The Birth of Super Rookies
Sancha smiled at the corner of his mouth.
Ogre was a powerhouse who had held his ranking for more than three years. True to his name, he was a monster among monsters who crushed opponents with that massive frame. Most who fought him ended up crippled or dead, so everyone made a habit of avoiding him.
Thirty rookies had applied this time.
“Last ten minutes or leave even a scratch on Ogre and they pass. We need that kind of spectacle if we want a crowd.”
“Ah… not a single one will survive.”
The man who had handed over the documents shuddered. He knew Ogre’s cruelty all too well.
Thirty against one. Under ordinary circumstances people would assume the thirty could never lose—but the opponent was Ogre. The man understood perfectly that thirty fighters of middling skill would be slaughtered in an instant.
It would be pure massacre. They would be massacred.
Yet this was the Tower of the War God, a place where the strong devouring the weak was the most natural thing in the world.
“When shall we run it?”
“Tomorrow. Immediately.”
“Understood. I’ll prepare at once.”
As the man withdrew, Sancha’s smile deepened.
It’s about time we hyped Ogre up. He’s a friend worth cultivating as a rival for the Champion.
This event had never been about discovering rookies. It was pure promotion—an event to elevate Ogre. Mid-tier monsters like him needed to grow if the tower’s reputation was to hold. And it would serve as a decent stimulus for “that guy,” who had not once surrendered the Champion’s seat in five years.
I hope they last at least five minutes.
He had said ten, but given Ogre’s temperament the whole thing would almost certainly be over inside five. If Sancha had a single worry, that was it.
The next day, throngs of spectators poured in for the event.
Thirty rookies versus the mid-tier monster Ogre! That outrageous billing sold out every seat in half a day.
“Nine-to-one?”
“Isn’t the result obvious from the start?”
“Obvious or not, we came to watch a slaughter. Events like this don’t come around often.”
Of course the outcome had been fixed from the beginning. The crowd was already pricing Ogre’s victory at a crushing nine-to-one. The lone one-side bets were pure reverse-play gambles from people chasing a jackpot. Without that jackpot psychology the odds could easily have been a hundred-to-zero and no one would have blinked.
The reason so many still packed the stands for such a foregone conclusion was simple.
I want to see blood and butchery!
Wipe them all out!
They wanted to watch Ogre’s overwhelming martial might sweep the rookies away. Those who already knew his savagery felt their hearts hammering with anticipation. Even inside the Tower of the War God, matches of this scale were rare.
“It’s Ogre!”
“Ogre’s here!”
The arena gates swung open and the giant Ogre stepped into view. Body painted head to toe in green, a massive ivory-like horn hanging around his neck like a necklace—the sight sent the crowd into frenzy. He was Ogre itself. A man more ogre than any real ogre. That raw, brutal presence captivated the spectators at once.
“Ogre! Make it hot today!”
“I bet my entire fortune on you!”
“You’re back after so long—show us something real!”
Today was Ogre’s return from a long rest. The comeback of a guaranteed box-office draw, and the opponents were thirty sacrificial lambs. The entertainment value was already locked in.
“Introducing the thirty rookies who will face the monster Ogre!”
At the announcer’s cry the opposite grate rose and the challengers began filing out one by one. Exactly thirty. Not a single newcomer had refused the match against Ogre.
Beat Ogre and I’ll be a super rookie overnight.
There are thirty of us—how can we lose to one Ogre?
Their reasoning was just as simple: kill the monster and etch their names as super rookies. A thirty-to-one squad was more than enough to inflate anyone’s confidence.
“Nothing but small fry.”
Ogre clicked his tongue at the half-hearted stances. The first floor of the Tower of the War God. Just being here was an embarrassment. He, an eighth-floor fighter, had come down to the rookies’ arena.
Still… not bad.
As sacrificial lambs to fill the gap left by his hiatus, they would do. At the very least he could burn a lasting impression into the spectators.
But what the hell are those two?
His gaze snagged on a pair among the rookies. Ogre snorted a laugh.
A penguin and a rabbit?
The Tower of the War God was a place where appearances mattered, but only once you had real skill and had climbed a few floors. Almost no one showed up on the first floor dressed like that as a rookie. The rare ones who did never climbed higher—and if they did, Ogre himself had torn them apart even more thoroughly.
And now they were clowning around right in front of him?
The rabbit’s not bad, though…
He ran his eyes over the woman’s body and nodded. He would rip the penguin’s head off with both hands and skewer the rabbit naked. Just imagining the feel of flesh and bone separating under his fingers made his body tremble with excitement.
“How will the battle between thirty rookies and the monster Ogre unfold? Let the match begin!”
The announcer swept a black flag. Both grates slammed shut and the fight was on.
Ogre hefted his absurdly oversized club.
Let’s smash a few of them lightly first.
Rabble. Not a single one stepped forward to face him. He had expected at least a little spirit. The boredom was enough to make him yawn.
Whoosh!
Ogre raised the club and kicked off the ground.
“There it is! Ogre’s signature move—Sky Crusher!”
A jump impossibly light for that massive frame. He simply drove the club straight down into the floor—an ordinary motion, yet no one had ever withstood that simple attack. On impact the earth shook as if an earthquake had struck, triggering a massive shockwave. It was Ogre’s patented opening to seize the initiative from the very first second.
“D-dodge!”
“Crazy!”
The rookies scrambled to get clear of the crushing pressure, but this was not an attack you could simply dodge.
And yet—
They’re not moving?
