[Class: Mage (Rare)]
[Level: 0]
[Strength: 1]
[Agility: 1]
[Perception: 1]
[Physique: 1]
[Mana: 5]
Class Skills: Fireball Level 1 [rare], Lightning Armor Level 1 [epic]
"Hehehe… oh good heavens, I even got an epic-grade skill!"
Wang Chen laughed like a madman. The notification still shimmered in front of him, and he could hardly believe his luck. A proper combat class, a rare offensive spell, and an epic defensive technique—all on the first roll. The heavens themselves must have felt guilty for the last run, when he'd been stuck with the Sweeper class and spent three miserable days hiding behind broken walls praying the resentment ghosts would ignore him.
This time, it was different. He clenched his fists, feeling a faint hum of mana pulsing under his skin. The thrill was intoxicating.
"All right," he muttered, "time to see if I can actually break my record."
He stretched his fingers, testing the sensation of mana flow. The magic felt responsive, almost eager—far better than the clunky, sluggish feeling of his previous attempt. The moment of calm didn't last long. The tower's protection timer reached zero, and a wind like a whisper of death swept across the wasteland.
Whoosh.
The cold here didn't merely bite; it gnawed. It clawed into the marrow, turning breath to frost and thought to glass. The air hissed like a thousand unseen mouths murmuring curses. The barren plains cracked underfoot, veins of molten red seeping through ash-black soil.
"The last time I stood here," Wang Chen muttered, "my legs were torn off before I even saw what attacked me."
He grinned anyway. Not from joy—defiance.
"Let's see if you can do better this time, bastards."
---
He began to move, cautious but swift. The resentment ghosts here were fast, cruel, and solitary. One misstep, one heartbeat of carelessness, and you'd end up a shredded soul drifting in this frozen purgatory.
The sky hung heavy above him, choked in layers of smoke. No sun, no stars, only a ceiling of dull grey pressing downward. It had been this way every time. A world locked in dusk.
His boots crunched softly. Each step echoed too long, as if something beneath the ground was listening.
Minutes passed. Then—
A whimper.
It was faint at first, like a breeze catching a child's cry. The sound grew, rhythmic, turning into a long, wet wail.
Wang Chen froze. There were no children here.
His heart beat once—steady. He crouched, scanning his surroundings.
The sound swelled again, now closer.
He pivoted, palm rising instinctively. "Fireball!"
A globe of orange light flared to life, bursting forward with a muffled boom. The blast tore through the mist—and a shriek split the air, a vibration that bypassed hearing and stabbed straight into his bones. The fog rippled apart, revealing a vague human face twisted in grief.
Then it dissolved into nothing.
A faint chime rang in his ears:
[Soul Essence of Resentment Ghost gained. Slay more to level up.]
Wang Chen exhaled. "Sweet. One down, nine to go."
His grin returned. The rush of battle steadied him; fear was just another tool now. He moved like a hunter, scanning for the next cry. Every few hundred meters, another ghost appeared—sometimes a sobbing woman, sometimes a faceless blur—and every time, his Fireball erased them from existence.
Nine kills later, the world had gone strangely quiet.
Wang Chen's temples throbbed. The first sign of mana exhaustion.
"Tch." He rubbed his head and looked for shelter.
A collapsed pillar offered some cover. He sat with his back against the cold stone, closing his eyes and slowing his breath. Inside the tower, rest was the only way to regenerate mana. Fortunately, ten to fifteen minutes usually did the trick.
The silence pressed down on him. He let his thoughts wander—to the Phoenix and Dragon Dojo, to his newest disciple. What might that kid be doing right now? Training? Complaining?
He chuckled softly. Then shook his head.
"The time flow's too different anyway," he murmured. "I could spend years in here, and only moments would pass outside."
That difference was both blessing and curse. He didn't have to fear sudden ambushes from the Blood Fang Gang. But the solitude… that was something else entirely.
He remembered the last run—the endless gray days, fighting, bleeding, sleeping in ash. A world where even one's own heartbeat became a companion.
"Still better than paperwork," he muttered under his breath.
His mana stabilized; the dull ache behind his eyes faded. Time to move.
---
From his knowledge, there were three ways to clear a floor of the Tower of Infinite Enlightenment.
One: kill every resentment ghost.
Two: find and activate the portal to the next floor.
Three: destroy the floor entirely.
The last option, Wang Chen refused to even consider. He had no intention of advancing further. This run was only to break his previous record and maybe uncover a few hidden rewards.
