The Sealed Earth's Tower (2)
In the matter of hunting monsters, no one had more expert knowledge than Rydmila Lionheart.
"This won't do."
Even she declared it impossible with unwavering resolve.
"If the monsters we just saw are what those beasts looked like in the eastern plains 500 years ago, then with our current forces, we couldn't take them on—not now."
"The intimidation factor was no joke, but yeah, too tough?"
"It's not just tough. We flat-out lack the firepower to pierce their carapaces. Sure, we might muster enough to blast a dozen or so, but then we'd be facing the rest with our mana completely drained..."
Rydmila shook her head wearily, as if the mere thought made her sick.
"We'd get slaughtered, no question. Prairie bisons—you hunt the stragglers separated from the herd, not charge the whole damn stampede."
She likened 400 A-rank monsters to prairie bisons. Coming from someone as battle-hardened as her, that said it all: these were foes way beyond easy handling.
"Take the tentacle trees we struggled with most recently as an example. Those mobile ones always move in groups of at least 200."
"...That's risky. But all we'd get from tangling with something that dangerous is..."
"Experience, nothing more. No mana stones, no corpses."
The three fell silent. Even Mont Blanc, our floating emergency rations in the sky, kept mum.
"Mr. Phoenix."
"Yeah."
"Is this really the trial left for humanity by the four founders 500 years ago?"
"Pretty much."
"And this is just the first floor?"
"Humanity back then must've had it brutal just surviving, huh?"
It really was.
"We're living in peace today because those folks wiped out monsters like these so thoroughly, not even leaving descendants behind."
Praise and RIPs to the four founders and humanity's heroes.
"Maybe the founders thought something like that? 'We don't care if we're forgotten—as long as our descendants live in a peaceful world.'"
"......."
"But on the flip side, they worried those crises might return, so they founded the academy hoping elites like themselves would emerge even in peaceful times."
"Now I get why the four founders built the academy instead of chasing fame and fortune."
Unia gave a wry smile.
"For the sake of their descendants."
Seeds for the future. That's why we call people who make such tough choices heroes—choices ordinary folks couldn't stomach.
"That said, if it's for us descendants, couldn't they have thrown in some weak slimes on floor one...?"
Praise was praise, complaints were complaints. Sure, you could gripe that we were ungrateful after they built this peaceful era, but from the perspective of folks actually facing the trial, the gripes came naturally.
Shield Tops. That's what they were called in the game, though that was just the in-game name.
"Ms. Rydmila, the monsters we saw—they're the modern Tricera Drakes, right?"
"Most likely. Their heads are shield-tough... but way more vicious, sharper, and angular than today's 'Tricera' variants."
"Like the difference between a wooden round shield from a newbie village shop and a steel kite shield? That level?"
"About that."
As Evangeline said, the current descendant versions had head shields shaped like flimsy starter wooden round shields. But 500 years ago? They were beyond that—heroic or mythic-grade, decked out with flashy, top-tier engravings straight out of endgame gear.
Just polish one of those skulls into a shield, and it'd terrify enemies on any battlefield.
"And..."
"They were about a meter across, right?"
"Inside that tower, they were easily over three meters. Like the gap between a great ogre and a goblin."
What the hell happened over 500 years to turn those majestic beasts into deformed chibis?
The era of peace. Back then, humanity had no luxury to farm cores from monsters—one A-rank took multiple lives to fell. Totally different from now.
And from my perspective—
"Too hard?"
As someone who'd cleared this tower all the way to the top, I couldn't not ask.
"Mr. Phoenix."
"Yeah, Ms. Unia."
"You talk like you've actually tackled those monsters in there."
"You think so? No way I'd scam you girls like that."
As if.
"Maybe the shock's got you seeing it that way. We've handled everything smoothly at the academy so far—top of every practical, too."
"Well... true."
"This is just our first real 'wall.'"
Normally, first-years like Unia and the others hit walls galore: powerhouse seniors, faculty scrutiny, jealous undergrads. Bashing through those built body and mind, hardening like earth after rain—that's the academy way.
Thanks to my support, they'd grown too easily this first semester. I'd stepped in and solved every crisis.
Now they had to find their own way. If they buckled now and begged for a 'cheat code,' how would they handle the upper floors—or the real apocalypse later?
"What do you wanna do?"
"Just one question, Mr. Phoenix."
Unia raised her hand as spokesperson.
"You brought us here thinking our current power's enough to clear it, right?"
"Yup."
"And you're about to suggest some new method, or say 'See? You need my way after all,' dropping some must-have skill for this?"
"We could clear it that way too, but sorry—this first floor's doable with just you three."
I pretended to step back a bit.
"Unia, Rydmila, Evangeline as is. I think that's plenty."
"......."
"Especially with Instructor Cardisha's support. Nothing you can't handle."
I'm a heroine master and trainer. Battles are for the heroine'mon—not the trainer.
Sure, as a super primordial, I'd outmuscle most heroine'mon if I wanted, even 'delete' them outright. But that's not how we clear.
If that was the plan, I wouldn't have come in the first place—
"Got it. We'll think it over."
These girls weren't the type to mooch through life easy-mode either.
"Cool. I'll cut the link for now, so you four hash out a plan in reality. Reconnect in... five hours."
It was all illusion in the Seven Star Towers, but hitting a wall like this? Prepping in the real world couldn't hurt.
"What about you, Mr. Phoenix? Prep with us?"
"Nah. I'll stay here..."
I conjured a sheet of parchment from mana in midair.
"And write a paper on what we've seen and learned—so the instructors don't get caught flat-footed later."
* * * * *
The paper—labeled a report, about 30 pages. Done in an hour.
"Phew."
I'd dumped the prepped theory straight from brain to page via mana, more transcription than writing.
"You can come out now."
"Nyaaah!!"
With a fresh whiff of instant ramen, Kim Fenril appeared.
"Why'd you call me, nya?"
"Pick one to tackle."
"Tackle?"
"Yeah."
I pointed alternately at the two towers.
"Ransack the persistence magic tower, or sweep the wind-attribute one with wind mana?"
"First's a dungeon run, second's just ghosting through invisible, nya?"
Fenril chuckled low, brushing her body.
"Even if it's illusion, go in with pure 'no-angel wind mana,' and nothing inside notices a thing. Straight boss run tourist mode, nya?"
"Pretty much."
In crafting this illusory space, the sage tuned the monsters' aggression to a specific mana signature: angel power. Not some heavenly secret—just the angelic mana anyone human has, triggering their hostility.
Flip side: enter with pure mana, no angel vibes, and every mob in that tower turns non-aggro.
"Fenril."
"Yeah."
"The wind tower? Mind tweaking it a bit first."
"Not the fire one?"
"That one's straight challenge as-is."
Like how I'd broken through this trial via Chang Yeom's hellfire.
"But let's tweak the wind tower different."
"Doesn't matter to me—what's the plan?"
"Something you'll love."
I wrapped an arm around Fenril and headed for the wind tower.
"From now on, this place."
Screeech.
"Becomes Ramen Tower."
The whole tower, ramen-fied.
"Time to mod the hell out of it."