The Trial of Potential

The first day the Tower rose.

Across the world, the Awakeners who cleared the first floor came to only about eighty percent of those who had gone in.

That figure would likely climb. A great many of the first to enter had died for simple lack of information, and anyone who had given up and walked back out stood a much better chance of succeeding on a second attempt.

Even so, there was no honest way to be optimistic. Suppose the clear rate rose as high as ninety percent. Repeat that success through the tenth floor, and you were left with roughly thirty-five. If the Tower truly ran to a hundred floors—and if this ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠thing they called a tutorial ever ended—

No one could help but dread what waited beyond.

"The United States posted a remarkably high clear rate on the first floor."

"Well, of course. Their challengers don't have to be afraid of dying."

"And the rewards, I hear, are obscene."

Mana Crystals. The objects discovered inside the Tower held an energy efficiency that made the magic stones of ordinary dungeons look like toys. If a comparison had to be forced, it was oil against coal. No—oil against firewood.

"They produce high-purity mana, yes, but as an energy resource their potential is practically limitless. Right now the price is whatever the seller cares to name."

"Countless citizens are begging to emigrate to the United States. We're lucky the Awakeners can't just leave. If they could..."

Few people were stupid enough to miss what all of this sprang from.

Minwoo's Dad.

He had posted the highest score on the first floor. Everything that followed had been born of the simple fact that he had erased the death penalty for those climbing America's Tower.

"Was the first floor a fluke... or was that real ability?"

A man without even a class had overwhelmed every other result on the floor.

If that power was genuine, Awakeners would keep sliding toward the United States in ever greater numbers. America would then hold not only a vast reserve of human talent, but a commanding share of the resource most likely to become the energy of the future—and a stable conquest of the Tower would very likely follow.

For the keeping of a single person, the returns were staggering.

And still, this was only the beginning.

"...?"

"?????"

A global notice no one had imagined rose across the Tower's status boards.

The instant the door to the second floor opened, Shin Haneul stepped through.

Then he used one of the rewards he had taken from the first floor: a Tower-clear broadcast scroll meant for the second.

There was nothing to lose.

A perception-blocking spell triggered on its own. All they would see was the manner in which Shin Haneul cleared the Tower. Nothing else.

No need to worry about information leaking.

A hidden quest, once broken, was finished. Even if someone else did exactly the same thing, they would receive no reward at all. The clear method for each floor? Let them copy it, if they could. If they had the skill.

For now, not one of them could ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠even imitate it.

It was safe to say no one had any real chance of threatening his record. The advantage, on the other hand, was certain and worth having: a higher probability of taking the maximum score. Even if a hidden quest inflated the numbers on its own, there was no harm in preparing for the chance that it didn't.

The chat came in a dizzying flood. It was no problem for Shin Haneul. Chat hidden: on. If he didn't look, that was the end of it.

Wouldn't it be a shame, then, to miss the box rewards granted in proportion to the viewer count?

Everyone's going to watch anyway.

The only broadcast in the world. A monopoly. When the information on offer was the kind your life depended on, what did it matter whether he read the chat? He had no need to court the viewers' favor the way a real streamer would. The people who were going to watch had no choice but to watch.

All right. Let's get to it.

Every setting was in place. He walked forward at an easy pace and let the second floor fill his eyes. The space was immensely vast, quiet as a garden of ancient gods, and the altar at its center looked holy.

As he went farther in, he saw mirrors floating in a row above the altar's heart, each holding a different light. One burned a red close to blood. Another was the blue-green of a deep sea. Another shone a white as cold as bone. Not one of them felt bright. And above all else—

A colossal presence rose like a pillar. A magnificent body, long and outstretched. Scales that gleamed like metal. A form like a lizard's. A dragon.

An amateur would have screamed and shaken apart with terror. Shin Haneul had seen this before. Unbothered, he looked over the mirrors set before him first. Above each one was written the name of the test it offered.

Whichever he chose, the test would proceed in that domain. Pass it, and he could advance to the next floor.

"Choose carefully. Even a trial of low danger does not offer much chance of returning alive."

The dragon's warning came in a voice that crawled. On Shin Haneul, it didn't land at all.

"Nothing here I like."

"...What was that?"

"Is there a more dangerous trial?"

From the voice came the faint sound of a swallowed breath.

"What did you say?"

