World Record: 12 Seconds

Fsssh.

A meteor. Or rather, a burst of radiance that crashed down like one. And what remained in its wake? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

The blue translucent window hung alone in the empty air.

"What the hell was that just now?"

The raid had concluded in the blink of an eye. One of the Awakeners gathered around the park's perimeter finally found his voice, but no one answered him. How could they?

"Beats me."

Every single person was tilting their heads in identical bewilderment, consumed by the exact same thought: What in the world just happened?

Only seconds ago, the raid monster—an Elite Minotaur—had stood roaring in the clearing. While everyone was hesitating, calculating their odds, the B-rank Awakener Choi Minjun had stepped forward. And then... wait. Where did Choi Minjun go?

"Guh..."

A faint groan drew their eyes. There, crumpled in the far corner of what used to be Eunhasu Park—now reduced to a scorched wasteland—lay a solitary figure, knocked out cold.

"Choi Minjun-ssi?!"

"Wait, he's unconscious?!"

"Holy shit, that Choi Minjun?!"

He was the cream of the crop among B-ranks, a vanguard whose defensive capabilities were reputed to rival an A-rank. People called him the 'Iron Wall' because he was famously impervious to heavy blows. Yet here he was...

"Knocked out cold in a C-rank raid?"

And not even from fighting the boss monster, but from the collateral blast wave of an unidentified skill that plummeted out of nowhere.

"To vaporize an Elite Minotaur in a single strike and knock out the Iron Wall with the backdraft... that's practically ranker-level firepower, isn't it?"

"Was it Meteor? Something like that?"

"No way. It looked like pure, concentrated light..."

"Then what on earth was it?!"

Inside his studio apartment, Kim Haun leaned near the open window, listening to the bewildered clamor echoing from the street below.

"What are they babbling about...?"

A ranker? Meteor? As if.

Yep. It was an Energy Bolt. Plain and simple. Sure, it differed somewhat from the common variety, but still.

"Well... maybe more than a little different?"

Energy Bolt was practically the textbook spell for magic-type awakeners, universally renowned as the most basic introductory cantrip. There was no way Kim Haun hadn't heard of it before.

Tap, tap.

With a few quick swipes on his smartphone, he pulled up an instructional video on Awakener Net.

"Alright, everyone take a look. This right here is an Energy Bolt."

In the video, the demonstrator flicked his wrist. Puff! A small flash zipped forward with the explosive punch of a backyard sparkler. Meanwhile, Haun's version had barreled down like a colossal meteor gouged out of pure starlight, utterly vaporizing everything within a fifty-meter radius.

Why the discrepancy? He didn't even need to ponder the answer.

The name alone screamed that it existed on a whole different dimensional plane. Besides, the diamond golem running the market had made it abundantly clear:

"Every single commodity in Arcana Market is a thoroughly verified genuine artifact. We neither stock nor peddle cheap fakes."

"Right," Haun muttered. A dimensional bazaar hawking original scriptures personally penned by Xiang Yu, Solomon, and Zhuge Liang could never be ordinary. He had trusted that diamond merchant from the very beginning—well, mostly.

Wait a second.

If a baseline Energy Bolt costing a meager one hundred magic stones packed this much apocalyptic firepower, what about the other skills? A wave of intense curiosity washed over him.

"Alright, settled. I need to buy more skills."

What was that haughty golem's name again? Whatever. The glittering bastard had warned him not to return empty-handed unless he had deep pockets. Well, just you wait. He had stones now.

The horn and hide could be auctioned off to guild procurement agents later.

"The magic stones alone are already a clean thousand."

On the modern Awakened market, low-grade magic stones traded at fifty thousand won apiece. In other words, a single casual spell cast from his veranda had just netted him fifty million won.

"Holy crap, this is insane."

Now he finally understood why the entire world sang the praises of Awakeners day and night. He had once read a comment online from an armchair critic claiming that if they ever awakened, they would stay safely hidden at home because dungeons were too terrifying. But could anyone truly resist after tasting sweet, instant dough like this?

"I sure as hell can't."

Why would he ever hold back? Dopamine was practically setting fireworks off in his brain, and a manic thrill had his hands trembling.

