"Alright... I've checked everything. No hidden paths, no traps, and no other creatures..."
Liam's voice was soft in the silence of the room. It was as if he was speaking only to himself, to confirm that he was still alive... still sane.
The room he was in was utterly quiet. Its walls were pale white, plain and unadorned. A simple bed sat in the corner—clean, neat, yet strangely unfamiliar. There were no windows. No doors. Only a soft light from the ceiling, its source unknown, illuminating the room like an empty embrace devoid of warmth.
Liam slowly lowered himself onto the bed.
His body, though fully healed, still felt heavy. Not from wounds or muscle fatigue, but from an invisible exhaustion. An exhaustion that gnawed at his mind, piercing deep into his consciousness.
> "The body can heal... but the mind?" Liam thought, staring at the flat ceiling above him. "Guilt... fear... doubt... none of that disappears just because healing magic works."
He closed his eyes.
But what came was not peaceful darkness.
Instead, the image of that little girl surfaced—her small face smiling softly, then twisting into a mask of pain, her hollow red eyes, and the screams of a soul imprisoned by dark magic.
Liam gritted his teeth. His fists clenched on the bed. His breath hitched, heavy, as if his lungs were denied the freedom to breathe.
He remembered how her tiny hand had gripped his sleeve when the battle ended. How her small body had slowly faded from the false world created on the second floor.
> "Is she truly free?" he whispered. "Or was she just erased?"
The question lingered in his mind like a stubborn fog. The system had given him no explanation. No report on the girl's fate. Only a cold notification that appeared after that world collapsed:
[Congratulations. You have cleared Floor 2 of the Tower of Trials.]
As if all the suffering he had just witnessed was nothing more than a test in a program.
Liam opened his eyes. The soft light from the ceiling was soothing, but it offered no sense of security.
He looked at his hands. The hands that had struck down the Lich. The hands that had held the little girl's body as she fought against the evil force possessing her. And the hands that now trembled, powerless to do more.
> "I have to get stronger," he muttered. "I have to find a way... to stop all of this."
He turned onto his side, pulling the thin blanket provided over himself. The room's temperature was neutral—neither cold nor warm. Yet it felt like standing in the middle of a snowstorm without protection.
For the first time since entering the tower, Liam felt truly alone.
No voices. No starlight. No rustling wind or the warmth of a campfire.
Just himself... and his own thoughts.
---
Yet in that silence, something slowly grew within his heart. Not anger. Not vengeance. But resolve. A silent promise.
> "I won't let anyone else suffer like that."
And with that thought, Liam slowly closed his eyes again. It was not a peaceful sleep, but it was enough to welcome the next day.
Alexandria—a city standing in the shadow of a colossal stone structure known as Babyls. The tower loomed high in the city's center, its peak never visible, as if piercing the farthest reaches of the sky. No one knew when it first appeared, who built it, or for what purpose. But one thing was certain: since its emergence, the world had never been the same.
The only reason this city was called the city of adventurers was because everyone in it, whether they came from afar or were born there, shared the same ambition—to conquer Babyls.
The tower had drawn thousands from all corners of the world. Those brave enough, mad enough, or desperate enough to seek their fate within its labyrinthine walls. Yet to this day, humanity's progress had stalled at the 40th floor. What lay beyond? No one knew. Even the number of floors remained a mystery, and those who dared to guess could only speculate.
Behind all its grandeur, Alexandria was still a harsh city.
Liam Crossbell was one of many low-ranking adventurers who survived on minor quests and odd jobs. He had no great reputation, no powerful connections, and no luck. Just a body that hadn't broken yet and a will that hadn't burned out.
That morning, as sunlight began to bathe Alexandria's cobbled streets, Liam stepped out of his ramshackle dormitory with slow steps. The short sword at his hip nearly slipped from its sheath, and his backpack held only two stale loaves of bread and a flask of tepid water.
> "Babyls, huh..." he murmured, gazing at the tower's peak disappearing into the clouds. "If my fate lies there, sooner or later, I'll enter."
But fate never waits. And for Liam, everything would begin far sooner than he expected.
For Liam Crossbell, Alexandria was not a city of hope. It was a labyrinth of despair, slowly eroding anyone not strong enough to endure.
Two years had passed since he first registered his name at the central guild. With burning enthusiasm, a gleaming new sword, and eyes alight with dreams, he had stepped into the life of an adventurer. Yet those two years had slipped by like an unending nightmare.
No achievements. No grand quests. No proud accomplishments.
Every day, he took only low-ranking missions: delivering letters to the next village, exterminating goblins already half-dead from old age, or filling in as a temporary guard at outposts. The money he earned was barely enough to eat, let alone buy potions or repair his gear.
And today, as if to add to the weight on his shoulders, the guild staff delivered news that could crush his last remaining hope.
> "Three months, Liam. If you still haven't risen in rank by then, your adventurer status will be permanently revoked."
