Chapter 166
Daniel sat up slowly from the narrow bed inside the enchanted battle wagon, his movements stiff, like a man wading through the residue of a nightmare. The soft creak of the wood drew Mary Kaye's attention from the kettle she held, steam curling in the dim light as the faint fragrance of tea filled the confined space. Her eyes widened, not in alarm, but in cautious surprise he should not have been able to move so soon. Emma, seated close, reacted almost at once, her curiosity edged with concern.
She knew better than anyone that healing closed wounds, but it did not restore the blood lost, nor did it repair the toll of mana burned too recklessly. Daniel was alive, yes, but his veins still carried hollowness, his skin pale beneath the flickering lamplight. To rise so quickly was no sign of strength but of sheer will forcing his body beyond its limits.
Emma's gaze lingered on him, her sharp healer's eyes noticing the tremors in his fingers, the uneven rhythm of his breath. She had witnessed what he unleashed—mana so potent, so raw, it defied the natural order of spell craft. That surge had shaken even her, though she had seen more battles than she could count. Power like that was not refined or controlled; it was primal, born of a rage so deep it tore through the world around him. And beyond these walls, the effect was already known.
The two archdemons who had escaped that clash monsters born from centuries of blood and shadow, had felt the sting of his wrath. For the first time in an age, they had known fear. Daniel's magic had carried a promise, the possibility of their own annihilation, a reminder that their kind was not untouchable, that even demons who had outlived empires could fall. Already, whispers would spread among them, of the one whose fury had carved death into their ranks.
But inside the wagon, there was no glory in Daniel's awakening, no triumph in the way he sat upright. His head bowed slightly, strands of sweat-damp hair shadowing his expression, as though he too understood the cost of what he had done. The rage that had saved them also hollowed him, and the question was not whether he could wield that power again, but how long his body and soul could endure its weight.
Emma bit back her words, the healer in her screaming to force him to rest, yet the soldier in her knew: Daniel had crossed a line, and what he carried now was something neither wound nor bandage could mend.
Emma didn't let Daniel's silence linger. She set the teacup aside and leaned forward, her voice low but edged with urgency. "Daniel… what you unleashed back there—healing closed your wounds, yes, but it didn't mend that. I felt it. We all did.
That wasn't just raw mana. It was… different. It didn't flow like a spell, it broke everything it touched. Each strike you cast didn't just cut—it tore. I saw space itself split open, like reality couldn't bear to hold it." Her eyes hardened as she searched his face, as though demanding he acknowledge it. "That power of yours… it felt like chaos given flesh. A living embodiment of destruction. And if it can make even archdemons recoil in fear, then what does that mean for you?"
Mary Kaye, still holding the kettle, finally spoke, her voice trembling though she tried to steady it. "I'll admit it outright, I've read thousands of tomes across the libraries of four kingdoms, lore that spans centuries, even fragments smuggled from forbidden archives. And yet… nothing I've read ever hinted at what I saw today.
That was no ordinary awakening. It was the power of the Netherborn." She set the kettle down, the clink against the wooden counter far too loud in the heavy silence.
"The records are vague, almost erased, as though their existence was meant to be forgotten.
The Netherborn never marked their authority, never ruled openly, never left monuments to prove they were real. And yet, the stories say they predate everything, even the Tower itself. The Tower's legends, its creation myths that stretch back millions of years… even those admit the Netherborn walked before it."
Emma turned sharply toward Mary, her brows furrowed. "You're saying Daniel isn't just… awakened? That what we saw wasn't human power at all?"
Mary hesitated, then nodded. "I'm saying we may be standing beside something that even demons fear, something this world tried to bury."
Daniel finally lifted his gaze, his voice quiet but steady, carrying a weight heavier than the wagon's walls could contain. "You're both right. It was powerful—too powerful. But it didn't feel like mine. It felt… alive. Like chaos itself had borrowed my body. Every swing, every burst—it didn't follow my will. It was will, raw and violent, and I was just holding on." His hands clenched, knuckles pale. "If what you say is true, then maybe I am something the world wanted to erase. Maybe I shouldn't exist. But understand this, I won't run from it. If I have to bear chaos to protect what's left of us, then I'll bear it. Even if it breaks me."
The air inside the battle wagon grew heavier, the steam from Mary's tea swirling like mist caught in storm winds. For the first time since the clash, silence wasn't comfort—it was dread.