"I said I want a trial with a higher danger."

"...They exist, yes. Come back alive, and you might even receive a higher evaluation. But I do not recommend it. You will die."

"I'll be the judge of that."

The dragon was not maliciously hiding the difficult trials. In truth, countless Awakeners could not even pass a danger of Low, so the ones that looked realistically impossible had ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠simply never been offered. In his previous life, seventy percent of the Awakeners who chose Mid had failed. Of those who chose High, ninety percent had failed.

Harsh from the tutorial on. The Tower really is merciless.

It couldn't be helped. Climbing the Tower had always been the domain of a chosen few. Only after the rabble had been thinned away did the true Hunters remain.

"Arrogant."

At Shin Haneul's continued demand for a harder trial, the dragon showed its anger.

"I do not know what class you bear. But reach past yourself, and you will regret it."

"I told you I'd handle that myself."

"......"

A brief stillness passed. A moment later, the dragon managed to open its mouth again.

"Then prove it. Prove that you are qualified to challenge a harder trial."

The words had barely ended before a storm of mana came howling in on Shin Haneul where he stood at the heart of the altar. It was a rough, vicious force; move the wrong way, and it would tear the skin off him. Binding—a restraint spell.

It was not a high-level spell, but the caster's skill was extraordinary, and the precision of the magic circle in particular was beyond anything a human could approach.

Not now, and not even later. In my previous life, only one person ever managed to undo this.

But once you knew it, you could undo it. This was a level test the other party had set. A kind of examination. And every examination has an intended answer; follow that answer, and it is built to come apart.

The storm of mana swelled. As if an invisible giant hand had seized space itself and begun to wring it, everything around him groaned under the pressure. Cracks ran through the altar's pillars. Dust burst upward. The hem of his clothes snapped and flared. In the middle of it, he closed his eyes at his leisure.

Here.

It was like solving a problem with the answer sheet already in hand. Other Awakeners, even knowing this, would still have failed to undo it. Shin Haneul's control of mana had been a level few could match even in his past life. This much was not particularly difficult.

Within the raging current of mana, errors in the magic circle were born and gone again in instants too short to see. He caught them and tore them out—not with his hands, but with his sense.

That alone was enough. The storm of mana began to sink at once, as if it had been designed to do exactly that.

"......"

Slowly, he opened his eyes. Through the fall of his disordered hair, the afterglow of the magic circle scattered and went out. The tips of his fingers tingled faintly. That was all.

"......Astonishing."

The voice was thick with dismay. The dignity of a moment ago was nowhere to be found. Come to think of it, the first person ever to undo this had poured sweat for more than half a day and only barely managed it. He supposed a little surprise was fair. There was no need to show that he thought so.

"This should be enough, right?"

"......"

It took the voice a little time to answer. He decided he could wait that long. Fortunately, it didn't take long at all.

"...I only hope you do not come to regret it."

The moment the voice finished, the mirrors that had been floating in the air vanished, and new ones appeared. Most of them were made of maximum danger. He rejected those as well.

"These don't suit me either."

"......Do as you like."

The voice no longer tried to stop him.

The mirrors vanished once more. What rose in their place was only one. Just as the voice had said, this mirror wore an ominous color, as if to insist that it must never be chosen.

"This... is absolutely not a trial that can be overcome. The moment you enter the mirror, a hellish span of time will find you. Falling is only natural. Pray that you can at least survive."

For anyone else, that was probably the right way to put it. For Shin Haneul, it was not.

The trial's name was the Trial of Potential.

Danger: Catastrophic? For others, maybe. For him, this was easier. Simpler.

The instant his hand touched the mirror, the glass shrieked. The mirror refused the trial. It chose death for itself.

"Uh...?"

The dragon made a sound like wind punched into its lungs.

"Th-the trial ended on its own before it even began?"

Something that could not happen had happened. That was the feeling in the words. But this was reality.

Familiar rewards poured out on the second floor as well. But that was not what mattered now.

A soft click.

From here on, it was off the record. A scene there was no need to show anyone else.

"...Human. I have a proposal for you."

Sure enough, the dragon addressed him. Just as he had expected.

"The price?"

Because Shin Haneul, too, had something he meant to take from it. One of the three things that had been essential to gaining the power to slaughter the Outer Gods. A chance to lay hands, here and now, on an object whose very existence he would not have known at this point in time.