Towers? Gates? Dungeons? Just let them appear. He would wipe the floor with every single one of them, no matter the difficulty.

Thud.

"Huh?"

Suddenly, all strength abandoned his legs. His knees buckled, sending him slumping onto the cheap linoleum floor. Was it just his imagination, or did a hollow, gnawing void abruptly open inside his gut?

Grumble—!

Nope. Definitely not his imagination.

"Are you kidding me?"

Yeah, something had ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠felt off. No matter how hard the dopamine hit, your hands didn't just shake like a leaf in an autumn gale.

"This is... Mana Exhaustion."

Having researched awakening culture obsessively for years, Kim Haun had amassed a mountain of miscellaneous trivia. Even without that prior interest, though, everyone in South Korea knew about mana exhaustion. Choi Gimun, the nation's second-ranked Awakened, had famously posted essays detailing how grueling it was to recover from the condition after executing his ultimate secret arts.

The difference was, Choi Gimun was Rank 2 nationally. He only suffered exhaustion when unleashing desperate trump cards saved for catastrophe-class monsters. Meanwhile, Haun was currently Level 1. Energy Bolt was his only offensive spell. Collapsing from acute mana exhaustion after casting a single beginner spell—did that even make sense?

"Choi Minjun-ssi?! What are you standing around for! Call an ambulance, now!"

The panicked shouts drifting in from the ruined park made him reconsider. Considering the cataclysmic crater outside, maybe it made perfect sense after all. A Level 1 novice conjuring that magnitude of destruction was fundamentally unnatural.

"Still, collapsing after a single cast is rough."

Grumbling wouldn't replenish his mana. He just had to overcome it. Thankfully, the solution was straightforward.

His current level was 1. Raising his level would naturally bolster his basic attributes, which meant his mana pool would expand alongside them. And how did an Awakened level up? That was even simpler.

The universal skill granted upon awakening wasn't just decorative. Ascending the Tower of Despair yielded one level per floor cleared. Higher floors meant greater power.

"Shall we get moving, then?"

Ah. Right. Rest first...

When you need to rest, you rest properly. With that noble philosophy firmly guiding his afternoon, Haun lounged comfortably on his bed, casually scrolling through community forums for roughly three hours. Outside, the clamor had died down; emergency crews had long since carted off the crater debris and the unconscious tank.

Crack.

He rolled his shoulders, giving his limbs a light stretch to evaluate his physical condition.

"Oh, not bad at all."

The throbbing dizziness was gone, his limbs felt featherlight, and vigor hummed along his veins. In fact, he felt even more energized than usual. Was this the perk of an Awakened constitution? Time to get to work.

"Let's head out."

Chime!

A redundant question. Why else would he trigger the skill? During his three-hour recovery session, he had thoroughly studied the strategies for the early floors.

The 1st floor of the Tower of Despair featured slimes. They possessed zero offensive capabilities, but they possessed a notorious gimmick: every time they took damage, they divided into multiple smaller copies. It wasn't dangerous, just infuriatingly tedious. If one had to summarize the floor in a single sentence, it was an endurance test of sheer annoyance.

Well, dealing with tedious, annoying chores happened to be his specialty. Time to clear it out.

Flash!

A blinding column of azure light wrapped around his frame, whisking him across space.

The 1st floor materialized as a vast, rolling meadow beneath an artificial blue sky.

Boing!

Beyond the transparent boundary of the safe zone, ten green gelatinous blobs were merrily bouncing in place.

"So I just have to pop those guys."

The difficulty was so low that even an ordinary non-awakened human could clear it with enough patience. Yet the average clear time hovered well over an hour because every stomp or blade slash multiplied the target. The established meta for magic-class awakeners was to blast them with small spells, wait for them to split, and stomp them down individually until the division limit broke.

Well, might as well open with an Energy Bolt.

KABOOOOOM—!

...Excuse me?

Floor 1 of the Tower of Despair was widely despised as the most infuriatingly drawn-out hour of any novice's career. And yet...

"That was... easy?"

One shot. A single blast, a thunderous roar, a blinding flash—and the entire meadow had simply ceased to exist, slimes and all. The division mechanic couldn't even trigger because the targets were vaporized down to their atomic constituents. And then came the ensuing flurry of alerts:

A new world record? Plus special perks?!

