As the Celestial Tower rose higher, its floors grew stranger.
Floor 52 resembled a long, curving hall made of polished obsidian walls—a reflective labyrinth where nothing stayed still. The reflections inside the walls didn't copy fighters perfectly: some lagged by a second, others flickered ahead like glimpses of the immediate future, and some reflected the room from impossible angles. It was a place made to distort perspective, scramble instincts, and trap anyone who relied too heavily on sight.
In short: a nightmare for most fighters.
But a training ground for one.
Julian Breadstone glided dramatically into view, wearing glasses with seventeen unnecessary lenses stacked across them like insect eyes.
"GREETINGS MY BEAUTIFUL MULTIVERSE!
Floor 52 is the Labyrinth of False Sight—where shadows lie, reflections cheat, and every corridor conspires to make you question your own eyeballs!"
Jimmy nodded. "This floor eliminates speed advantage. It punishes guesswork. It confuses fighters who rush."
Julian gasped. "Jimmy! Jimmy! It's time for another NORMAL—OH SO REFRESHINGLY NORMAL—FIGHTER!"
Jimmy smiled. "But not simple."
The image shifted.
A man walked quietly through the reflective maze—not slow, not fast, but exactly the pace he needed.
Lean build.
Simple gray uniform.
Short black hair.
Calm brown eyes.
A wooden staff strapped across his back.
No glowing aura.
No enchantments.
He carried nothing except a folded paper fan in one hand.
His name hovered beside him:
Liun Wen – The Observer
He did not look extraordinary.
He did not carry the presence of a veteran warrior or the intensity of a chosen hero.
But something about his movements—measured, balanced, precise—commanded attention.
Julian pressed both hands to the glass.
"OHHHHHH I LOVE THIS ONE. HE WALKS LIKE A MAN WHO KNOWS WHERE EVERYTHING IS BEFORE IT MOVES."
Jimmy nodded.
"He's an analyst. Reads patterns. Reads people. Reads space. He's the kind of fighter who can beat you before you lift your weapon."
Liun paused at an intersection.
Three corridors branched out.
Each one showed a different reflection of him:
One too fast.
One too slow.
One that blinked out between frames.
Most fighters panicked here.
Liun didn't.
He lifted his paper fan and tapped it lightly against the floor.
Tap.
A subtle echo rippled outward.
Not sound—
pressure.
Liun watched the ripples move across the polished surface of the maze.
Jimmy's eyes widened.
"He's reading the reverberations."
Julian squealed.
"YES! He's using the floor like a tuning dish! The echoes reveal WHICH reflection is real!"
Liun calmly stepped into the corridor with the faintest, cleanest echo.
The false reflections slammed shut behind him like jaws.
He didn't look back.
Further in, a pair of fighters ambushed him from both sides—
panic visible in their movements.
"STOP! HAND OVER YOUR PASS!" one yelled.
Liun sighed softly.
"I don't have a pass."
"You're lying!"
"No," Liun corrected gently. "I'm not here."
They blinked.
Liun wasn't between them anymore.
He was leaning against the right wall.
The two fighters turned—
and only then realized that the Liun they'd attacked was just a reflection playing in the mirrored surface.
He snapped open his fan.
A gust of displaced air slammed both fighters backward—not violently, but firmly—into a cushioned sigil that teleported them out of the danger zone.
Liun closed his fan.
"Ambushes work better when you attack the real target."
He continued walking.
Jimmy shook his head.
"He's not fast—he's just always in the right place."
Julian twirled in the air.
"He's winning by THINKING! DISGUSTING! INSPIRING!"
The Labyrinth reacted to Liun's presence.
Reflections rippled.
Walls flexed.
Whole corridors realigned to confuse him.
Liun only smiled faintly.
"Trying to trick me?"
He closed his eyes.
When he opened them again, he wasn't looking at the reflections—
he was reading their patterns.
Angles.
Lighting.
Timing.
Shifts in color.
Differences in depth-of-field.
He saw through the illusions by observing not what they showed, but what they failed to hide.
