Galaxy Martial God Temple — The Entrance Exam, Part 1

When I returned to the 10th floor, cool air wrapped itself around my whole body.

Since time flowed more slowly on the 10th floor than it did on the 14th, the sun still hadn’t fully set yet. But when I looked up, the sky was already starting to yellow, like sunset was on its way, so it felt a little too late to start anything new.

“First, let’s split the loot.”

Lee Suyoung and I left the central park and started dividing everything up at a quiet resting area nearby.

Small things like mana stones we split on the spot, but heavier items—like goblin ears to exchange for Contribution Points at the Association, or the blades we’d removed from the legs of the 12th-floor crop-eating monster, the blade hawks—had been stored on the Tower’s 1st Floor.

Originally, we’d planned to keep only the mana stones and throw the rest away, but the farmer had told us the blades sold for a decent price and insisted we take them. Since he was grateful we’d sold him the net, he’d even helped us remove the legs from all ninety-five blade hawks, so collecting them hadn’t taken that long.

The blade parts were items the Association bought directly, so there was no need to hunt for buyers or dig through the community boards.

Once we’d roughly finished splitting everything, Lee Suyoung headed straight for the Association to sell off what wouldn’t fit in her inventory.

At the Association, an employee who’d clearly been getting ready to clock out frowned the moment he saw the sack stuffed full of goblin kill proofs.

“Ah... it’s almost dinner time.”

I did feel a little bad for him.

Still, the staff at the Climbers’ Association were nothing if not professional. He counted everything one by one and converted it into credits and Contribution Points.

Seeing it all together, the payout was way better than I’d expected.

The Tower Shop didn’t allow returns, so I’d been hoarding credits because it felt wasteful to buy them with Shop Points—but apparently I didn’t need to be that stingy.

Including what I’d earned selling the farmer the net, I’d made around 49,000 credits altogether.

I could lounge around doing absolutely nothing for the next two months and still be fine.

Outside the Tower, nobody paid you this kind of money just for hunting goblins. This was the sort of comfort that only existed inside the Tower.

“Should we get dinner and call it a day?”

“Sounds good. I’m exhausted since I haven’t had a proper meal. There’s somewhere ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I’ve really wanted to try!”

Lee Suyoung and I went into a flashy restaurant near the Association.

After a hard day, wasn’t stuffing yourself with something delicious basic respect for life?

Especially when I’d just made a nice fat pile of credits.

I swaggered in and ate without even glancing at the prices. Then I walked out and nearly had a heart attack when I learned the dinner course had cost 8,000 credits per person.

But what could I do?

I’d already eaten it.

It had tasted good enough to justify the price, but still. I needed to be more careful.

I was starting to understand why people so often said Tower returnees spent money like water and went bankrupt.

If you climbed high enough, you got strong enough to make good money even outside the Tower, so it didn’t matter. But if you only made it partway up, your spending habits inflated first while your income never caught up. That was how people ruined themselves.

Most of those invited into the Tower never made it out of the lower floors. They died climbing, or gave up halfway and left.

I might end up being one of those people too.

I should probably start keeping a budget.

Back at the inn where I was staying, I took a shower.

Even with a cleanliness magic tool, it didn’t wash away the sticky discomfort of fighting and getting blood on you. Hot water loosened tight muscles, too, and it helped with stress.

Lying on the bed, I looked at the upper half of my combat suit, now reduced to rags.

“Hmm. Can I buy just the top separately?”

Maybe because harpies attacked like dive-bombers from the sky, the pants were almost fine, but the jacket was completely shredded.

If I’d already reached the 2nd-rate realm, it probably wouldn’t have ended up this pitifully torn.

“Sigh... what can you do. I’ll have to buy a new one.”

This thing had saved ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠my life, at least. Without it, I would’ve been drenched in blood within three minutes and halfway dead.

Still, I wasn’t planning to replace it immediately. I’d wait a bit first.

If I bought it right away, Siwoo would nag me, and there was nothing I could do about that.

Siwoo almost never nagged—but there were exactly two exceptions: when I spent too much time on the internet, and when it looked like I was overspending.

She’d put a lot of effort into making sure I grew up healthy.

Well, no matter how I looked at it, buying another combat suit for a child’s body I’d only had for a short while—and one that wouldn’t even fit properly—really was absurd.

Before switching over to my reincarnation avatar, I checked the Tower Shop.

Looking at my points, I was honestly shocked. Wow, I really did kill a lot of monsters in one day.

I had over a thousand Shop Points.

That was even more surprising considering floors 12 and 13 had been split between just me and Lee Suyoung, while floor 14 had been divided among four people.

Of course, monsters gave more points the higher the floor, but still. Surprising was surprising.

I bought the Appraisal Documents I’d kept putting off because I hated spending the points.

I bought five appraisal documents.

Then I used them one after another on the Ability Stones from the hobgoblin, the monster wolf, and the goblin shaman, along with the goblin shaman’s staff and the strange stone I’d bought from Lorolen.

Since the appraisal documents weren’t high grade, the information I got was really only rough at best.

Berserk was a fairly well-known ability. If I remembered right, it had a high probability of lowering cognitive function while active, and a low probability of making you lose your reason entirely.

If I wanted exact numbers—like the percentages involved or how much it boosted strength and stamina—I’d probably need a higher-grade appraisal document.

Or I could look the abilities up in the library.