"Lord Daniel," Mary Kaye said softly, her tone both respectful and heavy with unease, "we are truly thankful for everything you have done so far. But… don't you think you are sacrificing too much?" Her eyes did not waver, though the question seemed to tremble in the air like a string drawn too tight. To her, he was no longer just a comrade-in-arms.
He was something else, something marked by fate. "You carry a burden none of us could bear. I believe you are more than just awakened. You are a chosen representative of the Netherborn. Perhaps the last… or the one destined to revive them." She placed the steaming cup of tea into his hands, the warmth a fragile anchor against the cold weight of her words.
Mary's voice softened, but her conviction did not. "Ever since I first set foot in this cursed tower as a player, I've been searching reading, hunting for scraps of knowledge buried in forgotten archives. The Netherborn have always been elusive, their name whispered in broken passages, fragments smudged by time and deliberate erasure. But even those fragments agreed on one thing: the Netherborn existed before the Tower itself.
They are older than this world's oldest myth, older than the very laws we believe bind reality." She hesitated, her lips pressing together before she admitted what truly unsettled her. "And yet… when I follow those threads, I find something strange. The timeline doesn't align. It's as if the history of the Netherborn has been rewritten, fabricated, reshaped, as though someone or something tampered with the truth of their existence. I don't know if what we read now is real, or if we're living in a forgery."
Emma's eyes darted between Mary and Daniel, the weight of the revelation pressing down on her healer's heart. But Daniel, pale and drained, only lowered his gaze to the tea in his hands. His fingers curled around the cup as though grounding himself in its heat, though he hardly tasted the steam that touched his lips. He was too exhausted to challenge Mary's theories, too tired to argue against the shifting ground of history.
The world, the Tower, the truth of what he was, it was all changing, unraveling with each step forward. And yet, Daniel had no reason left to fight those changes. He had already accepted that meaning was not found in history, nor in the titles others gave him. The only thing he could cling to was his own conviction: to bear the pain others could not, to carry their burdens until his body or his soul finally gave way. The rest, the Netherborn, the Tower, the tangled past—would have to wait.
Mary Kaye's hands tightened around her own cup as though the memory still scorched her. Her voice was low, threaded with awe and unease as she fixed her gaze on Daniel. "When you lost yourself back there… it wasn't like watching a man fight. It wasn't even like watching a mage unleash mana. It was something else entirely." She drew a breath, steadying herself before continuing.
"Your rage didn't just burn, it reshaped everything around you. The air cracked, as if the world itself couldn't bear the pressure of what you were releasing. Every strike you made tore the space before it wide open, like reality was nothing more than thin glass shattering beneath your will. Shadows bent away from you, light warped, even sound was swallowed before it reached us. And then, when you struck again, everything came roaring back in a thunderous collapse, as though creation itself was being ripped apart and stitched together in the same instant."
Her eyes flickered, remembering the image as if it were carved into her skull. "You were bleeding, staggering, your body was breaking even as you pushed it further. But the power you wielded didn't hesitate. It didn't care if it consumed you. You moved like something unbound, like chaos had found a vessel and refused to let go. It wasn't magic it was annihilation. You didn't just fight, Daniel. You erased."
She fell silent, her knuckles white as she gripped the cup tighter, before she admitted in a whisper: "I've read of storms that tear continents, of celestial fire that burned cities out of existence. But even those pale beside what I saw in you. That wasn't human. It wasn't even the work of something born of the Tower. It was… beyond."
Emma turned sharply to Daniel, eyes searching his face, her voice edged with both fear and defiance. "And if that power takes more from you each time you use it, if it's devouring you piece by piece, then what will be left of you when it's done?"
Daniel exhaled slowly, the weight of their words pressing against him, his exhaustion pulling at his bones. But deep inside, he knew, Mary hadn't exaggerated. He had felt it too. The chaos hadn't obeyed him; it had chosen him.
Mary Kaye's voice softened as she set her cup down, her gaze never leaving Daniel. "We had a brief interaction before all this," she began carefully, "but you hardly said anything then. I know you carry yourself like a noble born, Rothchester blood runs deep, that much is true but your actions are… different. Too different. They're not the gestures of some lofty heir.
They're human. Real. For a time, we even believed you were just like us. another player thrown into this cursed tower, role-playing a persona for some quest line, following a script none of us had yet unlocked."
She paused, her eyes darkening as the memory of his rampage replayed in her mind. "But then I saw you change. The first time the Netherborn manifested in you, when that monstrous power surged, it should have been cold, detached, like the stories describe.
