Tutorial #2

The tutorial I had simulated a thousand times over had finally come for me.

I bolted to the fridge and downed an energy drink in one shot. The ice-cold liquid slid down my throat and dropped into my stomach, where the caffeine, electrolytes, and simple sugars hit my bloodstream—and with that familiar rush, my fighting spirit caught fire.

"Shake off the fear! I've simulated this countless times!"

This was the day I'd been waiting for...! The very moment I'd be summoned to the tutorial!

"Hoooh..."

I ran through deep breathing and stretching. Ten minutes on the clock—I had to loosen every muscle I owned and work out the kinks to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠dodge any stray pull or strain.

Then I opened the Tutorial Zone map file. I'd stared at it more times than I could count. The government had distributed the official strategy guides itself, and I'd pored over the map day after day until I could draw it from memory. Even so, I gave it one last scan, the way you'd review before an exam.

The guide marked everything: choke points where you risked getting surrounded, monster-dense zones, item locations. One final sweep to reconfirm each and every one.

Thirty seconds left.

"One more drink."

Downing a second energy drink risked a caffeine headache, so I settled for a glucose drink instead. And the moment I drained it—

Time was up.

Flash! Light swallowed me, and I was whisked away to the Tutorial Zone.

I opened my eyes in the heart of a dark labyrinth.

It had begun. The tutorial.

Ding!

The message window rose exactly as the guide had promised. Kill the Dead of Darkness wandering this labyrinth—or slip past them—reach the boss room, and put down the Cannibal Dead. That was the whole tutorial.

Without a map in your head, you'd wander in circles, forced into fight after fight with the Dead until exhaustion dragged you into a boss battle you had nothing left to fight with. But every scrap of tutorial intel was public knowledge now. Take the shortest route, conserve your strength, kill the boss. Simple as that.

"Status window."

First things first—I pulled up my status.

The stats of a Level 1 Climber. These weren't a scan of my actual body—think of them as bonuses layered onto my flesh from the moment I became a Climber. Every line sat at zero because I was still in the pre-class tutorial state; once I cleared the tutorial and took a class, stats would be granted to match it.

Also, I was currently naked. Everyone enters the Tutorial Zone stripped bare—which meant no weapons, no gear, nothing carried in. The tutorial ran every soul through ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠identical stats and identical items. A tutorial in the truest sense of the word.

Anyway. I opened my inventory ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠on the spot.

Three starter items. That was the lot.

"Equip."

The instant I willed it, the novice set wrapped itself around me, snapping into place like a game item. A loose medieval tunic hanging to mid-thigh, utterly unremarkable shoes, and an old iron sword of reasonable weight. And just like that, I had attack and defense.

Whoosh, whoosh. I gave the sword a few light swings to learn its feel. The balance was a touch different from the reinforced-plastic training blades I knew—but no problem there.

"Let's go...! Now!"

I took my first step, and everything I'd ever read in those strategy posts came flooding back.

Source: a high-level warrior I hold in deep respect.

By all accounts, the turbulent early days were full of eccentrics clearing the tutorial through every manner of bizarre ritual—chasing first-achievement records, angling for a Constellation's favor, hunting hidden pieces. Clearing it naked was practically routine. Some scrubbed every last wall of the labyrinth. Others cleared it while cosplaying every concept under the sun.

Some of them died, sure... but big data had proven beyond doubt that the Tutorial Zone held nothing special. Even that got drowned out, though—troll posts kept cropping up: that guide's all garbage, they're just pulling up the ladder behind you—kill every last Dead, strip naked and scour every wall. These days, nobody took the bait.

"Minimize combat. Conserve stamina."

A dark labyrinth. Stone walls sealed off every direction, and a chill drifted through the air. It felt exactly like being a warrior delving a labyrinth—because that was precisely what I was. With the map spread across my mind, I made for the nearest treasure chest. One Dead of Darkness supposedly stood guard in front of it. Nothing I couldn't handle.

Straight on, then a turn at the corner.

"..."

I knew there'd be nothing there, but my nerves tightened anyway. And so, weaving this way and that, skirting every position marked with Dead, I arrived at the treasure chest.

"Uuuuh..."

There it was—a Dead of Darkness standing before the chest.

Its looks... were not good. A humanoid monster with skin black as charcoal, about six feet tall. The hide clung to its frame like shrink-wrap, hairless, and its limbs ran thirty percent longer than a human's—squarely in the uncanny valley. Strangest of all, its face had no skin at all. Just a pitch-black skull staring out, which made the thing genuinely frightening.