That was what F-rank appraisal documents were for in the first place: identify the name, then go research the rest in the library.

As for passive abilities, I’d heard they didn’t have levels, and unless you got used to them, you couldn’t toggle them freely.

Since passive abilities were always active, they automatically consumed mana whenever their trigger conditions were met. Because of that, unless they were the kind that strengthened the user directly, passive abilities tended to be rated lower and sold cheaper.

If a passive ability triggered by accident against someone far stronger than you, your mana could be drained dry and kill you.

Still, an ability was an ability. If it sold, it would probably fetch tens of millions of won.

Though in Bleed’s case, the effect looked good ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠enough that it might go for a pretty high price.

Well, Lee Suyoung had a share in it too, so I’d talk to her about it later.

But what was with the appraisal failure?

Sure, it was only an F-rank appraisal document, but this wasn’t even an item from the middle floors of the Tower. Could appraisal really fail like that?

This stone felt like it was going to be either an incredible jackpot or a complete disaster.

“Keeping it with my main body might be dangerous. I should have an avatar hold onto it whenever possible.”

Still lying comfortably on the bed, I entered the body of my reincarnation avatar.

Time stopped for my Tower avatar.

I opened my eyes in the body of the reincarnation avatar living in Galaxy Murim.

To be honest, it didn’t even feel like it had been that long, since whenever I needed something while climbing the Tower, I’d often borrowed help from my reincarnation avatar anyway.

Besides, I’d only lived through two or three days at most in my Tower avatar, so it felt more like I’d just come back from a short trip.

Actually, if you really thought about it, I was still on a trip now.

“You look rather tired, somehow.”

Seeing how worn out I looked, Siwoo asked with concern.

“Yawn... I’m especially tired today.”

Well, of course I was mentally exhausted. I’d fought countless battles.

My physical fatigue hadn’t carried over because the body was different, but my mental fatigue had come across intact.

Thinking back, it had been one hell of a long day.

At my answer, Siwoo asked worriedly, “You are not unwell, are you?”

“I’m not sick. I’m just tired.”

Even after I said that, Siwoo took my temperature first and then checked my pulse through my wrist.

“Hmm... you are healthy. I always have to forcefully stop your training, so this is unusual.”

“Well, there are days like this, aren’t there?”

“In that case, tonight’s training will be replaced with meditation and Yugagigong.”

Meditation and Yugagigong—yoga—were close enough to mental cultivation that they could actually help relieve my mental fatigue.

Of course, they still weren’t as good as doing absolutely nothing and getting real rest.

At four years old, my daily routine was just training, rest, and meals on repeat.

As my body grew, my rest periods were slowly getting shorter, but during childhood, rest mattered more than training, so I still spent more time resting than practicing.

If I tried to train alone any further, Siwoo would somehow notice instantly and force me to go play.

But if I used the internet instead, she’d fret over whether I might be exposed to strange influences online.

After Cheon Soyeon moved in next door, though, she started coming over every single day, and as my internet time dropped, Siwoo finally seemed satisfied.

“Ah, when do I get to learn a lightfoot technique?”

“A lightfoot technique? Young master, you ask for a taxi if the outing requires more than three steps. Are you truly seeking a lightfoot art?”

At Siwoo’s words, I averted my eyes.

I mean, sure, I scampered around the house just fine, and I trained hard too—but outside the house, everything was still way too big for me.

Honestly, maybe this neighborhood was just for rich people, or maybe land was absurdly abundant here, but anywhere you tried to go was ridiculously far away.

Even the local grocery store was considered someplace you were obviously supposed to drive to, and even the neighborhood park—which was apparently “close by”—would still take these tiny legs of mine over an hour to reach on foot.

Of course I was going to ask ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠for a taxi if it took more than three steps.

I was still young enough to be riding around in a stroller!

...Actually, wait. Was four too old for a stroller?

“Still, being able to run fast would be nice.”

At my answer, Siwoo sank into thought for a moment.

“In truth, the infant martial arts education manual states that lightfoot techniques should not be taught before the age of ten at the earliest.”

“Huh? Why?”

“Because if a child were to use lightfoot movement and run off somewhere while the parents looked away for even a moment, they would be impossible to find.”

Ah. Right. That made sense.

There was a reason little kids who’d just started walking were often given squeaky shoes. To the child they were toys, but to the parents they were basically motion alarms.

Normally, when searching for a missing child, you estimated their possible range based on how long they’d been missing and how far a child of that age could move. But once they’d learned a lightfoot technique, that radius would spiral completely out of control.

“Hmm. Still, in your case, Young Master, I believe it should be fine.”

Well, sure. What ordinary three- or four-year-old kept double books and operated a secret investment account on the side?

Even when I’d been kidnapped, I’d managed to make a call and get in touch just fine.

I was the sort of person who, even if I got lost, could figure out public transit and make it home on my own.

“So you’ll teach me?”

“Yes. Beginning tomorrow, I shall teach you Pungyeon-gyeong, the Cheon family’s foundational lightfoot technique. Since Pungyeon-gyeong also links with Cheongmokbo, it should not be especially difficult for you to learn.”

Yes! Now I could finally stop being a pedestrian—

No, that wasn’t right. It wasn’t like I’d be riding around in a car.

Uh... then...

Yes! Now I’d be a very fast pedestrian!

(To be continued)