He stood, brushed ash off his robes, and began walking again.
The first few steps were uneventful—until his body went rigid.
Something cold slithered up his spine. The air grew still, the ground trembling in faint pulses, as though something vast was stirring beneath the crust.
A chill unlike any other wrapped around his heart.
[Warning: Elite Resentment Entity Detected.]
"Oh, hell."
He barely had time to finish the words before the horizon rippled.
Out of the mist rose a colossal silhouette. A towering specter, armor of blackened mist clinging to its frame, a twisted helm glowing with ghost-fire. Its eyes—three vertical slits of burning crimson—locked onto Wang Chen with malice so heavy it almost had weight.
"Elite Ghost Knight…"
Wang Chen's expression hardened. "You again."
The creature's mouth opened—not for words, but a scream.
The sound hit like a physical blow. The sonic wave rippled through the air, slamming into Wang Chen's mind. His vision spun, ears ringing, skull feeling like it had been split by a hammer.
"Damn it!" He staggered, pressing his hands to his temples.
This wasn't fear—it was suppression. The pressure of a superior entity. His knees buckled, but he refused to fall.
Get your shit together, Chen. You've done this before.
He forced his breathing to steady. The familiar rhythm of battle returned. Heartbeat. Inhale. Exhale.
His mind cleared. His body obeyed.
"Fireball!"
The word tore through the roar. A sphere of blazing orange burst from his palm, streaking through the darkness and exploding against the Knight's chest. The explosion painted the gray wasteland in light, embers dancing in the ash-filled wind.
Wang Chen didn't wait to see the damage. He sprinted forward, boots pounding the cracked ground, closing the distance as fast as he could.
The Elite Knight's eyes flickered. Its chest expanded—and exhaled a wave of freezing mist. The air itself turned white, solidifying mid-gust, frost racing across the plains like living serpents.
Wang Chen was already ready for it. "Lightning Armor!"
Sizzle!
Bolts of blue-white lightning erupted across his body, coiling like serpents. The arcs hissed and snapped, forming a shimmering barrier that vaporized the frost before it could reach him. Sparks danced across his limbs, lighting his path.
The clash of fire and ice filled the world with a violent hiss. Steam exploded around him.
He didn't stop. Within seconds he was under the Knight's massive frame.
"Let's see how you handle this—double Fireball!"
Two flaming orbs erupted from his hands simultaneously, slamming into the ghost's torso. The impact rocked the creature backward, and for a heartbeat, its form wavered.
The air vibrated. The Knight roared, its crimson eyes blazing brighter. Its shadow swelled—thickened—and then split, forming ghostly chains that whipped toward Wang Chen.
"Persistent bastard."
He ducked, rolled aside, and felt one chain graze his shoulder, leaving a trail of frost that burned like acid.
Wang Chen bit down on a curse. "If I had my real body, you'd be a pile of ash already."
He leapt backward, extending both hands. Mana surged through his veins, hotter, heavier. The familiar ache behind his eyes returned, but he ignored it.
"Triple Fireball!"
Three orbs blazed to life. They slammed into the Knight's chest one after another, detonating in a series of thunderous explosions that sent ripples through the air.
The Knight's scream this time was different—distorted, almost desperate. Its form flickered like a flame in the wind.
Wang Chen's knees trembled. His mana was nearly gone, but he could tell the creature was on its last legs.
"One last push," he whispered through gritted teeth.
The ghost's massive arm rose, swinging a blade made of solid darkness. Wang Chen met it head-on.
"Lightning Armor—overcharge!"
Lightning surged wildly, bursting from his body in jagged arcs. The blade of darkness met the storm—
Boom!
The shockwave flattened the ground around them. When the light faded, the Knight's arm was gone, vaporized into smoke.
The creature staggered, bellowed once more, and began to disintegrate.
[Elite Resentment Entity slain.]
[Reward: 3× Soul Essence, 1× Rare Loot Drop.]
Wang Chen stood panting, steam rising from his body. His clothes were half burned, his mana reserves bottomed out, and every muscle ached like fire—but his grin returned all the same.
"Ha… ha! New record pace, baby."
He collapsed onto the ash-coated ground, laughing quietly to himself.
For a long moment, only the crackle of fading lightning filled the air.
Then, faintly—too faintly—another notification blinked across his vision:
[Hidden Challenge unlocked: Elite Purge Sequence — Do you wish to initiate?]
Wang Chen's smile froze.
"…Oh, hell no."
He jabbed No without hesitation.