The Frozen Clock
“…….”
The guards stationed on the 90th floor stared down below them, faces taut with tension.
That feathered monster, which had shrieked out such horrific cries, had not climbed any higher since being shot down.
One of the watching guards finally spoke.
“We should send out a pursuit squad.”
“No.”
The senior necromancer, the officer in charge, shook his head.
“Our duty is to hold the 90th floor. Nothing more. Don't think about anything else.”
“Yes, sir!”
Even so, the senior necromancer's eyes narrowed as he gazed downward.
Certainly.
It had lasted only an instant, but in the moment the feathered monster was shot down, he had clearly seen it expel something—as if a cell were dividing.
What had they sent out? Their purpose, their methods—nothing was known, and now was no time to let their guard down.
Kuuung—!
Before long, his guess struck true.
Kuuuung!
KWAAAAAANG!
From below came a relentless barrage of metal slamming against metal, collisions so violent that the tower's walls themselves trembled.
The guards of the 90th floor stiffened.
“Is that some kind of anomaly?”
“Sounds like it's coming from the floor below.”
The thunderous impacts grew fiercer by the second—and closer. As the guards began to waver, the senior necromancer turned to face them.
“Steady yourselves. Everyone hold your positions and prepare the dark magic—!”
He cut off mid-sentence and whipped his head around. With a roar that split the air, something came hurtling up into the 90th floor and slammed into the wall.
A deep gouge scored the wall, and beneath it crouched a man, sprawled and gasping for breath. He wore a robe, his face hidden behind a mask.
But the guards had no time to spare him a glance.
“Incomingggg!”
Massive pillars and pipes were flying up into the 90th floor out of nowhere.
Kuuuuung!
KRAKAANG!
The hurtling pillars smashed apart the platforms where the 90th floor guards stood, then wedged themselves into the ceiling and walls. The guards whose footing vanished beneath them screamed as they plummeted.
“I-It's Girdon!”
Girdon was flying up through the sky. Several guards thrust out their staves and hurled dark magic at him, but Girdon simply drank the spells in, absorbing them into his bare body as though they were nothing.
The worst-case scenario they had feared had come to pass.
Thud!
Girdon set foot on the 90th floor.
“Where is he?”
He snapped his head back and forth. Paying no mind to the fallen Ivory Tower guards, he sniffed at the air, then strode with heavy, deliberate steps toward the tower's interior.
<Sacrifice>
SHWAK!
A flash burst from the tip of the senior necromancer's staff, and a jet-black curse shot forth.
Even Girdon, it seemed, could not simply ignore that particular attack. He reacted—the back of his skull hollowed out like a donut, letting the curse sail straight through the empty space.
“Surprising.”
His skull restored to its original shape, Girdon glanced back.
“I didn't know the Ivory Tower had anyone who could cast a curse of this caliber.”
The senior necromancer who had fired the curse smiled faintly. He was the very man who had shot down Akemus.
“Assuming the Ivory Tower is weak to curses is nothing but prejudice.”
Murderous intent kindled in Girdon's eyes.
“Stay out of my way! Kizen must be wiped clean from this world!”
“If you mean Simon Polentia, our guards are already closing in on him down below. It seems you've got the wrong man.”
Jet-black energy rippled at the tip of the staff in the senior necromancer's grip. A sound like metal scraping against metal tore from Girdon's throat.
“Foolish Ivory Tower dogs! That one from before WAS Kizen!”
“Even if that man who fled truly was Simon Polentia, a single student is of no consequence. The one person who must never, under any circumstances, be allowed to reach the top floor—”
Shk!
His staff leveled at Girdon's head.
“—is you. Sin of Space, Girdon.”
“Stay out of my way!”
Without bothering to determine who would strike first, the two powers unleashed torrents of dark magic at one another.
Kuuuung!
KRAKAANG!
The clamor of battle kept thundering from the entrance to the 90th floor. Simon paid it no mind and kept running forward.
Kheheheh! It's all going according to plan! Girdon and the Ivory Tower rabble are tearing into each other!
“Yes, exactly.”
The hint the Ghost of Time had left behind had proven crucial. A rabbit-mask marker on the 88th floor had pointed the way to Girdon's location.
Girdon wielded spatial dark magic—magic capable of warping the tower's very fabric of space and time. From the guards' perspective, he was the one man who absolutely could not be allowed to pass.
And so, while the guards and Girdon fought tooth and nail, Simon moved along the trail of rabbit-mask markers the Ghost of Time had left behind.
Here?
A rabbit mask hung in one of the rooms on the 90th floor. Simon opened the door at once and stepped inside to find what looked like an utterly ordinary office.
Nothing seemed out of place. He swept his gaze around the whole room once, and noticed a section of wall that bulged outward—and it was there that the rabbit mask hung.
Simon was calmly running his palm over the wall when—
—There's an intruder on the 90th floor!
—Find him! Find him, whatever it takes!
Shouts and commotion erupted outside the door.
Of course they wouldn't just leave me be.
