, the movement, the life—it all seemed more vibrant now, more precious. He made his way toward the bakery, where the familiar smell of warm bread wafted from the open door. The baker, a stout man with a ruddy face, waved him over.
"Jobaer! Good to see you back in town," the baker called out, wiping his flour-dusted hands on his apron. "It's been quiet around here without you and your grandfather stirring things up in the fields."
"Busy as usual, I see," Jobaer smiled, stepping closer to the counter. "How's the bread today?"
"Fresh and hot, just like always. You should try some," the baker said, offering him a loaf still steaming from the oven.
Jobaer gladly accepted the loaf, enjoying the soft, warm texture as he took a bite. It was perfect—crusty on the outside, soft and airy on the inside. He chatted with the baker for a few more minutes, asking about the town's happenings, before moving on.
His next stop was the town square, where a large group of townsfolk had gathered around a stage. A traveling troupe had come into town, setting up for a performance. Jobaer lingered, intrigued by the sight of jugglers and acrobats practicing their routines. The crowd was excited, children running to get the best spots near the front, and adults exchanging stories and gossip.
Curiosity piqued, Jobaer decided to stay for the performance. He found a seat near the edge of the crowd, sitting on a wooden bench that creaked under his weight. The troupe put on a mesmerizing show—flames swirled as fire-breathers performed their dangerous tricks, and acrobats flipped and tumbled with astounding agility. There were moments when Jobaer held his breath, watching the performers soar through the air, defying gravity in ways that seemed almost impossible.
After the show, he wandered through the square, his mind still captivated by the display of skill and artistry. As he walked, a familiar face caught his eye. It was Rafan, his childhood friend, leaning against a nearby post and smiling broadly. Rafan had always been a troublemaker, but there was a charm to his carefree attitude that Jobaer had always admired.
"Jobaer! Finally dragging yourself out of that training hole," Rafan teased, pushing off from the post and walking toward him.
"Can't spend all my days training, you know," Jobaer replied, a grin tugging at his lips. "What's been keeping you busy?"
Rafan shrugged nonchalantly. "You know, causing trouble, getting into mischief. Same old, same old. But hey, speaking of trouble, I've got something interesting to show you."
Jobaer raised an eyebrow. "What are you up to now?"
With a mischievous grin, Rafan led him to the edge of the square, where a small crowd had gathered around a gambling game. It was a simple game of chance, with a stack of silver coins and a pair of dice. Rafan leaned in, whispering to Jobaer, "I've got a feeling I'm going to make a fortune today. You in?"
"Fortune, huh?" Jobaer chuckled. "You can't be serious. Last time, you lost your entire month's savings on this."
"I've got a good feeling this time," Rafan insisted, giving him a playful nudge.
Reluctantly, Jobaer agreed to join in. The game was simple enough—players would take turns rolling the dice, betting on whether the outcome would be even or odd. As expected, Rafan's luck wasn't as good this time either. He lost a few silver coins, and Jobaer couldn't help but laugh at his friend's growing frustration.
"Maybe you should stick to fishing," Jobaer teased, watching as Rafan dramatically threw his dice onto the table.
"I'll get it back!" Rafan retorted. "This is just a temporary setback."
Despite the loss, the lighthearted banter was exactly what Jobaer needed. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed these carefree moments—laughing with his friend, enjoying the simple pleasures of town life.
After a while, the game came to an end, and Rafan walked with Jobaer to the edge of town. The sun was starting to set, casting long shadows over the fields and painting the sky in shades of pink and orange.
As they walked, they spoke of everything and nothing—about life, the future, and the Tower. Rafan didn't hold back on his teasing, still going on about how Jobaer would become a Ranker and forget all about his old friends. But there was something in his voice—something like pride and hope—that made Jobaer pause.
"Thanks, Rafan," he said, his voice a little quieter now. "For everything. I'm not sure what's waiting for me in the Tower, but I'll try not to forget the people here, the ones who've always been there."
Rafan gave him a sidelong glance, his usual grin softer. "Don't worry, Jobaer. You won't forget us. We'll all be watching, cheering you on."