The short-haired woman behind the counter showed no pity. Her voice was flat, as if she had repeated those words to many other failed adventurers.
Liam stood before her, silent. His eyes fixed on the mission board behind her—a long list of tasks, nearly all marked as Taken. Only a few trivial jobs remained, unworthy of even being called "quests."
> "I understand..." Liam replied softly.
He turned and walked out, no one noticing his departure. Outside the guild, Alexandria's sky looked clear. But not to Liam. The world around him remained gray.
---
He walked toward the western district, where an old tavern stood at the end of a rarely traveled street. This place wasn't just for drinking—it was where dying adventurers tried to forget reality.
Inside, the stench of alcohol, smoke, and unwashed bodies greeted him. But that wasn't what made him pause.
Seated in one corner, a party of three watched Liam. Among them was a burly man in scarred leather armor, a woman in a thin dark-purple robe, and a blond-haired young man who seemed too calm for a place like this.
They waved him over.
> "You're Liam Crossbell, right?" the large man asked in a gruff voice. "We heard you need work."
Liam studied them warily. In this world, nothing was free. No one was kind without reason. But when hope was reduced to a sliver, even danger looked like an opportunity.
> "What do you want from me?" he asked, his tone cautious.
> "Just a little help," the purple-robed woman replied with a smile. "We're heading down to the lower city zone for an investigation. Not an official dungeon, but quiet enough. We need an extra hand to carry supplies and guard the entrance."
Liam knew the kind of mission this was. High risk, low reward. But sometimes, the only way out of a pit was to jump.
> "Fine... I'll come."
He didn't know that this decision would change his entire life—and lead him to secrets even Alexandria's best adventurers had never imagined.
The Next Day
The morning air in Alexandria felt colder than usual. A thin mist clung to the cobbled streets, and the sun still hesitated to pierce the gaps between the old stone buildings in the lower city district.
Liam stood before a large iron gate hidden behind the ruins of an old building—a place even the city guards rarely checked. This was the entrance to the underground dungeon. Unregistered on official adventurer maps, yet known to those willing to delve deeper into the darkness below.
The other three were already waiting.
> "You're late," grumbled the large man as he inspected his rust-marked battle-axe. "We almost went in without you."
Liam didn't respond. He simply nodded and checked his gear belt: one short sword, three cheap potions, and a small lantern with a dim glow.
> "Relax, Arto," said the purple-robed woman with a sly smile. "He probably needed time to convince himself to come."
Arto. The big man's name was finally spoken. The woman, it seemed, preferred wordplay over introductions.
The blond youth, who had remained silent until now, gave Liam a brief nod.
> "I'm Denzel," he said calmly. "They don't like formalities. But you should at least know whose back you're covering."
Liam returned the nod with a blank expression.
> "Liam Crossbell."
> "We know," the woman murmured. "Oh, and I'm Lina. An illusion explorer, or more accurately, a shadow sorceress. Just carry the stuff and don't die. Easy, right?"
They unlocked the iron gate with a strangely shaped key, and the damp scent of the underground immediately hit them. A steep stone staircase descended into pitch darkness, and the distant echo of dripping water seemed to beckon them inward.
> "Alright," Arto declared, hefting his axe. "If we finish this quick, we can still have lunch topside."
> "Don't get overconfident," Denzel said quietly. "This area might not be logged by the guild, but that doesn't mean it's safe."
They descended the stairs one by one, and soon, sunlight vanished entirely, replaced by lantern light and the echo of footsteps.
The tunnel walls were covered in ancient carvings and glowing fungi. Occasionally, a scraping sound echoed—whether from stone, water, or something else. Liam stayed at the rear, holding the extra gear as requested. But in his heart, a growing unease took root.
Denzel frowned, staring into the silent expanse of the stone corridor ahead. Their usually cautious steps now felt hollow, with no sound but the echo of their boots against the damp walls.
"Too quiet," Denzel muttered, his sharp eyes scanning every dark corner as if trying to catch the slightest movement.
Arto slowly raised his axe, as if feeling out the shadows that might lurk behind the rubble. His large frame seemed ready to explode into action at any moment, yet his face remained stern and alert.
Lina, on the other hand, began chanting a spell under her breath. The air around them vibrated faintly, a shimmer of magical energy wrapping around her slender fingers. Her expression was serious, a silent warning that this was no ordinary transport mission.
Liam stood at the back, his grip tightening on his short sword. His body was tense, every sense straining to detect unseen danger. His breathing was steady, but the hairs on his neck stood on end—his survival instincts screaming that something was wrong.
Denzel whispered, "When it's this quiet, it's usually a bad sign."
Suddenly, from the darkness of the branching corridors, a hoarse voice shattered the silence.
"You're not the ones we were waiting for..."
Shadows flickered at the edges of the tunnel. Ghastly figures emerged, their eyes glowing red, their sharp fangs bared. They moved swiftly, attacking from all directions as if the corridor itself had become a deadly trap.