It seemed the guards battling Girdon on the 90th floor had called for reinforcements from the other floors.
He had to hurry, before he was discovered.
As Simon desperately felt along the wall, his hand passed over a stretch where something rough and glass-like met his fingers instead of brick.
A barrier.
Shriiip!
Simon immediately raised the Greatsword of Ruin and tore the barrier open, revealing a magic circle set into that section of wall. It had originally been sealed, but the seals had already been stripped away—the Ghost of Time, it seemed, had undone them in advance.
This is it.
Simon simply placed his palm over the circle.
Grrrrrumble!
The wall's bricks sank inward one after another, and in short order a small cavity opened up.
Oh.
A hidden fireplace.
Simon bent down and peered inside—straight up through the chimney, a shaft opened toward the floors above.
A secret passage only the Ghost of Time knows about!
Simon instantly roused jet-black energy in both legs and began climbing the fireplace shaft. Wearing Pier's Bone Armor, scaling the wall was no effort at all.
The fireplace's exit sealed itself behind him. Darkness soon swallowed everything around him.
Clunk!
CRASH!
Almost simultaneously came the sound of a door swinging open, followed by a rush of noisy footsteps. Soldiers of the Ivory Tower master were pouring into the room.
Simon froze in place, not so much as breathing, and waited.
“Doesn't look like he's here!”
“Move on to the next area!”
The footsteps clattered back out. Simon let out a breath of relief and started moving again.
If I take this passage, how far up can I get?
If he could skip even five floors, the remaining five would be manageable on Simon's own power. Given how badly things had already gone sideways, he fully intended to put his strength as a Legion Commander to proper use.
At last Simon reached the top of the fireplace shaft—only to find it blocked.
Hm.
He rapped the ceiling lightly with his knuckles. Then he braced his legs wide against the walls on either side, locking his body firmly in place, pressed both palms against the ceiling, and pushed with everything he had.
Grrrrrk—
With a sound like stone grinding against stone, the ceiling gave way. After that first push, it rose on its own without Simon needing to do anything more.
Light spilled down into the darkness.
Thank goodness.
Covered head to toe in dust, Simon pulled himself out.
And then—
……!
He witnessed it.
A colossal clock, sitting squarely in the center of the chamber. It was frozen solid, locked away in a shroud of ice.
Could this be—
There was no mistaking it.
The cause of this entire catastrophe, the infamous Dungeon Master that the Ivory Tower master of three hundred years past had sealed away at the cost of her own life—the Frozen Clock.
Which means—
This was the 100th Floor.
Simon felt goosebumps crawl up his arms as he rose to his feet.
The fireplace hole he had just escaped through had closed seamlessly, returning to smooth, unbroken floor without a trace.
Cold in here.
Simon brushed a hand along his own arm. His breath misted faintly in the air.
It seemed the chill was radiating from the Frozen Clock itself. Frost had crusted over every surface, like the inside of a walk-in freezer.
Simon glanced around briefly, then spoke.
“Just as promised, I've made it to the top floor! Where are you?”
Simon called out to the Ghost of Time, but silence answered him.
The spirit had gone so far as to reveal the secret passage to the 100th floor, yet now refused to show himself.
After calling several more times, Simon finally gave up and turned his gaze back to the Frozen Clock.
What exactly am I supposed to do with this thing?
He had arrived two days ahead of the original plan. There was still more of Mayrin's and Serne's pasts he hadn't seen, and the 'Secret of the Ivory Tower' remained unknown to him.
Am I expected to judge based on what I've seen so far?
Shriiip!
First things first—he raised the Greatsword of Ruin.
Nothing about this 'Frozen Clock' had appeared in Mayrin's or Serne's memories. Touching the ice bare-handed seemed far too dangerous, so he cautiously prodded it with the tip of his blade.
It's hard—!
Even the Greatsword of Ruin couldn't cut it. He sawed back and forth like a lumberjack, and not so much as a scratch appeared.
This was an unbreakable ore.
And heat seemed unlikely to melt it either. Simon stood perfectly still, like a scholar wrestling with an impenetrable riddle.
“My, the lead actor has finally taken the stage.”
Tap— tap—
The sound of footsteps reached the 100th floor along with the presence of another person. Simon startled and whirled toward the sound.
Someone was approaching from the darkness in the distance. Even from her silhouette alone, Simon knew at once who it was.
Ivory hair swaying, white feathers swirling about her, advancing with the regal stride of an empress—a girl.
“……Serne.”
“Heheh. It's been a while.”
She smiled brightly and took hold of her skirt in an elegant bow. Simon kept his guard firmly up as he spoke.
You should still be in the middle of the dispatch evaluation. Why are you here?”
“Oh, Simon, you're so~ hopelessly formal.”
She winked.
“It's hardly the first time I've gone off-script, is it? During the last mission evaluation, I abandoned my assignment and went all the way to Tarados just to see you. Think of this as the same thing.”
“…….”
Simon let out a short sigh and spoke.
“I'll skip the niceties and ask directly. Are you and the Ivory Tower master on the same side?”