As they reached the edge of the town, Jobaer knew that his journey was just beginning. The Tower awaited, and the road ahead was uncertain. But for now, he could appreciate the beauty of this peaceful town, the comfort of friendship, and the strength of his family. The trials and challenges of the future could wait—today, he was just a young man, enjoying the simple pleasures of life.
Chess with Rafan
Later that afternoon, Jobaer made his way to Rafan's house. His childhood friend greeted him with a smirk and a battered chessboard.
"Ready to lose?" Rafan teased, setting up the pieces.
"Ready to win," Jobaer shot back, though he wasn't nearly as confident as he sounded.
The game started slowly, with Jobaer carefully moving his pawns while Rafan watched with a bemused expression. Within a few turns, Rafan had already captured two of Jobaer's knights and a rook.
"You're too cautious," Rafan said, leaning back in his chair. "You need to take risks."
Jobaer frowned, studying the board. "Every time I take a risk, you beat me."
"That's because I'm better than you," Rafan said with a laugh.
Despite his struggles, Jobaer managed to put up a decent fight, prolonging the game longer than usual. By the end, both of them were laughing, their banter a welcome distraction from the looming challenges of the Tower.
Preparing for the Future
The days after the trial felt like a quiet respite, a brief pause before the storm. As Jobaer sat in the cozy corner of his room, the warm sunlight streaming through the window, he reflected on his life thus far. The seven days of rest had given him time to heal physically and emotionally, but more importantly, it gave him the space to think, plan, and prepare for what lay ahead. His body had changed, his power had awakened, and the Tower's influence was more real to him than ever before. He knew that each step now would be crucial, and there was no room for mistakes.
He had begun reading everything he could find on the Tower, its trials, and its floors. Piles of books, maps, scrolls, and even handwritten notes from past adventurers lay scattered across the wooden table in his room. The room itself had a peaceful, almost serene atmosphere. The low hum of the world outside, the distant chirping of birds, and the gentle rustling of leaves added to the calmness, but within, Jobaer's mind was racing.
He reached for a book titled The Trials of the Tower: Understanding Your Path. Its cover was worn, with faded golden lettering that seemed to shimmer faintly in the light. The book was a compilation of stories from past Rankers who had attempted the Tower's trials, detailing their experiences and the lessons they had learned. Each chapter contained insights on the different floors, the challenges, and—most importantly—the dangers.
Jobaer flipped through the pages, his mind absorbing every word. One chapter, in particular, caught his attention. It was titled The True Nature of Talent.
"Talent," Jobaer muttered, tracing the words with his finger. He had experienced the awakening of his own talent, Super Adaptation, and he knew that this ability would define his future. But the question remained: How far could he push it? How could he use this talent to survive, thrive, and conquer the Tower's higher floors?
The book explained that talent wasn't just a simple gift—it was a reflection of one's true nature, their will, and their potential. Some talents were obvious from the start, like strength or speed, while others, like his, were more abstract. Super Adaptation was a rare and complex ability that allowed him to quickly adjust to new environments, challenges, and attacks. This talent would let him absorb the skills of others, adapt to any trial, and keep improving. But it wasn't without its limitations. The book warned that if not controlled, it could overwhelm him, leaving him vulnerable to his own power.
As he read, Jobaer thought about the next steps in his journey. He couldn't afford to become complacent. His rise through the Tower would require not only strength but wisdom. The higher he ascended, the more powerful his enemies would become. He would need allies, allies who could help him navigate the shifting power dynamics within the Tower. But alliances were fragile. Trust, once broken, was hard to rebuild, and in the Tower, betrayal was as common as loyalty. He would need to stay sharp.
He turned the page and read about the different floors of the Tower, each with its own set of rules.
The First 10 Floors were known as the Trial Floors—the initial testing grounds. They were designed to weed out the weak and the unworthy. Most Rankers would never make it past the tenth floor.
Floors 11 to 30 were considered the Intermediate Floors. This was where Rankers began to face more serious opponents, and the trials became more complex. It was here that the first signs of the Tower's true nature began to show—its ability to manipulate time, space, and reality itself.
