Ragnar blinked hard, staring at the glowing screen in the black room. His head throbbed from the rush of memories. Despite all that, he decided he was still Ragnar Vault Noir.
Those other thoughts from Min Min were not the real him. But something had shifted inside him, his emotions felt sharper, colder, like he'd seen too much pain already.
"Normally, I should be completely lost, not knowing anything about this place," he said aloud, his voice steady in the empty space. "But with these memories, I can clearly see that this world is harsh, full of suffering." He paused, rubbing his temples.
He still didn't know where he was now. "What is this Tower? And this 'Will' that is mentioned on the screen... I can only think back to those Monoliths. Were they sucking out something like this from people? Or was that a different force, some sort of life force?"
"Goryunel..." he murmured. "Maybe those are related somehow?"
If not for Min Min's memories, the only reference he would have were some novels he read back on Earth. This felt just like that. He had transmigrated into the body of this poor man, after his death.
But then he thought back to the email he got from an unknown source, right before the bus crash.
'It said he was chosen to be the Representative. What did that mean? A Representative of who? Some company? There had to be a connection.'
The screen in front of him flickered. The name spot stayed as [Name: ???], but then it glitched and changed on its own.
[Name: The Unnamed]
[Race: Human]
[Floor: 0]
[Titles: Resurrected from Death]
[Accumulated Will: 0]
Ragnar stared at the new name.
Then, seemingly out of nowhere, the two red dice appeared on the floor. They rolled a bit on their own, stopping with the white dragons facing up.
[Pick up the Dice of Fate.]
He reached down and took them.
[Dice of the White Dragon activated.]
The dice felt warm in his hand. A buzz shot up his arm, and the big screen on the wall shifted. It looked like a water blob on a black background, rippling and flowing smooth, with glowing text floating inside. 'If it was a website design, it would definitely be a trending one,' he thought.
[You have inherited the Pearl Dragon Will.]
[The pace of gaining Will has increased by 10 fold.]
Ragnar's eyes widened. "Pearl Dragon Will?" It tied back to the dice, maybe to this whole tower thing. But what was Will exactly? Some sort of energy?
And then there was the Qi and Presence stats, he could only partially make out what those could mean.
[Enter Floor 1. Survive the Trial.]
[Yes] [No]
Ragnar stared at the options, his finger hovering in the air. He knew what he'd seen outside—those dead bodies piled up, rotting in the mud, the stench that made him puke.
What could be worse than that?
Then there were the flashes from Min Min's memories. That woman, strong and fierce, swinging her sword with tremendous force, but then the old man... he crushed her like she was nothing, sucked her into oblivion with a wave of his hand.
If that's the world out there, no way he could survive it the way he was now—frail, clueless, just a guy from Earth with a half-finished IT degree.
There had to be a way to gain strength by climbing this tower.
Why else display the stats? Numbers like that screamed progression, levels, power-ups, just like those novels.
With a deep breath, he touched [Yes].
A stone door materialized on the wall, etched with coiling dragons. It swung open, revealing a swirl of mist and dim light.
Ragnar stepped through the door, the mist wrapping around him like cold fingers.
...
He woke up feeling cold and moist, his skin prickling from the damp air.
He was lying on a hard stone floor, with patches of water pooling around him, chilling his skin with a clammy bite.
Sour tang of mold and rust stung his nostrils.
It was quiet, except for the occasional plinks of water coming from somewhere in a dark corridor. A bit of light came in from a small grated window set high in the concrete wall.
He sat up slowly, his muscles aching from the cold that seemed to sink into his bones. "Am I in prison?"
He looked around for clues, but the cell was empty. There wasn't even a bed, no chair, just bare walls and iron bars on one side. He got up and gripped the bars, peering out. The long dark corridor stretched both ways, lined with similar cells. A few strands of loose hay lay scattered on the floor.
In one cell across the way, something caught his eye. There was a table of sorts, tilted at about 60 degrees. An almost completely naked prisoner lay on it, pinned flat as if stuck there, but with no chains or ropes.
It seemed like the figure was sucked into the surface, body merged or held by some invisible force.
The ominous thing was that the prisoner was extremely malnourished, skin and bones was all that was left of the figure. They should have been long dead, but the prisoner's eyes were open, staring blank at the ceiling.
Ragnar's stomach twisted. "Jesus Christ... That's not a normal jail. I need to quickly find a way to get out of here."
As he shifted, something sharp pricked his thigh. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, jagged piece of metal, no bigger than a coin. It felt cold and heavy in his palm.
Suddenly, a faint light started to glow from somewhere deep in the corridor, growing brighter like a lantern.
Then, Ragnar heard footsteps. He pulled back from the bars and hid himself behind the wall near the corner of his cell, pressing flat against the cold stone. He peeked out just enough to see.
Two figures walked into view.
The one in front looked like a guard. He wore a long dark coat that reached his knees, buttoned tight, and a peaked cap like those from modern wars. His boots clicked on the floor, and he carried a thin rod in one gloved hand.
Behind him came another man, dressed in a suit, dark gray, double-breasted with wide lapels. He held a small leather notebook, his eyes darting around.
Ragnar's mind churned as they passed. 'The Tower is pulling scenarios from Earth?'
He stayed quiet, pressed against the wall of his cell, barely breathing as the two men stopped in front of the cell across the way, where the skeletal prisoner lay pinned to the tilted table.
The guard's voice was low and cold. "I will only be able to release him for a few minutes before he passes away, so be quick. And under no condition come close to the surface he's lying on, or you might never leave this place."
The man in the suit shook slightly, his fingers fumbling as he pulled a pen from his pocket.
The guard stepped into the cell and pulled a rusty lever on the wall.
With a grinding sound, the table shuddered, and the prisoner's frail body slid off, hitting the floor with a dull thud. Ragnar flinched, expecting the man's brittle bones to shatter.
But miraculously, they didn't. The prisoner lay there, chest barely moving, eyes still staring blankly upward.
"Hurry up, reader," the guard grunted at the suited man.
The man hesitated, gripping his notebook tighter, and took a cautious step forward, keeping his distance from the table. He knelt down at the man's head and placed a hand on his forehead.
Ragnar's mind raced. If I'm going to escape, now's the best time, if the guard is here, than it should be easier, But he was still shut in, no key in sight yet.
He held his breath, watching the suited man scribble something in his notebook, his hand shaking as he glanced at the prisoner. The guard stood like a statue, rod tapping against his palm, eyes scanning the corridor.
Ragnar gripped the bars, heart pounding. He needed them to open his cell. Clenching his jaw, he let out a raw, piercing scream—"Aaaagh!"—like someone had stabbed him.
The guard's head whipped around, eyes narrowing. "What the hell?!" He sprinted toward Ragnar's cell, boots slamming against the stone floor, rod raised like a weapon.
The suited man froze, pen hovering over his notebook, staring toward the noise.
Ragnar slumped against the bars, faking pain, one hand clutching his side. His other hand slipped into his pocket.