“Yes.”
The answer came so matter-of-factly that Simon's heart lurched.
“Then this time it's my turn to ask.”
Her slender white finger pointed at Simon's chest.
“Are you and Kizen Headquarters on the same side?”
“…….”
When Simon bit his lip and gave no answer, she flicked her tongue playfully.
“Say, for instance, a spy digging up information on the tower behind our backs.”
She already knew everything.
And yet she asked anyway—it was a kind of identification, friend or foe. We are enemies. That was, in effect, what Serne had just said.
Simon had no intention of hiding it any longer.
“Kizen Headquarters believes the Ivory Tower is plotting something sinister.”
“Yes, that's right.”
She admitted it so readily that it was Simon who was left reeling. Serne raised her hand.
“Would you like to know our plan as well?”
When she uncurled her clenched fist, several crumpled white feathers lay in her palm. She gave a soft puff of breath, and the feathers fluttered aloft, sketching shapes in the empty air.
“You rode the 'sightseeing train' on your first day, so you already know this. The Ivory Tower spent two thousand years roaming the continent, from place to place.”
The feathers formed paintings in midair.
The tower standing in a jungle.
The tower at the heart of an island.
The tower amid a desert—every one of them the very paintings Simon had seen aboard the sightseeing train.
“This tower, which served as the stronghold of the Ivory Tower faction for over a thousand years, actually possessed a 'relocation function.' Thanks to it, the tower changed its location once every thirty years.”
“…….”
“But when the Ivory Tower relocated here, to the far edge of the Dark Alliance, in pursuit of rich deposits of magic stone materials, the 'Dungeon Gate' incident erupted.”
She lowered her hand, and the floating paintings dissolved away.
“The crisis was contained, but the relocation magic within the tower—along with countless other recorded spells—was lost or ruined beyond repair. Even so, the Ivory Tower could never abandon its 'home.' So they raised a new tower right beside it, took in the natives who had always lived in this region, and had them build out the surrounding structures with the technology they were given.”
“So that became today's Ivory Tower metropolitan territory.”
“Exactly.”
She walked forward slowly, then reached out her hand toward the Frozen Clock. Simon flinched and shouted.
“Wait—Serne! Touch that carelessly and you'll get frost—!”
She simply smiled, and laid her bare hand against the frozen clock. The surface had to be bitingly cold, yet she stroked the ice without the slightest discomfort.
“You really are kind, Simon.”
A fox-like smile curled at the corners of her eyes.
“I don't dislike that side of you—the way you never change, no matter what.”
“…….”
Simon pressed his lips together hard. She withdrew her hand from the Frozen Clock, clasped her hands behind her back, and turned away.
“Now, back to the present. The Ivory Tower has finally restored the Tower of Time's relocation function.”
“……What?”
“And the Ivory Tower has had a grand design all along. The tower's single most important plan—one conceived before Serne and Mayrin were ever born.”
Our true 'home.'
A return to the Tower of Time.
But of all things, it was after the Gate incident that the era of Necromancers and Priests dawned, and the continent split in two.
Trapped within the Dark Alliance, the Ivory Tower found itself reduced to watching Kizen's back, gnashing its teeth in frustration.
But if the tower could move once more—the story changed entirely.
“We are going to the Neutral Zone, Simon.”
For hundreds of years, the Ivory Tower faction had steadily invested in the Neutral Zone's interests. Negotiations had been concluded not only with the zone's power brokers, but even with the Holy Federation itself.
The three-way division of the continent that Serne had longed for so desperately. The Ivory Tower would now relocate to the Neutral Zone and bring it under its control.
The Neutral Zone had already degenerated into a battleground between the Dark Alliance and the Holy Federation. The rage and exhaustion of its residents ran deep.
And so, with its vast wealth and technological might, the Ivory Tower would develop the Neutral Zone into something greater than its own metropolitan territory, win the people's support, and raise a new kingdom at the very center of the continent.
The birth of a new great power, wedged between the Holy Federation and the Dark Alliance.
The Neutral Zone was 'neutral' now only because its weakness left it no other choice—but when a power as formidable as the Ivory Tower declared its neutrality, everything was different.
“Two superpowers and one neutral nation. And then what happens? Whichever side the Ivory Tower backs wins! We hold the spotlight—we become the kingmakers. The Holy Federation is already reaching out its hand to us, desperate to win that competition.”
Simon's pupils trembled at the staggering revelation.
“Do you really think that's… a realistic scenario?”
“The Ivory Tower takes it seriously. Over three hundred years of effort poured into the Neutral Zone. But my Father, and the small circle of radicals who hold the real power, think a little differently.”
“What do you mean?”
“Even if the relocation succeeds, we'd still end up bowing and scraping to Kizen, wouldn't we? And as you said, it's a far too optimistic plan. I hate that. The truth is, the radicals' real objective is the bifurcation of the continent.”
The corners of her lips curled upward.
“We are going to move the Tower of Time to the very heart of Locke Island.”