Waiting Room (6)

Lusanya had guessed my intent as best she could within the limited message capacity, delivering an answer to my half-formed question. As expected of her. She didn’t claim the tower lord position at such a young age for nothing.

“This girl! You need some sense knocked into you once you hit triple digits!”

Maybe not that young… considering Eldwin’s case… Anyway.

Familiar concepts wrapped in unfamiliar terms. Outer world and inner world. The hierarchy between dimensions I’d imagined as up and down—Moroz’s dimensional magic school probably viewed expansion sideways instead. The names didn’t matter. What counted was that surviving waves brought us closer to that boundary.

Edinfeld’s goblin riders at Wave 12, Nakan’s Garkan at 54. We’d exchanged over ten messages with Edinfeld by now. Yet Nakan’s next wave was only 57. The time lag with the waiting room shrank as waves climbed higher.

Someone from the outer world. This place belonged to the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠outer world, that much was clear. And the sword-wielding old man Kiara overheard.

“We’ll pass through here… or something like that?”

The mercenaries knew it instinctively too. It stood to reason: the mercenaries were outer worlders, intimately familiar with waves.

“Then…”

I pieced the logic together step by step.

Think of worlds as islands. The inner and outer worlds were like a vast ocean divided by walls. Inner world islands drifted slowly toward the boundary. Toward the outer world.

If mercenaries hailed from scattered islands in that outer ocean, then the worlds they’d lived in before this white room—trapped now—must have been ones that survived their waves. Worlds that successfully pushed from inner to outer. Survivors of the waves.

The Administration Bureau wielding this influence was probably an island on the outermost edge of the outer world. The uppermost dimension, perhaps.

“Whew…”

I fiddled with the alert window, shifting it around.

A familiar greeting. I hadn’t wanted to, but it was time to dig through the community.

I’d used this place purely to kill time for three main reasons.

First: total anonymity and the Administration Bureau’s shaky alliance with mercenaries. Once I realized the Bureau benefited from mercenaries getting hurt or dying, I had to question community info reliability—especially on sensitive topics the Bureau might dislike.

Back as Jeong Ji-hoon, online anonymous boards were a mess. Beyond trolls and fakes, the real danger was mob mentality and info control under anonymity’s guise. If the Bureau flooded posts with fake accounts spamming “Not true?” or “This is it?” on ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠whistleblower threads, how could I tell truth from lies? As seen in Karnat, even commanders’ mentions of mercenaries got censored by the Bureau.

Second: the community system was abysmal, intentionally or not. Basic functions were fine, but search was trash. No proper indexing—only exact keyword matches in a full-range sweep. Wrong terms, and it was needling a haystack. Just recently, searching “Cron” spat out pages of useless crap I had to skim until my eyes bled.

Third: once I adapted to this world—realizing I could solve most issues myself—the community became a breath of fresh air. The more blood I saw, the more I craved its nonsense and human stink, far from gore.

This world was real. Real. Chanting that, part of me—a childish part—still hoped it wasn’t. But now, I had to face it head-on.

The key search terms were crystal clear now. Reliable posters unlikely to spread confusion. Or broad-yet-specific keywords hiding info only I missed.

I typed four characters first.

Mugyeok Geomcheon. High chance the sword geezer Kiara met was this guy.

This old timer was a shitposter like me… Figures.

Scrolling down, I spotted—or rather, failed to spot—something.

“Title: Sipping Tea, Gazing Out the Window,,,”

Gone. That post I’d seen once. I even remembered the comments.

└ HoneySucker: Old man, why’d you delete that post?

I scrolled forever. No trace of the window post.

If the Bureau censored… Add a condition: content they’d allow.

Such a place for that… Then how about…

I dug for ages. Casual longings for home.

Found it. By a newbie under three years in.

Anyway. These folks came from wave-surviving worlds too—confirming mercenaries were outer worlders.

So someday… All those commanders I’d helped—would they join that outer ocean vastness? After clearing all waves.

And if I escaped this place…

…Questions clarifying was a great sign. Professor said questioning was knowledge’s first step. But taking only that was infant stuff. Agreed. I’d push further. Not an infant anymore.

Most urgent: get stronger. But before that, something overshadowed by my consultant deal with Lusanya.

Moroz Magic Tower’s biggest haul, exceeding expectations. For a few vials of blood.

…You really sold it? That many vials…?

Ignore that.

Aero Step: Creates intangible wind platforms underfoot with wind power. Exactly as I’d envisioned. Not mere high jumps—transparent platforms made it viable. Worth cramming books and flailing on the snow till recall.

Lusanya’s smirks every imbalance still burned clear. “Even Berga-nim has weaknesses.”

Mana Body: Can utilize mana flowing through the body. Like gaining magic, but not quite mage-level. Door opened but didn’t close—ambiguous. Vague skill descs usually meant wiggle room.

Ask Lusanya before next call…

Damn. Say it, and summons stick like a fishbone.

…Wave 65?