The first Netherborn recorded in the Tower's annals killed the Evolve Drake without hesitation, without emotion. A being like that is a void. its actions pure function, not passion. But you… when the Netherborn's power took hold of you, you were not a void. You were rage. Pure, burning rage. You were killing with intent, with thrill, with something more than survival driving your hand. That's not what the records speak of. That's not what the Netherborn are supposed to be."
Her brows furrowed as she leaned closer, lowering her voice though the wagon was quiet around them. "And it raises questions. Too many. The tales of a noble son, missing for five years, suddenly returning? Convenient. Almost scripted. And yet this" she gestured vaguely to him, to the tension still buzzing in the air, "this is no tale.
This is the Tower. Here, nothing is permanent, nothing is reasonable. We've all seen players vanish during quests, their deaths silent, unseen by the public eye. But this…" She shook her head slowly. "This is different. This is loud. Visible. It's as though the Tower itself wants everyone to see you. To see what you are."
Vaenyx, sensing Daniel's faint presence through the bond, shrank itself down into a form almost unrecognizable compared to its true nature. What had once been a towering, feral beast of awe and fear now appeared as a small, impossibly adorable creature—its fur soft and silvery, its round eyes gleaming with childlike innocence. With a surprising burst of energy, it bounded toward the battle wagon where Daniel was resting, its tiny paws pattering lightly against the ground. Reaching the enchanted carriage's entrance, it scrambled up the ladder, clumsily but determined, until its small head poked through the doorway. Daniel was seated inside, silent and still, his wounds tended but his mind far away. Bonnie entered just then, carrying a cup of steaming broth in both hands, but she froze at the sight of the tiny creature staring in with expectant eyes.
"Oh my… look at you," Bonnie gasped softly, setting the cup carefully on a small table before crouching down. The creature blinked up at her, its little ears twitching, and for a moment the air that had been so heavy since the last battle seemed to soften. "You're too cute to be out here alone," she said, her voice gentler than anyone had heard it in days. She lifted the small being into her arms, cradling it instinctively. "Are you looking for your master? Don't worry, I'll bring you to him, alright?"
Her words drew Emma and Mary Kaye closer, curiosity pulling them in. Emma's stern expression cracked into a smile the moment she laid eyes on Vaenyx's miniature form. "Wait… that's Rothchester's familiar?" she asked in disbelief, covering her mouth to stifle a laugh. "I thought it was supposed to be terrifying." Mary Kaye, who had seen Vaenyx's monstrous true self firsthand, simply nodded in amazement. "It is… but right now? I suppose even familiars can have softer faces."
Behind them, Natasha leaned on the doorway with her arms crossed, her sharp gaze lingering on Daniel before drifting to the creature Bonnie held. "Hmph. That thing nearly leveled half a field, and now it looks like something you'd give a child as a pet." Her voice carried her usual edge, but the corners of her lips betrayed a faint smirk. Charlotte, peeking from behind Natasha's shoulder, clasped her hands together and nearly squealed. "It's so precious! Can we keep it like this forever?"
Last of all came Jacob, who scratched the back of his neck, his usual calm demeanor struggling to hold against the warm ripple of laughter spreading through the group. "Well," he said with a crooked smile, "if that's the beast that follows our lord, then perhaps we've all underestimated his taste in companions."
The carriage that had moments ago been filled with silence and the weight of grim reflection now carried something lighter, small, fleeting warmth sparked by the simple sight of an otherworldly beast choosing to look harmless for its master's sake. It was a reminder that even in the Tower, where despair clung to every corner, there could still be brief, human moments worth holding on to.
Daniel, who until now had sat slouched against the cushioned wall of the enchanted wagon, his body wrapped in bandages and his eyes half-lidded from exhaustion, finally stirred. The laughter, the gentle teasing, the simple hum of warmth that filled the air it pierced the haze of pain and silence he had wrapped himself in since the fight.
Vaenyx wriggled free from Bonnie's arms, scampering across the carriage floor before leaping into Daniel's lap. The creature nestled itself against him, its tiny form radiating the same loyalty and presence as its monstrous self. Daniel rested one hand on its silken head, stroking it absentmindedly. His lips parted, and for the first time since the battle, his voice broke through.
"…You're all too easily amused." His words were quiet, almost teasing, but carried a rasp of fatigue. Emma, who had been leaning against the table, arms folded, raised a brow. "Easily amused? Lord Rothchester, your terrifying familiar just turned into a pocket-sized plush toy. Forgive us if it's hard to take the end of the world seriously with that staring at us." Her sarcasm cracked into a grin, and Mary Kaye chuckled softly beside her.