"Holy shit! That's insane!"

This was the sheer majesty of an Energy Bolt acquired from the Tower of Transcendence! Haun laughed out loud, marveling at the glowing gold letters. The only problem was...

"Why is this damn warning still here?!"

The reality of awakening was vastly different from a video game. Leveling up didn't magically grant a full health and mana recovery. Sure, his base stats had bumped upward—he could feel a subtle lightness in his sinews—which meant his total capacity had slightly increased. But that also meant...

"Gaining a single level isn't nearly enough to handle this spell's consumption?"

Damn it. If one blast put him out of commission for hours, continuous climbing was impossible. He needed a real solution.

Returning to his room via the exit portal, Haun immediately dove back into the boundless ocean of information known as the internet. Dig through Awakener forums long enough, and you could find an answer to almost anything.

"Right..."

The first option was currently unviable. Sure, if he grinded past Level 20, his natural capacity would eventually catch up to the spell's demand. But if each cast required a three-hour nap, how in the world was he supposed to reach Floor 20 in any reasonable timeframe?

"Whew."

That left elixirs. Ten million won per bottle? And he had to chug them like tap water? He wasn't the scion of a megacorporation; where would he get that kind of cash?

Wait... hold on a second.

The Arcana Market inside the Tower of Transcendence—didn't that place sell alchemical elixirs too? Naturally, he couldn't afford top-shelf legendary draughts, but what if they stocked cheap, beginner-tier elixirs just like the Energy Bolt scroll? He had a fresh thousand magic stones in his inventory right now.

"Might as well check it out."

Chime!

"Ah."

Only once per day. What a shame. Nothing to be done about it; he would just have to visit first thing tomorrow.

The moment midnight struck and the daily counter reset, Kim Haun used To the Tower and stepped back into the Arcana Market. And the very first sound that greeted him was a deep, grating scoff.

"What? You expect to purchase an elixir that expands your mana capacity with a pathetic thousand low-grade magic stones?"

Scolded right out the gate.

"Hey... what do you mean, 'pathetic thousand'?" Haun complained, feeling wronged. Converted to cash, that was fifty million won! Several times his entire net worth!

"Good grief. To think such a penniless wretch was chosen as a Climber... I suppose I should consider it a mercy you ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠aren't demanding an elixir that also purifies mana density."

"Wait, there are elixirs that do both?"

"Of course there are! Do you think you can afford one? An ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠elixir that expands capacity and purges impurities simultaneously wouldn't even let you sniff the fumes for a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠thousand stones. Perish the thought."

Tsk, stingy rock.

"Wait here a moment. Let me rummage through the lower bins."

Even while complaining, the diamond golem still went to check the inventory. Truly a professional merchant at heart. A five-star customer service attitude beneath the stony exterior.

"Hmm... with this pittance, perhaps a Ten-Thousand-Year Fleeceflower Root..."

"Oh?! A Ten-Thousand-Year Fleeceflower Root?!"

Haun's eyes went wide. That sounded like an ancient, mythical panacea straight out of a martial arts legend! You could buy that for a thousand stones?

"...a rootlet. You could afford a detached rootlet of one."

"...Excuse me?"

"A single hair of a rootlet. Here."

Thump.

The golem dropped a tiny, shriveled fiber onto the velvet counter.

"Uh..."

It really was just a scrap of root hair. Thinner than a toothpick, dried up and curled like a dead earthworm.

"Well? Are you taking it or not?"

No hesitation.

"I'm taking it, obviously."

Haun had seen the miracles this market offered with Energy Bolt. Even the floor scraps of the Tower of Transcendence had to be leagues ahead of five mass-produced bottom-tier elixirs sold on Earth.

"Hoh?"

Once a decision was made, execution was swift. Haun snatched up the fifty-million-won rootlet and tossed it straight into his mouth.

Gulp.

"A wise choice," the diamond golem nodded approvingly. "An elixir is fundamentally an investment in the distant future. Even if a single ingestion does not produce an earth-shattering miracle immediately, if you consume them consistently over centuries, you will eventually—"

Chime!

What? An investment in the distant future?

Are you kidding me? This effect is completely out of its mind!