Even So... Will You Still Like Me?

According to the records, the astronomical observatory first discovered the Babel Tower twenty years ago.

It was the day the first S-rank gate appeared in Siberia.

Telescopes trained beyond Jupiter in the search for deep space had picked up an anomaly. In the middle of the void, a colossal tower had simply appeared—without omen, without a single ripple of mana.

Flustered scientists adjusted their magnification, desperate to pin down the tower's exact position and size. Strangely, no matter how they ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠changed the zoom, the tower on their screens never grew or shrank. It was as if the image had been painted directly onto the lenses themselves.

They dismantled the telescopes, cleaned every component, and reassembled them. The tower remained. In the end, the first official entry on the Babel Tower was filed under "Anomalous Phenomenon Related to S-rank Gate Appearance."

Astrophysicists, ordinary scientists, astrologers, mages—everyone put their heads together, and still no one could find a cause. The only conclusion they managed was the vague suggestion that it was "somehow connected to the appearance of an S-rank gate."

A year later, when the second S-rank gate opened, the Babel Tower stayed silent. The astronomical observatory, every space telescope, every observatory on Earth—all of them ran full tilt, and not a single trace of the tower turned up.

Four years passed like that. The Babel Tower's second appearance came exactly four years and thirty-seven days after the first.

Once again, it was the Vatican's astronomical observatory that spotted it.

From that second appearance, humanity learned one crucial thing: the S-rank gates that arrived alongside the Babel Tower were different from the rest.

The third Babel Tower descended with the fifth S-rank gate. Humanity finally learned what made those S-ranks special.

The Babel Tower bestowed an Authority upon the dungeon boss. And so the preparations to steal that Authority began.

Then the sixth S-rank gate appeared.

The sixth S-rank gate. The Knight King's Dungeon.

I didn't need anyone to explain this part. The experiment conducted then was the very thing that had ruined my life.

They wiped my memories, crushed my personality, shattered my sense of self, and forced an unknown Authority into my ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠body. Looking back, it must have been a kind of trial run—to see whether an Authority could take root inside a human being at all.

In the end, the experiment succeeded. What it left behind was a broken half of a Sword Saint, and Lee Seon-woo, whose mind and body were intact but whose power fell short of a true Sword Saint's.

Apparently they weren't satisfied with that.

"Crazy bastards."

In the end, the so-called first SS-rank gate—the Siberia Gate—and the Babel Tower were the same thing.

So why had the Babel Tower suddenly appeared again? Working that out wasn't hard either. They had simply kept the experiment going.

The Northern Supernatural Research Institute had collapsed long ago, but for something the size of the World Government, building a new facility of that scale would hardly have been difficult.

"That's why they sent the incineration unit."

I thought I understood why they were doing this. Scoop up a few orphans with no family left to raise a fuss, run them through drug injections and every kind of experiment, and if you can just usurp the Authority that should have gone to an S-rank boss—it's ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠pure profit. The difficulty of the S-rank dungeons people call disasters goes down. Humanity's combat power goes up. How strong a human granted an Authority can become? I had already proven that myself, carving open the sky.

"...Hah."

Cram an Authority into an orphan through experimentation, then leash them with a contract. Minimum sacrifice, maximum result—except for the body and mind of the test subject rotting away inside it all.

The mechanical voice buzzed in my ears, and I took a few steps back without meaning to. My head was spinning.

Treating lives like numbers. A very World Government thing to do. Maximum happiness for the minimum sacrifice was one of their core principles, after all.

If I alone suffered, many people could live. My life had been completely destroyed, but if you counted humanity as numbers, the net gain was undeniable. Their judgment had, in the end, built a better tomorrow.

"But what about me...?"

Did any of that even matter?

Almost everyone who had been precious to me was dead. I couldn't survive without medication. I had no idea how to face tomorrow. Nightmares still hunted me down.

What did it mean to me if tens of thousands of people were happy? No matter how many times someone said it, the words never landed.

That was when the hallucination drifted in from somewhere. A tiny doubt I'd been carrying in my heart lifted its head.

"No."

That was a logical leap. It wasn't like I'd volunteered for the experiment. I'd been dragged into it. Sure, if this experiment had never existed, a lot of people would have died—but why was that my fault? The cause and effect were completely backwards.

"...Don't skip the process and only talk about the result."

"Ugh...!"

Once more, a memory I had wanted to forget rose up.

A reeling battlefield. Tiny insects swarming in from every direction. The screams of people bursting apart, blood spraying from every side. And in the middle of it, a girl desperately clutching my ankle.

Back then, I had abandoned her without a second thought. In a situation where I couldn't even save myself, trying to save her would only have gotten us both killed—or so I told myself.

"No, this is..."

Only then did my narrowed field of vision snap back to normal. The planetarium, dyed in vivid red blood, came into focus.

Shards of the Winter Sword stood driven into the floor on every side, caked in blood and scraps of flesh. The countless corpses sprawled across the ground had been butchered past any hope of recognition.

"...Ah."

How was I any different from them?

The sword I had forged was used to kill people. The one who slaughtered them without mercy to clean up the mess was me. The one who watched people die and thought, serves you right, was me.

"I'm not."

No. The murderers who killed innocent people were those bastards. My actions couldn't have been wrong. If you kill people, dying is what you deserve.

What finally broke me—as I clung to denial with everything I had—was a simple question. Simple, and for that very reason, merciless. A question that someone who had lived her whole life looking only at her sister could never deny.

"..."

Alice's urgent voice, Clara's hands seizing my arms, the holy power spreading outward—all of it reached me only as a blur. My senses dulled. My vision began to darken.

The strength left my legs, and I collapsed with a wet slap into the pool of blood. The thick stench of it was enough to make my head swim; the world tinted red.

I couldn't hold on any longer. The sticky memories welling up from the deepest part of my heart were dragging my mind down into the dark.

"..."

There was no way I could argue back. I had spent too long taking far more love than I deserved, without a shred of conscience.

So when I woke three days later in a hospital room in the middle of the night, I dragged my heavy heart to the stream first thing.

A pounding head. Hallucinations buzzing inside my skull. The nightmares starting all over again. In this state, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I didn't think I could live like a normal person anymore.

So I wanted to cut my precious ties as quickly as I could. I hoped that the last image people remembered of me would be even a little less ugly. If I kept streaming like this and clung to my viewers, it would only hurt us both.

Yeah. I'd been happy enough.

So... maybe it was time to let go.

"...Guys."

"Even if I told you I'm a murderer who killed people... would you still like me?"