It wandered in a slow drag, one leg trailing behind, moaning all the while.

Objectively, its combat power was pathetic. Slow, clumsy, and dumb as a post—no intelligence to speak of. So long as you didn't freeze up in fear, a statless Level 1 Climber could put it down without trouble. A tutorial mob in the purest sense of the word.

Still. I had to give it everything.

Creep, creep. I closed the distance with my footsteps muffled to nothing, like Jerry stealing up on a sleeping Tom.

"Uuu..."

The Dead had been staring off to the side. The moment it turned toward me—

"Hah!"

With everything I had, I swung the sword and carved a diagonal gash through its shoulder.

THWACK!

It felt like splitting wood with an axe. The blade sheared through its collarbone and snagged on a rib.

"Uuu...!"

That wasn't enough to kill it. The Dead stretched both arms toward me. The guide said the weak-hearted could freeze solid at this exact sight—seize up in terror and be devoured for it.

Not me.

"You bastard!"

I drove my left foot hard into its ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠gut—thwack!—and wrenched the sword free.

"Uuu!"

The Dead crashed down on its rear. I had to finish this in one unbroken chain—sword raised high overhead, I split its crown straight down the middle.

CRUNCH!

Finished.

"Hoo, hoo!"

My breath tore out of me. Killed it—and got nothing for it. The Climbers would learn from this. A rewardless mob. Something to be avoided. The lesson: clear the tutorial by outsmarting the labyrinth, not out-sweating it.

It was my first real fight, and it hadn't been hard. Still, there was no helping a heart trying to punch its way out of my chest.

"A Level 1 mob is no match for me. I win this without variables."

Even three of these things rushing me at once, I could put them down. As long as I didn't get surrounded by the dozen, I'd be fine.

Which meant it was time to claim the treasure chest.

A brown chest banded in gold sat waiting before me.

"Truly a criminal treasure chest. Nobody on this earth could walk past this."

The first-generation Climbers, they said, had been terrified this thing might be a mimic. I set my sword down and opened it.

Inside lay a pair of worn brown leather gloves.

Ding!

Loot get!

Common—the lowest of the low, white-tier junk—but something about acquiring an item like this scratched that farming itch. Honestly, it was kind of fun.

Equipped on the spot.

My physical defense now sat at 15. By the tutorial intel, fifteen points showed meaningful damage reduction even against the boss—the Cannibal Dead. Of course, not getting hit at all was still the gold standard. There's no such thing as HP in the real world; take a hit and you eat the physical pain, plus a generous side of psychological terror.

"A hidden piece, huh."

But actually opening a chest like this, I could see why people believed something like a hidden piece might be tucked away somewhere in the labyrinth. Plenty had suspected exactly that and worn themselves hollow chasing it. Or—maybe someone really had found one and kept their mouth shut, which was why no intel existed. But I'd chosen to trust the information I'd gathered.

"Some hidden piece."

I'd just play it safe and follow the guide. Besides, if a hidden piece could exist that everyone swore didn't, then dangers missing from the intel could exist too. No reason to gamble on that.

Tower climbing was no game, and combat was reality. I had to survive... if I ever wanted my revenge on the Tower that took everything from me.

With that thought, I set off toward the boss room.

Following the guide's route to the letter, I only had to put down three more Dead of Darkness before I stood before the boss room. Shaking a few extras off my tail along the way? Pure instinct. Pure me.

An iron door waited ahead. Behind it, the boss was waiting for me.

Before opening it, I checked my condition.

"Perfect. Peak condition for a boss fight."

All I'd done was jog a little and swing a sword a handful of times. Combat minimized per the guide, and my stamina was barely dented. If anything, cutting down a few mobs had filled me with confidence—my fighting spirit was climbing by the second. I wanted to carve the boss up right now.

The tutorial's purpose was to forge Climbers fit for the Tower: let them kill weak monsters, let them taste victory, and shape that confidence into a warrior. I was already a warrior. A warrior burning with fighting spirit, at that.

Well, then.

Let's go kill a boss.

"I do not lose. I cannot lose... I am a being for whom defeat is impossible!"

I recited the famous words I'd once heard at a lecture by the high-level warrior I respected. I'd taken a real liking to them and had been using them as a confidence-chanting spell ever since. Words carry power, and strong words carry more of it—that's simply the way of things.

Chant complete, I pushed open the iron door.

Screeeeeech. The iron door ground open with a sound as sinister as the winter chill that seeps into a poor man's bones. And the moment it swung fully wide—

My eyes locked with the grotesque Dead standing at the center of the room.

"Come at me, you bastard."