A false floor attempted to swallow him.
He shifted his weight and stepped to the side.
A mirror-wall tried to create an infinitely looping corridor.
He noticed a half-second frame delay on the far left reflection—
and cut through it with a precise flick of his fan.
The wall dissolved.
A trap triggered behind him—
invisible darts aimed at the back of his neck.
He bent forward at the waist.
Not dodging.
Just… moving at the exactly correct time.
Julian screamed.
"HOW DOES HE DO THAT WITHOUT LOOKING?!"
Jimmy whispered:
"He listens."
Indeed—Liun's ears tracked the faint vibration of compressed air before the darts launched. His body reacted based on experience and small sensory cues.
No magic.
No gifts.
Only awareness.
A trio of fighters suddenly rushed him—
an agile twin-dagger wielder,
a spearwoman with incredible reach,
and a shield-user with powerful forward momentum.
They attacked simultaneously.
Liun didn't draw his staff.
He didn't even unfold his fan fully.
He simply watched them approach.
One breath.
Two breaths.
He stepped back half a foot.
That tiny shift threw off the dagger-wielder's angle.
Liun nudged her wrist lightly—redirecting her momentum into an empty corner.
The spearwoman thrust.
Without turning, Liun raised his fan precisely where the spear would stop.
The spear hit the fan's reinforced edge and deflected harmlessly.
The shield-user charged.
Liun stepped into the charge, one foot pivoting at the perfect angle.
He tapped the top of the shield lightly.
The fighter stumbled, redirected by his own momentum, and rolled across the floor.
Julian screamed with joy:
"HE'S NOT EVEN FIGHTING! HE'S JUST… OUT-THINKING THEM!"
Jimmy chuckled softly.
"He's studied more fights than most people have had meals."
Liun bowed politely to the three stunned fighters and walked on.
The maze responded aggressively.
Lights flickered.
Reflections multiplied.
A thousand Liuns now walked through the corridors.
Some mirrored him exactly.
Some twisted his image.
Some distorted his height or posture.
Liun stopped.
"Excess information," he murmured.
"Good. I prefer a harder problem."
He closed his eyes once more.
This time, when he tapped his fan against the ground:
Tap. Tap. Tap.
He listened not to the echo—
but to the silence.
The one reflection that produced no distortion.
"Found you," he whispered.
He stepped through that reflection—
and passed into the true exit corridor.
The false reflections shattered like glass.
Julian cheered.
"HE SOLVED AN OPTICAL NIGHTMARE WITH A PAPER FAN AND THE POWER OF QUIET ANNOYANCE!"
Jimmy laughed.
"I think he's allergic to surprises."
One final challenge awaited:
a guardian of Floor 52—
a construct made of mirrored plates rotating around a hollow core.
It moved like a spinning top with blades for arms.
Fast.
Deadly.
Unpredictable.
The construct charged.
Liun watched.
No fear.
No rush.
Just observation.
The construct pivoted left.
He stepped right.
It thrust.
He lowered his center of gravity.
It spun wildly.
He moved.
Not away.
Not toward.
Through.
He walked calmly between its bladed arms exactly at the moment the plates aligned in a pattern he recognized—a half-second window.
He flicked his fan upward.
The central rotation hub locked.
The guardian froze.
Liun tapped its chestplate gently.
"Too much momentum in the turn. You need counterweight."
The guardian collapsed into stardust.
Julian exploded into applause.
"HE COACHES THE THINGS THAT TRY TO KILL HIM! ICONIC!"
Jimmy wiped a tear.
"He really is built different."
Liun reached the gate to Floor 53.
He exhaled softly and folded his fan neatly.
Above him, other fighters roared, blasted, burned, shimmered, and thundered through the upper floors.
But Liun?
Liun simply walked.
Calm.
Patient.
Reading the tower one floor at a time.
And the tower—
a cosmic labyrinth designed to break the unworthy—
made room for him.
He would make the top 500.
Not through force.
Not through destiny.
But through seeing the truth in every movement.
The Observer ascended.