Two wooden tools slam into each other, creating a blunt sound that echoes through the hall of the inn. In the surrounding seating, the excited roars of Climbers shake the thick walls.
"Woah, now! 'Yer fast, Roadkill!" The taller of the two, a towering man with a cattleman hat that was curved into a loop grinned confidently. In his hand, he had a wooden sword that was longer than his opponent's own body. That didn't prevent the young man from dashing at him for another strike.
"Quit calling me that, wheat-neck!" The small, brown-haired child didn't have a weapon long enough to reach his opponent. As soon as he got within a striking zone, it was not his own, but the taller man's. The wooden sword, compared to his wooden daggers, allowed for medium-ranged fighting.
A grunt leaves the boy's head when the tip of the sword taps his forehead. It wasn't with enough force to leave a bruise, but just enough to push his body, suspended in the air, back down to the ground with a thud.
"Y'can't call 'yerself a Climber if ya' can't e'en climb a 6-foot ladder!" The 6-foot ladder was clearly referring to none other than Walkyr himself, the obnoxious tall and good-looking man whose blonde hair barely peeked from the back of his hat.
Recovering, the child rolls back, creating ground with the Southerner.
Worthy wasn't having a fun time, but he was learning.
It started three days ago…
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Brimming with determination, Worthy set out with two goals.
The first objective was to find as much information out about the tower that he could. There were people far more knowledgeable than him here, with more information than even his father had. The ones that were willing to give up information did so in snippets, not taking the child seriously. Snippets were enough to produce a gallery.
Currently, Climbers only made it up to the 5th Floor of the tower. It's unclear why they've been trapped on Floor 5, but the groups that made it there were indomitably bunches. Whatever reason they've been delayed, it must've been the most troubling of challenges.
'It makes sense to me. If anybody could conquer this tower, it wouldn't be renowned as impossible to clear…'
Somewhere in his time of learning, he met a man that wasn't in the haven previously.
Worthy recognized the faces of everyone in the tavern, except some people that opted to never leave their room out of depression, or for some other reasons. A tall man, who stood at 2 meters, was sitting at a bar drinking from a keg with one hand. The fellow possessed various tattoos going down his neck and presumably the rest of his body.
His clothing was odd.
With the cattleman hat he wore, combined with his other garments, he looked like a cowboy the child heard of in stories.
Upon closer inspection of the tattoos, Worthy recognized their symbolism as well.
'Runes…'
Just like how magical weapons exist, it was a common practice for foreigners in other nations to heighten their physical abilities with mystical engravings. It was a very painful process, which became inferior as more people started climbing towers, but a few exceptional mercenaries had truly superb enhancements.
Many of these mercenaries were affiliated with the Golden Shanks, and others became obscure and forgotten.
The child didn't know what compelled him, but he approached the cowboy and spoke louder than intended:
"You used to be a solo mercenary, right?"
Beneath the shadows of the hat's brim, the cowboy's indigo eyes bypass the darkness. They strike several holes through the child, accelerating the boy's heart rate. Just his gaze alone left the child speechless, if only for a second.
Without fixing his posture or turning around fully, the cowboy replied, "Solo…? Mhm, I'd say 'yer guess is just 'bout right. I was alone for a while." The man normally wouldn't entertain such questions. Anybody curious about his upbringing or past had been buried many miles beneath the earth, well before he received a Reward to help him get the job finished quicker. Children were a bit different from a curious middle-aged geezer. "What's made you so curious about me, boy?"
Worthy learned the man's tone quickly. He was amused, despite his voice carrying a sinister tone.
"I've only been here for a few days, but I have never seen you before. Plus, you've got runes on you. I… I grew up in Malas Town, so only a handful of people have tattoos in weird patterns like that." Identifying runes and tattoos would be difficult for someone who hadn't grown up around both.
Learning the intricacies of runes was important if you weren't looking to accidentally make enemies with a superhuman. There were more than a few occasions where someone lost their head in an attempt at fighting the wrong person. Knowing one's enemy was an important rule everyone in the slums learned, no doubt the same for mercenaries.
The cowboy whistled, a long, drawn-out chime. "Malas Town? 'Yer a native, then? I'm sorry to hear that. This town is a piece ah shit. Thugs runnin' rampant. Brothels openin' and closin' under new names to avoid paying off debts. Murderers coverin' their tracks by blending their kills in with the other poor bastards the town spits out… Ha! I'd kill ma' self if I had ta' live there."
Clearly, the cowboy meant to be showing a form of sympathy for the boy.
Only… it didn't come off that way.
In some facets, it sounded like the man was talking down on the boy's upbringing. He hadn't even acknowledged the child's knowledge of runes. His interest in that dissipated long before the first word left his mouth. Instead, he was focused on the dirt-buried town the child originated from.
What came from the boy's mouth next was impulsive:
"Yeah? Maybe you'd do well to kill yourself, jackass!" His fiery voice came out louder than intended.
The silence from the other bargoers was deafening.
Glasses hit the counter or stop where they were. Many eyes lock onto the child standing a few steps away from the cowboy. Any chatter, banter, or heated discussions that were underway ended in an instant, replaced by awkward silence, only occasionally broken by the sound of movement in the many other rooms of the sanctuary.
The rest of the world faded away, and only the two remained, focusing on one another.
"Well…" The cowboy's voice became deep. Worthy swore he saw smoke rise from the man's mouth when he spoke, but there wasn't any source to be found except him.
"Boy, I didn't reckon there were many left that were bold 'nough to speak to me the way you just did…" Much to Worthy's dismay, the man was rising to his feet.
He placed one boot on the ground, and then he placed another with equal force. Until soon, the man stood at his full, towering height. What once looked to be a six feet tall man was much closer to seven than the child thought.
