Grave Spot

The Tower's invitation doesn't discriminate by gender, age, or anything else. Naturally, it doesn't screen for personality either. Hell, even a worthless piece of shit like me got one.

Anyone who's done military service knows what happens when you throw a bunch of guys in their twenties together with nothing in common. The average personality level is shockingly low, and the world is full of assholes strutting around over nothing.

Now imagine the average in a bizarre, enclosed space like the Tower of Trials.

"Why don't you fuck off?"

So it's no big surprise when some prick starts shit out of nowhere. Outwardly, I look like a total noob geared up in the cheapest shop-bought crap from the tower's lowest floor, so yeah, that tracks.

Hmm, now that I think about it, that holy knight in our party might've just been normal by comparison.

"Who's this guy?"

I pointed at the man with my finger and turned to Kim Jin-ah.

I'd only arrived a minute ago, so who knows what went down before.

"He's been standing in front of the portal since earlier, but he won't go in..."

"He's not here for solo play, right? You said it's a party."

Kim Jin-ah nodded. Then the holy knight Kim Min-hyung sidled up and whispered to me.

"Bro, looks like he's reserving the spot. One guy holds it while the party controls the area."

I've played plenty of online games, so I got the picture without the explanation.

The guy blocking the portal was a young-looking warrior in shiny heavy plate armor. If he's bold enough for spot-reservation, he's probably got solid connections or belongs to a big guild. That armor looks top-tier too—not a ranker himself, maybe, but he could know some.

Messing with him might drag in some nasty types, but spot-reservation isn't exactly honorable anyway—so let's talk.

"Your party's not here yet, right? We're all set."

I hesitated a bit before speaking to him. He gave me a quick once-over and replied curtly.

"So?"

That was it. What a fucking asshole. Compared to this prick, Kim Min-hyung ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was polite as hell.

"So we're taking this spot first. Move aside—we're going in."

"This is our party's spot, you know? Your spot's a fucking grave, you retarded shit."

The guy flipped me off as he said it. And at the same time, my fist shot out.

-Thud!

My fist slammed dead-center into his solar plexus, exploding like a bomb.

Acting all high and mighty like that, he's gotta have something backing him up. Maybe a big guild, ranker buddies, or he's strong himself.

But the second that moron spat his retarded grave insult, none of that mattered.

Fucking grave spot? You think I climbed this tower solo, headbutting walls and eating shit, just to hear that crap?

If my hand didn't swing after that, that would be weird, you fucking asshole.

-Crash!

The guy ate my fist and went tumbling across the floor. My knuckles stung a little from the solar plexus hit. I figured the gear wasn't ordinary, and yeah, solid armor.

But if he couldn't even react and just flew off like that, his specs must suck.

"F-fuck, you little shit."

Sprawled on the ground, he trembled, face beet-red, spewing curses. His expression screamed utmost injustice.

But on what grounds are you pissed?

"You ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠hit ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠me? Do you even know who the fuck I am? You noob-ass bitch, you wanna die?"

He grumbled curses as he staggered up, then yelled when he saw me shaking out my fist.

"Dumbass, your hand broken? Shouldn't have swung your worthless dick at my armor—that shit costs a fortune."

I ignored him, strode over, and raised my fist again.

"If you're gonna talk shit, at least wear your helmet first."

-Crack!

"Gurk!"

I smashed his jaw. Teeth flew everywhere. Wasn't even that hard a hit, but from the feel, it shattered more than teeth—probably his jawbone too.

Without that gear, he'd be suffocating from the first gut punch. What the hell does he have to act so cocky?

-Murmurs.

As his jaw exploded and he faceplanted again, people gathered around. Not his friends—just rubberneckers drawn to the fight. The area got noisy fast.

The nameless prick writhed on the ground, pulling a potion from his inventory and chugging it messily. Fancy bottle design—high-end consumables to match the gear.

"Huff, huff... f-fuck, you shit."

After gulping it down, he fiddled with his inventory again, finally slapping on a white helmet and drawing his weapon. Huge two-handed axe, but his grip looked awkward as fuck—total idiot pose.

Starts shit with trash talk, then draws after one punch?

"You're fucking dead, you beggar bitch."

Rich kid bragging about money, calling me beggar. I've got enough gold rotting in my inventory to make him cry, but he doesn't know that.

Whatever—why's he looking so smug now? Thinks the helmet makes him invincible?

-Whoosh!

His heavy armor clanking, he swung the axe wildly. Stance was dumb, swing even dumber. How do you swing worse than a first-floor goblin?

I sidestepped in two steps, clenched my fist, and activated the skill.

[Iron Wall]

My fist hardened like iron and cracked his skull.

The skills I leveled during closed-door training on the third floor weren't just the resistance ones.

I figured out how to boost affinity with the earth spirit: bond by interacting with earth-infused objects like soil, sand, or stones.

For a while, I crunched pebbles with White Roll to raise it. Efficiency wasn't great, so I hit Lv.10 and unlocked the active on the sixth floor.

Anyway, the active skill Iron Wall is simple: harden a body part like steel.

Simple, but insanely powerful and versatile. Lets me tank in leather like heavy plate, or amp my punches like now.

-Boom!

My fist, already loud against metal, roared even louder this time. The axe-swinging armored idiot's neck snapped back, and he crumpled sideways.

Even top gear couldn't fully absorb it—he lay still like a corpse for a moment.

"Quit playing dead, or you wanna actually die?"

-Thwack!

I hit Iron Wall again and soccer-kicked his helmeted head. Finally, he grunted "Urk" and came to, concussed and flailing.

Watching him, I thought, Good thing he didn't draw his weapon. Bare hands were a mercy—if he'd swung in rage, I'd have killed him.

"J-Jin-hyeok... you didn't kill him, right?"

As I pondered where to hit next on the staggering armored guy, Kim Jin-ah pushed through the crowd, asking.

Lots of people had gathered now.

"Nah, he's alive. Not killing him."

Kim Jin-ah, who'd dug into my backstory via community searches, thought I'd off him. Even I don't murder on impulse.

No real right to rage that hard over trash talk anyway. After years of leeching off my spine, getting murderously mad at an insult? That's too shameless, even for me.

But assuming I'd kill anyway? Does she think murder's casual? Other towers might have guild control keeping order, but still.

-Murmurs.

While I chatted with her, the crowd's buzz grew.

"Gil-hoon!"

The crowd parted, and a guy with a similar face to the downed armored prick burst out.

"Which fucking asshole... you, you dogshit prick!"

He glared daggers, yanked a spear from inventory, and assumed a stance with a whoosh of cut air. Brothers, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠probably—that his backup?

From the murmurs, I caught "Choi Gil-hyeon" here and there.

"Jin-hyeok... that's a ranker...!"

Yeah, real solid backup he's got.