From Alessio Leone's Perspective
When he opened his eyes, a new world unfolded before him. The absolute white of the oval chamber dissolved into colors, scents, and textures so vivid that, for a moment, Alessio felt as if he had awakened inside a lucid dream. A cold breeze brushed his skin, carrying the fragrance of resinous wood, the smoke of forges, and freshly baked bread. Sounds tangled together in a harmonious chaos: lively voices, the trot of horses, the clang of hammers striking metal, and the crackle of bonfires scattered through the streets.
Before him rose a small town, surrounded by rough-hewn stone walls, irregular in shape—as if built in haste—yet sturdy enough to withstand assaults from the monsters of the wilds. At the entrance gate, a wooden sign carved with glowing runes shimmered softly:
"Eldenwall."
The name pulsed as if alive, etched into the memory of the game and into the hearts of the players awakening there.
Eldenwall was nothing more than a forgotten outpost in the vast Kingdom of Thalgrande, a modest borderland unworthy of prestigious maps. For many, it was a humble, almost disappointing start. But Alessio smiled as he recognized those streets. This was where it had all begun in his past life. He knew every shortcut, every alley where NPCs hid side quests, every opportunity impatient players would miss in their rush to run off into the wild to hunt.
He had considered the possibility of appearing in another city this time, but everything was exactly the same—perfect for his plans.
Around him, dozens of newly created players materialized at the same spawn point. Some shouted excitedly, sprinting to explore; others rushed to the fields, eager to strike down the first digital boar and savor the petty thrill of seeing "+1 EXP" flash on the screen. A few were already arguing loudly about classes, builds, and future guilds, as if sheer willpower could skip the early grind.
Alessio didn't move.
Instead, he drew in a deep breath. The air filled his lungs with such realism it nearly intoxicated him. The morning freshness, the faint dust carried from the soil, the warmth of bread baking in the NPC-run bakery just a few meters away… it was indistinguishable from reality. The Awakening of the Black Tower didn't simulate reality—it recreated it.
A faint smile tugged at his lips.
While the others hurried, he did the opposite. He wasn't in a rush. The advantage of a veteran was knowing that blind sprinting only led to the abyss.
With a simple mental command, he opened his Player Profile.
The interface appeared before his eyes like a translucent blade suspended in the air. No ornaments, no flashy menus, no excess options—almost primitive compared to the elaborate systems of other MMOs he had consumed.
At the top, four essential details:
Name: Aslan
Title: Empty
Class: Tank
Affiliation: None
Below that, a bare table of attributes, simple and merciless in its transparency:
Strength: 8
Intelligence: 2
Vitality: 10
Agility: 6
Alessio studied the numbers carefully, and another quiet smile touched his lips.
Vitality: 10.
Strength: 8.
Agility: 6.
In his past life, he remembered well, those numbers had been lower—8 Vitality, 7 Strength, and 4 Agility. Now, every extra point was the direct fruit of his discipline in the real world: morning runs, weights lifted to failure, sweat transformed into advantage.
The difference might seem small to a novice, but Alessio knew that in the Tower, a single point could mean surviving a blow that would kill another player. Two extra points of Vitality equaled dozens of hours of early grinding. One more point in Strength meant deeper cuts, heavier strikes, a narrower margin for error against monsters and players alike.
It was living proof that his months of training hadn't been in vain.
And in this game, numbers could never be underestimated.
Finally, the last tab: Items. Only four equipment slots.
Armor: Beaten Leather (beginner)
Head: Empty
Weapon: Rusted Axe
Shield: Cracked Wooden Shield
Nothing else. No inventory. No storage for hoarding. Here, if he wanted to switch gear, there were only two options: store it somewhere safe in the city… or sell it immediately. A cruel design, but honest. The game made it clear: there was no room for hoarders or indecisive players.
Alessio exhaled slowly, closing the panel with a thought. The system's simplicity was almost brutal, yet it hid the sophistication of a designer who knew exactly what they were building. He felt like a gladiator at the edge of the arena—few resources, raw stats, but full awareness that every detail could be turned into an advantage.
The game had begun.
And unlike everyone around him, he wasn't rushing.
Alessio wasn't rushing.
And his reason was simple: the Black Tower wasn't like any other game.
Everything here was rare.
Or rather, extremely rare.
Titles were the clearest example. In other MMOs, slaughter half a dozen wolves and you'd be decorated as "Wolf Slayer." A rain of empty achievements, cosmetic trinkets to soothe fragile egos. But in the Black Tower… such things were impossible.
Titles were awarded only for real accomplishments, true feats nearly impossible to repeat. In his ten years of past life within the game, Alessio had earned just one single title: Defender.
And still, it had been his greatest joy.
After all, most players would never see a single title in their entire careers.
At least, for all their rarity, titles came with worthy rewards.
The Defender title Alessio had once earned granted a +20% Vitality bonus whenever he was in a group. A simple status boost—yet one that could not be underestimated in this game.
And the reason was even harsher: stats themselves were ridiculously rare.
Yes, it was possible to gain them by leveling up. But even that was shrouded in cruelty. The Tower's leveling system was a punishment in itself.
First: there was no experience bar.
Second: there were no notifications for experience gain.
Progression was invisible.
Everyone began at level 1. At some point, after hours or days of effort, a single dry message appeared:
"Level Up: 2."
No bar, no percentage, no "X points remaining." Just the final verdict. Until then, a player could only do their best, never knowing whether they were close or painfully far from the next level.
And the cost of death was steep.
Every time a player died, they lost one level.
Simple as that. No mercy.
And if you were at level 1, with no level to lose, it meant a one-week ban from the game. Simple, but cruel.
But even levels weren't the true key. What mattered were the stats.
And those were only awarded every five completed levels.
Few. Rigid. Limited.
No freedom to distribute at will. The system was dictatorial, tied directly to the chosen class.
Tanks gained +1 Strength and +1 Vitality.
Warriors, +1 Strength and +1 Agility.
Marksmen, +1 Agility and +1 Intelligence.
Mages and Healers, +2 Intelligence.
Simple. Brutal. No room for fantasy.
Anyone craving other attributes had to seek out special stat quests—but those, again, were rare, some even unique, demanding efforts that crushed the majority of players.
That was why Alessio always told himself: class evolution was the backbone of survival itself. Every branch opened better paths to earn extra stats, each advancement a step closer to the impossible.
In the Black Tower, numbers were bones.
And weak bones carried no one.