The emperor penguin and the rabbit girl stood completely still.
Frozen solid from terror?
A waste to kill them like this, but the water was already spilled. Ogre slammed into the ground and brought the club down in the same motion.
In that instant—
“Wha…”
“Wh-what…?”
Every spectator who had been ready to roar shot their eyes wide and their mouths open. Not only the spectators. The announcer, even the other rookies on the floor—everyone lost the power of speech as they stared at Ogre.
Thud-thud-thud-thud!
…Because Ogre’s body was raining down onto the arena floor in dozens of neatly severed pieces.
“Wh-what was that?”
“I didn’t even see it!”
“Th-this is… a rookie?”
The overwhelming nine-to-one odds. The match had ended in less than ten seconds. The dominance was so absolute that even cheers refused to come out.
Two major rookies had just been born.
Sancha, who had expected Ogre’s spectacular return, rubbed his eyes at the result.
What the hell was that just now?
Penguin Warrior and Rabbit Girl. Movements no ordinary person could ever follow. The two had moved almost simultaneously and carved the falling Ogre apart. Even to Sancha, administrator of the tower, that speed was anything but ordinary.
…Transcendents. At least two-star or higher.
Transcendents climbing the tower were uncommon. Not unheard of, but most never made such a flashy entrance.
Coming up with a concept means they have ambitions for the upper floors.
Yet this was the Tower of the War God. True to its name, the upper levels swarmed with monsters. The Champion in particular had not lost a single match in five years, crushing countless rivals and Transcendents alike to keep his undefeated myth alive.
That guy hates anyone who steals more attention than him. We might finally get some interesting entertainment after a long dry spell.
Still, the Champion had refused every challenge for over a year. He simply possessed such overwhelming points that the title remained his. Some cursed him for having lost his fangs and dodging fights.
He’s just bored. No one with something that surpasses him has appeared in a full year.
Sancha knew the truth. The Champion was not refusing challenges out of fear. He simply had no challenger worthy of his level.
But if Sancha thoroughly pushed these super rookies?
…Then he’ll turn his eyes this way.
He might even accept a challenge. Nearly a year had passed. The Champion’s absence could no longer be tolerated.
So Sancha made his decision. He would push that penguin and rabbit properly.
Just as I expected.
My prediction that Sancha, administrator of the Tower of the War God, was hunting for attention whores had been dead on.
Even as Wilhelm I never reached the Champion’s seat.
No matter how strong you were, without popularity and Sancha’s favoritism you could never become Champion. Yet almost no one even knew Sancha existed. I had been the same.
I only learned it after reaching the top floor myself—that everything hinged on Sancha’s whim.
Because I hadn’t known, I could go no further. To become Champion you either needed the Champion to accept your challenge or you had to keep winning until your points surpassed his. Both paths had been closed. The Champion refused every challenge, and no more matches were scheduled. Sancha simply would not allow Wilhelm to become Champion.
I need to burn a powerful first impression from the very start.
I had to keep delivering shock after shock without pause. Costumes were the bare minimum; popularity was just as critical. Second only to that was the spectators’ choice. You had to climb while keeping every seat sold out if you ever wanted a shot at the Champion.
Most players climbing the Tower of the War God bet on the side that favored them and edged upward by the skin of their teeth.
Hold back your power just to scrape a little betting money and you would never catch Sancha’s eye. The crowd didn’t want that either. Almost every player—including my past self—had been completely ignorant of Sancha’s existence.
Now I knew. And I knew exactly what I had to do next.
“Emperor Penguin! Emperor Penguin!”
“Smash them again today!”
The stands were packed to capacity once more under that feverish heat. Countless people had abandoned their real lives just to see the newly risen Emperor Penguin. Fifty of those spectators, however, were shills I had hired myself.
Even fun follows crowd psychology.
Use that psychology and move it, and you can whip the rest into even greater frenzy.
The being who stood at the very summit of the Tower of the War God. The undefeated myth who had never once permitted defeat in five years while bearing the title of Champion.
That man looked down upon the lower floors of the tower.
“Champion. Word is some interesting fellows have appeared in the tower.”
His attending secretary spoke, yet the Champion did not even bother to answer. He truly felt nothing.
For more than a year he had done nothing but temper himself without rest. He had yet to meet a strong opponent who could make him tremble.
No—there had been one time he nearly met such a man.
Wilhelm.
That intense memory still refused to fade. The speed at which the man climbed the tower had been nothing short of miraculous. How many times had the Champion’s blood run hot watching those matches? From the moment he learned Wilhelm was ascending, the Champion had never once missed a live viewing of Wilhelm’s fights.
When Wilhelm finally reached the top floor and issued a challenge, the Champion had even leapt for joy.
At last we fight!
But Wilhelm’s challenge toward him never came to pass.
Because Sancha would not allow it.
Sancha, the tower’s administrator. He had no desire to see Wilhelm and the Champion clash. And a match Sancha disliked could never be forced through by the Champion’s own will. Sancha held a debt of gratitude the Champion could never repay in a lifetime.
Still, the regret cut deep. Never having faced that man. Even now, a full year later, the ache remained so sharp it felt destined to become a lifelong regret.
That’s why I refused every challenge for a year.
A silent protest aimed at Sancha. After the match with Wilhelm fell through, the Champion’s throat burned with thirst. He trained without cease, believing they would one day meet. He waited for Wilhelm to climb the tower again.
Then, not long ago, he heard the news of Wilhelm’s death during the Great Expedition.
And he—
Wilhelm’s Star.