Twenty days.
That's how long Roman had waited.
Twenty days of dodging the Awakened Association's questions. Of pretending to be a grieving survivor. Of training in secret with his undead Wyvern King. Of studying ancient runes by the pale blue light of his system's interface. Of dreaming about the Tower and the Gods burning.
And then — it came.
A private message from the encrypted chat room.
User: VeilMerchant"Tower Token. Verified. Floor 1-20 entry. Meet in Black Coil Market. Dock 9. Midnight."
Roman stared at the screen for a long time, then slowly cracked a smile.
"Finally…"
Midnight. New Arkanis City.
Roman walked alone, hood pulled up over his face, his breath forming mist in the cold coastal air. The docks were quiet — too quiet. No cargo. No fishing boats. No light. Only a thin fog rolled in from the sea, wrapping around old metal containers like spectral serpents.
Then he saw it.
A red marking on the side of a rusted ship's hull — a coiling serpent biting its own tail, painted in glowing ink only visible to those with a system.
[Mark of Entry Detected. Welcome to the Black Coil Market.]
Roman stepped forward. The ship's hull groaned — and then shimmered, warping space itself like a ripple in time. A hidden dimensional fold opened in front of him, revealing a long iron stairwell descending into what looked like the belly of a forgotten world.
He stepped through.
The Black Market.
The air was thick with mana, smoke, and secrets.
It wasn't a market in the normal sense — it was a subterranean city buried under layers of illusion and space-folding technology. Arcane lanterns floated like ghost lights, casting eerie blue and crimson hues across walls etched in warding runes and blood-contract glyphs.
Here, the rules of the world didn't apply.
Here, anyone could buy anything — for the right price.
Mutated beast cores, cursed artifacts, God's blessings in stolen bottles, forbidden skill books sealed in chains, and even awakened slaves, their eyes vacant and collars glowing.
Whispers filled the air:
"Got a fresh chimera core here, still warm—"
"Need a Blessing Shard? Rank A, unbound."
"Someone's auctioning a sealed Archdemon's fang. Third stall down."
Roman moved through the crowd like a shadow, careful not to make eye contact. The place was filled with dangerous types — rogue awakeners, assassins, shadow guild brokers, and even god cultists wearing veils of silk and bone.
And then he saw the location.
Dock 9.
A man in a long black coat and a plague doctor's mask stood beneath a broken lamppost, his fingers drumming against a black steel case.
"You're GhostFang?" the man asked, his voice distorted through the mask.
Roman nodded silently.
The man opened the case.
Inside, sealed in a transparent mana-proof cube, floated a glowing silver token with dragon-scale engravings.
[Tower Entry Token: Floors 1–20 – Verified.]
Roman's heart skipped a beat.
"Price?" he asked flatly.
"Soul shards or cursed wyvern core. I heard you picked one up recently…"
Roman narrowed his eyes. Word traveled fast in this world — too fast. But he didn't flinch.
"I'll give you the Wyvern King's left eye. Still charged with mana."
The merchant's fingers froze mid-tap. Then slowly, he nodded.
"Deal."
They made the exchange under a stasis ward — a legal shield that prevented betrayal. But still, Roman never let his guard down.
As he turned to leave, the merchant leaned in.
"The gods are watching again, you know."
Roman didn't stop walking.
"Let them watch," he muttered. "They'll see what's coming."
He returned to the surface, stepping into the fog once more. The token pulsed faintly in his pocket, as if sensing destiny ahead.
The Tower would open in ten days.
And now?
He had a way in.
He walked toward the neon skyline with only one thought in mind:
"I'm coming for all of you."
Ten Days Later.
The world moved on.
Reporters speculated. The Awakened Association conducted silent investigations. Guilds whispered of a sole survivor from an S-Class raid. But Roman Elhart had vanished like a ghost. No longer the grieving boy, no longer the porter who stood at the edge of power.
He had been preparing — every second, every breath.
In the basement of a run-down apartment in the Old Arkanis District, Roman trained in secret. Swinging his scythe in deadly arcs. Practicing mana flow with undead wyverns circling him like sentinels. Reading grimoires written in draconic, bound by cursed flesh. Consuming elixirs, reinforcing his soul with dark magic.
And then… the day came.
The Tower stood like a divine monument in the middle of the Neutral Zone, a no-man's land untouched by nations or guilds — because the Tower didn't belong to any one world. It belonged to the gods.
A pillar that stretched into the sky like a needle piercing dimensions, its surface a shifting lattice of runes and stone. Its base was surrounded by awakened from around the globe, all seeking power, glory, or divine favor.
But Roman?
He only sought vengeance.
Before stepping into the entrance plaza, Roman ducked into an alley near the transit gate, pulled out a sealed black box, and opened it.
Inside lay a sleek, rune-etched mask shaped like a dragon's skull — obsidian black, with glowing silver inscriptions.
[Artifact: Mask of Shifting Embers – Rank A+]Effect: Hides the user's true identity and appearance. Can adjust facial structure and mana signature. Duration: Unlimited while worn.
Roman held the mask in his hand for a moment, then slowly placed it over his face. The effect was instant.
His face shimmered. His scar vanished. His silver hair turned raven black. Even his mana signature blurred, transforming into something untraceable — chaotic, yet perfectly stable.
In the reflection of a puddle, he saw someone else staring back.
"From now on…" he whispered. "Roman Elhart is dead."
"Call me… Reven."
He drew his hood up, adjusted the black coat gifted by the Wyvern King, and walked forward, blending seamlessly into the stream of awakened warriors approaching the Tower's base.
The atmosphere was electric. Thousands gathered. Swords glowed, staffs shimmered, and banners flew. Some blessed by gods. Some chosen by nations. Others protected by guilds.
And yet — Reven walked alone.
[DING!][Tower Token Verified. Welcome, Challenger.]
[Initiating Dimensional Transfer in 3… 2… 1…]
The ground beneath his feet dissolved into shimmering light.
The sky cracked like glass.
And then — the world shifted.