Arto swung his axe with full force, smashing into one of the creatures trying to flank them. The clash of metal reverberated, shaking the narrow walls.
Lina raised her hands, her incantation turning into a burst of violet flames that incinerated a swarm of the dark creatures. Yet more kept coming, an endless tide of claws and fangs.
Liam spun, his sword flashing as he cut down a creature lunging at his back. Each slash sent dark blood splattering, the stench of decay filling the air.
But the longer the fight dragged on, the clearer it became—they were surrounded, with no way out. Shouts, clashing steel, and whispered spells blended into a brutal symphony that tore through the underground silence.
"Let's carve a path!!" Arto roared, his voice shaking the dim stone corridor. His massive frame trembled with raw power as he swung his axe with near-inhuman force.
With a brutal crack, the axe split the ribs of one of the dark creatures, sending black blood splattering across the cold walls. The others surrounding Arto staggered, some collapsing in heaps.
Lina moved swiftly, like a shadow dancing through the darkness. Her hands wove intricate spells, unleashing waves of deep violet energy that burned through the creatures trying to swarm Arto, reducing them to drifting ashes.
Meanwhile, Denzel focused on guarding the right flank. His sword moved with precision, deflecting claws and fangs with each echoing clash. His face was tense, but his eyes burned with unshaken resolve.
Liam, positioned on the left, steadied his breathing. His body burned, his heart pounding as if ready to burst. His sword gleamed, sharp and ready to cut down anything that approached. Every strike carried a mix of precision and courage forged from two years of failure as an adventurer.
They moved in unison, closing gaps in the endless tide of enemies. Screams of pain, stomping boots, and clashing steel merged into a brutal symphony that filled the narrow corridor.
Arto pushed forward, cleaving through the creatures blocking their path. His massive frame acted as a living bulwark, forcing the enemy back. "Don't let them close the gap!" he shouted, swinging his axe again, sending flesh and bone flying.
Lina supported with explosive spells that devoured the creatures ahead. Yet with each wave, the enemies grew fiercer, surging like an unstoppable dark tide.
Denzel shot a cold glance at Lina, his gaze merciless. No words were spoken, but the message hung heavy in the air—a hidden conspiracy behind faces that had once seemed like comrades.
Lina gave a slow nod, raising her hands without hesitation. The air grew heavy, like storm clouds pressing down. Liam felt something foreign—an invisible weight crushing his body.
His muscles locked up, as if a giant hand were dragging him down, weakening his steps and making his sword nearly impossible to lift. His breath came in ragged gasps, his eyes wide with confusion and betrayal.
"Why...?" The word barely escaped, choked by the oppressive force.
Denzel's lips curled into a cold smile—utterly devoid of warmth. A betrayal long planned now laid bare. He stepped forward, sword drawn.
Lina, once calm, now stared at Liam with empty eyes. "It's time you knew, Liam. You're no longer part of this."
Liam's heart raced, not just from the magical pressure, but from a deeper pain—the sting of betrayal by those he'd called allies.
His body was heavy, but his trained will refused to break. Even trapped and suffocating under Lina's spell, his eyes burned with fury and determination.
Lina began weaving another spell, but Liam fought back, straining against the magic binding him, searching for any weakness.
"Pointless, Liam."
Lina's voice was calm yet cutting. In the darkness of the underground corridor, her incantation slithered through the air like a death whisper. Her magic still coiled around Liam, restraining every muscle like invisible shackles.
Liam knelt, trembling—not from fear, but from a mix of rage, confusion, and unseen wounds.
"W-Why are you doing this!?" he rasped, his voice raw with betrayal.
Denzel merely sighed, looking away as if the answer wasn't worth his time.
Arto, the burly man, stepped forward. His gaze was flat, devoid of guilt. "You're just dead weight, Liam," he said, his tone mocking. "And you were useful enough... as bait so the rest of us could escape this place."
The words stabbed deeper than any wound Liam had suffered in his two years as an adventurer.
"You... all..." Liam gritted his teeth, holding back a scream. His hands strained to move, but Lina's magic kept them sluggish, as if weighed down by thick mud.
"Forgive me," Lina said, her tone feigning pity, though her faint smile said otherwise. "But this decision is for the others' safety. You're too slow. Too weak. And far too trusting."
Footsteps retreated. Denzel was already leading the way, leaving Liam trapped in the corridor. Arto spat on the ground near Liam and hefted his axe. "With a little luck, your corpse might distract the guardian on the lower floor. So stay here and die quietly."
Lina gave Liam a slow wave, like someone bidding farewell to an old friend at their graveside.
As their footsteps faded, silence fell. But in the distance, a low growl began to echo. Something... was approaching from the depths of the dark corridor. Liam's breath caught in his throat.
He had been abandoned. Trapped. Used as bait.