Floors 31 to 60 were called the Advanced Floors. Only the most skilled and powerful Rankers could survive here. These floors were filled with deadly monsters, enigmatic trials, and sometimes, other Rankers with unimaginable power. Some even called these floors "the point of no return," because once you entered, it was difficult to ever leave.
Floors 61 to 99 were known as the God's Domain, a place where gods, demons, and the truly extraordinary lived. To reach these floors, a Ranker had to be at the peak of their power, and they would face not just trials, but battles against deities and otherworldly forces. Legends spoke of the Primordial Gods who had once ruled these floors.
Finally, at the very top, was Floor 100, known as The Summit of Eternity. It was said to be the place where one could achieve true transcendence or where they could be bound forever to the Tower's grasp. No one had ever reached it, and the truth about it remained a mystery.
Jobaer let out a deep sigh. The future seemed both thrilling and terrifying at once. Each step he took would bring him closer to answers, but also closer to danger. He needed to be prepared, not just physically, but mentally. The Tower didn't just test strength; it tested your will, your heart, and your very essence.
He closed the book and stared out the window, his thoughts drifting. The sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows across the landscape. He needed to train harder, refine his skills, and prepare his mind for the trials ahead. He knew that he would need to fight smarter, not just harder.
His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. Jobaer stood up and opened it to find his grandfather standing there, a smile on his face.
"Jobaer," his grandfather said, "you've been reading those books all day, haven't you?"
Jobaer nodded. "I need to understand the Tower better. The more I know, the more prepared I'll be."
His grandfather's eyes softened with understanding. "That's true, but you can't forget one important thing—no matter how much you read or train, the Tower is unpredictable. There's no way to truly prepare for what's waiting up there. You need to trust yourself, trust your instincts."
Jobaer thought about that for a moment. His grandfather had always been a man of few words, but each one carried weight.
"You're right," Jobaer said finally. "But I still need to know everything I can. I can't afford to be caught off guard."
His grandfather chuckled softly. "You're always thinking ahead, aren't you? Come on, let's go have dinner. We've got more to discuss."
That evening, as the family gathered around the dinner table, Jobaer felt a sense of peace. His family, his friends, and even his grandfather were all with him. For now, life felt normal. But deep down, Jobaer knew that the moment he entered the Tower again, everything would change. There would be no more simple days of reading or playing chess. It would be him against the world, and he needed to be ready.
As he shared a meal with those who mattered most to him, he made a promise to himself: He would climb the Tower. He would survive, no matter what. And he would uncover the mysteries of his past—his parents, his family's connection to the Tower, and the truth about the world he was now a part of.
But for now, he allowed himself to enjoy the peace. The storm would come soon enough.
A Peaceful Evening
The warm glow of the setting sun filtered through the small window, casting a golden hue across the dining room. The table, long and rustic, was adorned with platters of freshly prepared food. The fragrant smell of roasted lamb, seasoned vegetables, and freshly baked bread filled the air, making Jobaer's stomach rumble in anticipation. The evening had arrived, and with it, the opportunity for a quiet, communal meal with his family—something Jobaer cherished more than he ever had before.
Around the table, everyone was gathered: his grandfather, a man of immense strength and wisdom, his uncles, cousins, and his mother, all sharing the evening in an atmosphere of warmth and conversation. Despite the weight of Jobaer's recent experiences with the Tower, the evening felt like a rare moment of peace. Laughter echoed through the room, the clinking of silverware and the chatter creating a comforting melody.
As Jobaer sat down at the table, his grandfather, though usually a man of few words, smiled warmly at him. "Well, my boy," his grandfather began, "you've done it. You've passed the Trial. You're no longer just a boy from this village. You've entered a new world now, one with its own rules and challenges."
"Yeah," Jobaer replied, a wry smile tugging at his lips, "I'm still trying to get used to that."
His uncle, a broad-shouldered man with a thick beard, leaned in from the opposite side of the table. "You've got to be careful now, Jobaer. The Tower's a dangerous place, and every floor presents a different challenge. It's not all about strength. It's about your ability to adapt, to think on your feet, and to know when to fight and when to run."