Bonnie, still crouched on the floor, leaned forward and scolded lightly. "Don't ruin the moment, Daniel. Look he came here because he was worried about you. Even your beast knows you're pushing yourself too far." She looked him in the eye, her usual fiery confidence dimmed into something almost tender.
Natasha exhaled sharply, crossing her arms. "Tch. You talk about pushing yourself too far, but he's the only reason any of us are still alive. You should all remember that before treating this like a tavern game." Her words were edged, but they trembled faintly, betraying the unspoken truth—she wasn't scolding him. She was protecting him in her own way.
Charlotte, ignoring Natasha's tension, crept closer and clasped her hands together, her voice bubbling with innocent wonder. "Still, it's kind of nice… isn't it? Seeing something fierce choose to be gentle. Maybe that means Lord Daniel isn't as untouchable as he acts." She peeked up at him, eyes wide, almost expectant.
Jacob, who had been leaning in the doorway with quiet patience, finally spoke. "She's right, you know. For all your power, Daniel, you're still human enough to let us see this side. It's rare. And it matters." His tone was calm, but firm, like a stone placed deliberately in shifting waters.
Daniel's gaze swept across them all—their laughter, their suspicion, their care, their questions.
He felt the weight of it press against his chest. He knew the truth they could never know, the cruel strings of the Tower pulling behind every moment, but still… he found himself answering. "Maybe it's not amusement," he said quietly, his hand still on Vaenyx's small head.
"Maybe it's survival. Maybe you all laugh, tease, and pretend… because if you didn't, the pain would break you. I see it. I feel it. And if that's all I can do for now let you breathe, let you smile then I'll bear it."
For a moment, the warmth inside the wagon lingered, but it was threaded with something sharper an undercurrent of Daniel's conviction, heavy and unyielding. They exchanged glances, the group suddenly aware that beneath his weary humor, Daniel's silence was not weakness. It was resolved.
Vaenyx curled in Daniel's lap, smaller now, its three forms bound into the shape of something that seemed almost harmless—a fox's delicate head resting against his chest, feathered wings folded neatly along its body, the serpent's tail coiled loosely around his wrist like a silken bracelet. Daniel's hand moved over it slowly, absently, his fingers tracing from the fox's brow down across its spine and further to the snake's scaled head at the end of its tail. To the others, it looked like nothing more than a pet begging for affection. But within Daniel's mind, the voice of Vaenyx stirred, not as one, but as three distinct echoes, overlapping yet clear.
"Master… forgive us," whispered the fox-voice, timid and full of shame."We were bound and useless," the wings sighed, heavy with failure.
"We could not strike when you bled. We could not shield when you fell," hissed the serpent's echo, low and sharp.
Daniel closed his eyes, the smile on his lips soft but tired, and spoke to them not aloud, but within the silent thread of thought. You have nothing to beg forgiveness for. It was never your fault. I already knew the day would come when I would face something greater than myself. I counted on it. I expected it. What I didn't count on was the timing—or the enemy breaking the rules so soon.
The three fell quiet, but he felt their weight pressing into him, their guilt digging deeper than words. He continued, his thoughts steady, almost teaching them as much as reminding himself. I thought we had time. That the first floor was nothing more than what it was always meant to be. a proving ground. A training area. A place for players to learn before stepping into the true fire of the Tower. That was the design. That was the order. But the gods… the old ones… they did not care for design. They moved early. They broke the law that was written into this world. And because of my mistake, because I assumed they would obey their own rules, we bled. Too many died.
His hand stilled on Vaenyx's head, his eyes opening again, not weary now but sharpened with a harder light. That error is mine to bear. And I will answer it. From this moment forward, I can no longer play the Tower as I once believed it to be. The field has changed. The pieces have shifted. If the old gods cheat, then I will strip the board clean and make my own game. I will grow my force, sharper, stronger, unshakable. I will make ready not for the battles the Tower promised, but for the war it is becoming.
Vaenyx trembled faintly, its three voices folding into one, a soundless oath. "Then we will rise with you, Master. Whatever form, whatever shape, until the house is clean."
Daniel's gaze dropped, his hand stroking once more along the creature's body. To the others around him, he looked at peace, as though soothed by the warmth of a loyal companion. But inside, in the silent chambers of his mind, the burden of inevitability had already shifted—no longer a weight pressing down, but a fire rising up, demanding response.