The soft, rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor echoed faintly.
Roman's vision flickered as his eyes peeled open, light stinging his pupils like shards of glass. For a moment, everything was blurry — ceiling tiles, a faint hum, the sterile scent of antiseptic.
He tried to sit up, but pain lanced through his ribs.
A hospital bed.
The dull ache in his limbs confirmed it: he was alive. Barely.
He turned his head — and froze.
Armed guards.
Four of them stood like statues just inside his private room. Two near the door, one by the window, and one beside his bed with a stun spear drawn and held casually across his chest. Each bore the insignia of the IARB — International Awakened Regulation Bureau.
This wasn't protection.
It was containment.
So they think I'm dangerous, Roman mused, a faint bitter smile on his lips. Good. Let them.
The silence didn't last.
A sharp chime echoed through the hallway, and the mechanical hiss of secure doors sliding open reached his ears. Seconds later, footsteps clicked against the floor — confident, official, and fast.
The door opened, and a woman entered flanked by two elite agents in white military armor.
She wore a sharp obsidian coat, a white badge pinned to her chest, and piercing violet eyes that missed nothing.
"You're awake, Roman Elhart.""I'm Director Elira Mourn, Vice Chief of the Arkanis Awakened Authority, Sector-12."
She didn't offer a smile.
Didn't ask how he felt.
Only studied him like a loaded gun that hadn't fired yet.
Behind her, monitors buzzed silently. His vitals were displayed on half a dozen screens, his DNA matched, his class scanned — or at least, attempted to be.
"We have a few questions," she said, voice crisp and formal."Starting with… how the hell are you still alive?"
Roman met her gaze.
Calm. Controlled. Haunted.
"I don't know," he said, voice hoarse. "We entered the dungeon. It was dark. Cold. And then…"
He looked away, fingers clenching around the bedsheet.
"...the dragons came."
Elira glanced at one of her aides, who nodded silently — their mental link relaying his vitals.
No spike in heart rate. No signs of deception.
"And the others?"
"Dead," Roman said flatly. "All of them. Burned. Shredded. Swallowed."
The room fell silent.
Elira folded her arms.
"We've reviewed satellite feed. External monitoring failed the moment the team crossed the threshold. We lost seventy-three S, A, and B-Rank hunters — and only you came back. You expect us to believe that was luck?"
Roman's jaw tightened. For a moment, the grief was real. His father… his sister… his entire family had died in dungeons like that one. He wasn't faking that part.
"Believe what you want," he murmured. "I didn't run. I just… survived."
A moment passed. One of the aides checked a console and frowned.
"Director… we've scanned his class registry six times. It still shows blank. Like… he's unranked."
Elira's eyes narrowed. "That's not possible."
Roman's lips curled slightly — not a smile, not a smirk, but something like quiet defiance.
Dragon God's seal… is working, he thought. They can't see it.
"I'm tired," he said, leaning back. "If you're done accusing me, I'd like to rest."
Elira studied him for several seconds longer — then turned to leave.
"We'll be back tomorrow. You'll be transferred to HQ for a full magical analysis. And Roman—"
She stopped at the door, her violet eyes unreadable.
"The gods may play their games from above… but here in Arkanis, secrets don't stay buried long."
Then she was gone.
Roman let out a long breath.
She's right, he thought. This won't last forever.
I need to get stronger. Fast. Before they realize what I really am.
In the depths of his soul, a cold voice stirred — the echo of a dead king.
"When the time comes, call me… and the skies shall fall for you."
Roman sat alone in his hospital bed, the sterile light of the room dimmed. Outside the window, the skyline of New Arkanis City stretched like an electric spiderweb — a fusion of steel, neon, and distant gunfire from rogue dungeon breaches. But here, inside his private ward, it was deathly quiet.
Too quiet.
The guards had been reduced to just one — a bored C-Rank Awakened in uniform — and the association hadn't returned today, though he knew they would soon.
He had time. And that was dangerous.
With a subtle wave of his hand, he pulled a slim, hidden tablet from beneath the mattress. His father's old device — long outdated, but modded beyond recognition. The screen flickered to life with a soft hum. No surveillance bug could track it; he made sure of that.
"Tower… Tower… Tower…"
He typed the word into a dozen independent networks. Not just the mainstream Net, but buried Awakened guild forums, black market trackers, even secret god-watcher cult databases.
One word returned millions of hits.
And every post, article, thread, and whisper shared the same eerie tone:
"The Tower is coming back."
Roman scrolled rapidly, eyes focused, absorbing information like a starving man devours a meal.
[TOWER WATCHER FORUM — TOP POST TODAY]
"Confirmed sightings of Tower Pulse Lights in 9 major cities. Energy fluctuations match the 1st Tower Awakening 20 years ago. It's happening again."
[ARCANE DAILY]
"Rumors suggest the Tower will open its floors within the next 30 days. Only Awakened with at least C-Rank clearance and Tower Tokens will be allowed to register."
[Anonymous Leak: GodNet Mirror]
"We intercepted fragments from the celestial domain. Gods are repositioning their Champions. The Tower will test them again. But this time... a new player has entered the game."
Roman's hands tightened on the tablet.
"30 days…"
That wasn't long. Especially not for what he needed to do — build strength, gather resources, find a way in. The Tower was unlike any dungeon.
He leaned back, staring at the ceiling as the Tower's lore echoed in his mind.
A living structure that defied physics, built by the Gods to create and break heroes.
100 Floors. 100 Trials.
No one had ever reached the top. Not even once.
According to ancient records, the Tower wasn't a fixed location. It appeared and vanished across the world, governed by strange celestial tides. Those who entered either emerged stronger than ever… or not at all.
"The 100th Floor…" Roman whispered.
The words of the Dragon King haunted his memory.
"Climb the Tower. Reach the 100th floor. There lies the Dragon God's artifact — the heart of your inheritance. Never let it fall into another's hands."
His jaw clenched.
He didn't have time to waste. He couldn't trust guilds. And he certainly couldn't trust the Gods. But if the Tower was opening in 90 days…
"Then that's my deadline."
Roman exited the forum and opened a secure portal — an old encrypted chatroom his father once used.
There were only three people online. All anonymous. All dangerous.
He typed quickly:
Username: GhostFang
"Buying black market Tower Token. Any floor. Will pay in soul shards or A-tier gear. DM me fast."
The bait was set.
"Let's see who bites first…"
And in that moment, with the light from the tablet painting his eyes silver-blue, Roman Elhart — the first Dragon Necromancer — began preparing for the climb that would either reshape the world…
…or burn it to ash.