The conversation slowly drifted toward the Tower itself, as Jobaer, feeling the weight of what lay ahead, was eager to hear what his family knew about it. His grandfather, who had been to the Tower in his youth, spoke up, his voice low and serious.
"When I was younger, there was a time when I thought I might ascend the Tower myself," his grandfather began, his eyes distant as if remembering something long past. "But I soon learned it's not as simple as climbing floor by floor. Every floor has its own nature, its own dangers. You may face monsters, traps, or even other Rankers who are after the same rewards. The Tower tests you not just physically but mentally, emotionally, and morally."
He paused for a moment before continuing. "The first floor is the easiest—comparatively. But don't think for a second that it's without its trials. The floors only get harder from there. Some floors test your willpower, others your intellect. And then there are floors like the ones you've already passed—the ones that test your very spirit."
Jobaer listened intently, his mind working to absorb every detail. His uncle chimed in, adding his own perspective.
"After the first hundred floors, things change. The Tower becomes less about brute force and more about strategy. The floors are interconnected, not just in terms of difficulty, but also in the way they affect each other. You can't just rush through them—you need to learn and adapt. If you fail to learn the patterns or fail to read the environment correctly, you could get trapped, or worse, killed."
Another uncle, who had been unusually quiet until now, cleared his throat and spoke with a grave tone. "There are rules in the Tower, Jobaer. Some are spoken, and some are not. Don't think that just because you've passed the trial means you can walk into the Tower and expect an easy ride. Some floors are designed to manipulate your emotions, others to lure you into dangerous situations. It's easy to get lost in the Tower's illusions. Trust only yourself, your instincts, and the lessons you learn along the way. Remember that even when you're in the thick of it, there are always ways to learn and grow. You can't force yourself to be someone you're not in the Tower."
Jobaer felt the gravity of their words. The Tower was not a place of simple challenges; it was a test of every part of him. Every step forward would require him to face his fears, his weaknesses, and his innermost desires.
As the evening progressed, the conversation shifted from dire warnings to lighter matters, but the weight of what Jobaer had just learned lingered in the air like an unspoken agreement between them all.
"Don't forget," his grandfather added before they moved on to another topic, "the Tower will give you a chance to grow. But growth requires sacrifice. You'll be pushed to the limit, and you'll face things that will make you question who you are. But in the end, the Tower will show you the truth about yourself—if you're strong enough to see it."
A silence followed, heavy with the reality of what lay ahead. Jobaer looked at his family, seeing the worry in their eyes but also the pride. They had been through their own struggles, and they knew that what he was about to face would change him forever.
As the meal continued, the conversation turned to lighter subjects. They discussed the upcoming harvest, the weather, and how things had been around the village. There was laughter and teasing, but Jobaer couldn't help but feel the burden of what he had chosen. This peace, this moment of normalcy, was fleeting. Soon, he would leave everything behind to face the unknown.
Eventually, as the meal came to a close, Jobaer leaned back in his chair, his gaze turning toward the open window. The soft evening breeze carried the scent of the night air, and for a moment, he closed his eyes, savoring the peace of being surrounded by those he loved.
It was moments like this—these rare, simple moments—that made Jobaer feel a deep sense of purpose. He wasn't just climbing the Tower for himself. He was doing it for his family, for his village, and for the memories they had shared together.
But he also knew that there was no going back. The next step was inevitable, and as much as he tried to savor these moments, he couldn't escape the pull of his destiny. The Tower was waiting for him, and it would not wait forever.
He stood up from the table, his body feeling the familiar ache of exhaustion from his training earlier in the day, but his spirit was resolute. "Thanks, everyone," he said, his voice steady. "For everything. I'll make sure I don't forget any of you when I'm climbing those floors."
"Good luck, Jobaer," his grandfather said, his eyes filled with pride. "And remember: the Tower may test you in ways you can't even imagine. But it will never break you. Not if you hold on to who you are."
As Jobaer left the dining room and retired for the night, his thoughts were clearer than they had been in days. Tomorrow, he would train harder. Tomorrow, he would prepare himself fully for what was to come. But for tonight, he allowed himself to rest, to savor the warmth of his family, and to reflect on the road ahead.