On both of his hips, he had firearms holstered, ready to be removed if the situation called for it.
Worst of all, the cowboy's weapons were enchanted. The grip of the weapons had unique characters engraved into them, which Worthy had not learned to read yet. Still, they closely resembled one of the engravings of his Blood Knife. If the boy had no choice but to guess… 'His gun must get stronger the longer it's in its holster.'
Unless the sharpshooter unholstered his weapon right now, Worthy had no way of knowing if his theory was correct. Hopefully he wouldn't need to find out at all, if all things in the world were merciful. The slum-dweller really spoke himself into a corner this time around.
Opening his mouth to speak, Worthy is instead interrupted by the man. No doubt, it was an intentional intervention.
"Strong words left 'yer mouth, son. I respect it, I respect it a lot. Now, that said… I wouldn't be Deadman Walkyr if I let you say that and leave unscathed."
Worthy vaguely recognized the name, but couldn't recall any tales connected to it. This meant it was either before his time or related to someone from another land. Neither benefitted him, so he pushed these thoughts away and came to an understanding:
He could die.
Already, he had concerns about Haul one day choosing to cut his limbs off and carry him around as a personal compass. His fears were well-earned, because the woman had a reputation throughout Malas Town, the underworld, and the entire nation. Likewise, the fact that Worthy could recognize the name of a strange, seemingly Southern man, meant that his reputation might've been comparable to that of the Golden Shanks, in whichever region he hailed from.
Criminals, mercenaries, and other like-minded people were never against harming children.
Children weren't against harming them either, to be fair. Worthy's mouth got him into this, and the man's demeanor told the child it was too late to apologize and walk away.
Steadily, Worthy's hand reaches for his knife, his body twisting into a defensive stance in hopes of concealing his actions.
It was a hopeless attempt, of course. The man in front of him was a giant, the second largest man in the inn as far as Worthy knew — dwarfed only by the hibernating War Reaver.
There was no telling what would've happened if not for the intervening voice of someone — a person Worthy least expected — entering the room.
"Keep that gun at your hips, young man. You don't want to have an accident, do you?" Haul sounded amused, accompanied by her usual entourage of lackeys that either followed her into the tower many years ago, or quickly found themselves assimilated into her circle.
Worthy would've felt relieved, if not for the pressure of these two crushing him, who was unlucky enough to be caught between.
"Old Lady Haul. Y'know, I've been respectin' my elders for s'long as I can remember. Hell, I e'en brought you 'n the rest of 'yer bunch here from Middle Town when 'ya asked. So… Please, do me a favor 'n explain. Why are 'ya gettin' in the way of my fun?"
Evidently, there was animosity between the two. Walkyr showed no sign of fear toward the old woman, but he was clearly cautious. A mutual respect must've been shared between them.
"...I just hate your accent, you know that? If you must know, I'm quite familiar with the boy you're about to shoot. I even know his old man, at least a little. The runt's got some value to him that I can see, so it just makes sense that I don't let you shoot him."
"Really? You…? The woman who left 'er own son to run an empire—'yer suddenly taking an interest in protecting backstreet rats?"
His words didn't bother the shameless woman at all. She didn't budge. "Yeah. The woman who left her son to run an empire." The smug look on her face didn't recede when the man's firearm was removed from its holster.
No one saw him pull it out. The sound came after the revolver was already withdrawn and prepped to blow a hole through the old woman.
And if nobody stopped him, he might've gone through with it.
Fortunately, the barkeep had enough. A domineering voice resounded through the bar:
"CALM YOUR ASSES."
It was not shouted, yet the barkeep's voice was loud enough to make the walls tremble. Worthy covered his ears, a throbbing feeling passing through his head. Someone with a Reward that amplified the sound of their voice was a menace in a sealed location, no matter how massive.
He received the desired outcome, however.
With a chuckle, Walkyr holsters his unique revolver. "Well ain't that a bitch? Y'almost made me forget myself, Hag."
"Watch yourself, young man. If your tongue slips a few more times, your Deadman title'll be a bit more literal." The men behind Haul shifted. Unnoticed, they were preparing their own countermeasures for if the gunslinger decided to fire at the retired Queenpin.
'I don't know what they had. Whatever it was, I doubt it would've been enough to block that man's bullet.'
In the brief moment the weapon was out, Worthy felt the raw power radiating from the revolver. As the closest to it, he couldn't help but feel endangered, even when the weapon wasn't aimed at him. Just being near it gave him the impression he, and everyone else in the room, would be blown into a fine mist if the cowboy pulled the trigger.
…These were the kinds of people trapped on the First Floor.
Many of them were known outside the Tower, yet none had managed to climb higher than Floor 1. Maybe it was out of fear, or maybe they were truly content with living a life away from the outside world.
He wouldn't fault anyone who had an unfortunate upbringing. Not too many, at least.
Worthy still thought it was cowardly to give up on life and enter without the intention to climb or idle. Nevertheless, none of those things mattered to him. He didn't care why someone with no ambitions would decide to stay here. The only reason he didn't voice his disappointment was because of the undeniable truth that many are trapped because of the Floor's unique status.
With a lack of gateways, Worthy would be an irreplaceable asset to escaping. Neither Haul nor Walkyr knew it yet, but the short encounter had blossomed a realization in his head.
They had more than enough firepower to take down many monsters. Those revolvers were easily more powerful than his Blood Knife. Furthermore, the men accompanying Haul seemed to have either ill-placed confidence in their abilities, or truly impressive abilities that could've countered the gunslinger's outrageous firepower.
'This… There's no doubt about it. If I can find a way to get these guys to cooperate, somehow, then we have a real shot at escaping.'
The only problem was finding a gateway. Something told him to do that, he'd need to go to Middle Town—the location Walkyr had transported Haul from.