The Tower's Fragment
A man whose very humanity was questionable, a complete stranger.
No, was it even a man? Kyle stared at the guest, a slew of doubts swirling in his mind.
Flame-red hair and golden eyes—the colors symbolizing the Alastor ancestors. Yet among all the relatives Kyle had seen in the Sword Tower, none had a face like this one's.
Then perhaps one of the uncles who had left the tower years ago in search of a cure for his mother? Roel or Serros? No, that couldn't be. There was no way those two men, barely in their twenties, could exude the same otherworldly mystery as the figure before him.
Yeah, mysterious.
Kyle's eyes sparkled. From this guest—this being—emanated an ineffable mystique, something more fundamental than mere presence or aura. It was as if he were gazing at an entirely different species cloaked in human skin...
When have I felt this before?
Strangely, the sensation wasn't unfamiliar to Kyle. He had experienced it once in the past. Recalling it wasn't difficult at all.
Ruin Alastor.
The man who had ended the dark age 500 years ago, who had also brought the life of the Sword Ghost Raikal to an end. In Kyle's memories, he wielded the most beautiful and perfect sword—and he gave off a similar vibe to the being standing before him now.
That realization made the being's red hair and golden eyes feel oddly familiar too. These colors, symbolic of the Alastors, were as commonplace to Kyle as his own reflection in the mirror. But this one's hair and eyes were strikingly, uncannily like Ruin's.
"And who might you be?"
The being, who had been frowning down at Kyle, spat the words. Its voice was as androgynous as its appearance. It flicked a finger, and Kyle's seated body floated up effortlessly. For now, Kyle offered no resistance, letting the pulling force guide him.
His body hovered at just the right height—low enough for the being to glance down slightly without straining its neck.
"I know you're no ordinary human. You're seeing, sensing, and even conversing with Fenris and Baal, not to mention the goblins of the Sword Garden."
"..."
"I know you've been blessed with absurd talents piled one atop another. I know heaven sometimes showers unfair favoritism without warning. But what are you, exactly? With gifts like that, why resort to such brutish methods?"
"Aha."
As he listened to the being's scolding and watched the space behind it ripple, Kyle finally spoke.
"You're a goblin of the Sword Tower."
It wasn't just the otherworldly mystique that made him think so. The rippling scenery of the training chamber felt similar to when he communed with the goblins of Fenris or Baal.
The difference was that this communion had come unbidden, without Kyle approaching or desiring it. This was a first.
"..."
The being narrowed its eyes in silence, while Kyle's own sparkled with wonder.
Goblins were spirits born from objects long cherished, worshipped, or imbued with deep emotions. And those objects weren't limited to weapons like swords.
The Sword Tower was an artifact crafted directly by the Dragon King 500 years ago and gifted to Ruin Alastor. The line between magical tools and artifacts was merely a matter of who made them, so the tower itself was ultimately a tool.
The uniqueness of being Dragon King-made. Five centuries of history. A repository of Alastor symbolism and legacy, home to the purebloods. And the tower from which the founder, Ruin Alastor, had ascended.
If Fenris housed a goblin, there was every reason the Sword Tower would too. Heart pounding, Kyle waited for the being to nod—and after a long silence, its furrowed brow deepening, it finally spoke.
"Don't lump me in with mere goblins."
"You're not?"
"Strictly speaking, no."
"Then what are you?"
"I am a Fragment."
The being declared coldly.
"Born similarly to a goblin, but of a fundamentally higher order."
"What's the difference?"
"Your speech is impertinent beyond measure. I intervened personally to save your life, yet you can't even muster a word of thanks?"
"Thank you."
Kyle bowed his head politely. Truth be told, even without the Fragment's intervention, Kyle hadn't been in real danger. He had perfect control over himself and his mana at that moment.
Regardless, the Fragment's help hadn't been a hindrance. It hadn't acted out of malice. So a simple thanks was no burden.
"Surprisingly quick on the uptake. I figured a brute like you would be stubborn as a mule."
"What's so brutish about what I'm doing?"
"Are you truly clueless, or just playing dumb? What you did just now—no, everything you've done in this tower over the past year—is utterly brutish."
The Fragment spat.
"Born with bizarre spirit roots, so you pursue bizarre training to match? Trying to harness your full vessel is sheer greed. What you're attempting is impossible for a human."
"Has anyone else been born with spirit roots like mine?"
The Fragment's brow furrowed at the counterquestion.
"Anyone besides you? Of course not. Heaven only reworked itself to awaken spirit roots in your entire human species about 300 years ago..."
"So why call it impossible?"
Kyle grinned cheekily.
"No one's awakened roots like mine before. How can you claim what I'm doing is absolutely impossible?"
"That's..."
The Fragment faltered, brow twitching. It had long known this monstrous human child—supposedly just 11—was cunning beyond belief, but it hadn't expected to be so neatly cornered.
"Lack of precedent doesn't prove possibility. Your innate roots are absurd beyond what any human can fully wield. So you must humbly accept that and grasp only what you can handle."
"I can handle it."
"I thought you understood, but you're stubborn and foolish. How was such talent wasted on an arrogant brat like you?"
The Fragment snorted and shook its head.
"Look at your progress this past year. Wasn't today's overreach born of frustration at your slow gains? If I hadn't intervened..."
"Since you're already intervening, why not help me all the way?"
Kyle recalled the Fragment's touch earlier. Its mana had been exquisitely precise, stable, and natural. The raging torrent in his circuits had stilled like water in a bowl at its contact.
"As you said, this past year has been a lonely struggle. I've tried everything, but progress has been frustratingly slow."
"Then give up and..."
"If I were going to quit, I never would've started. You've been watching me because you're interested, right? You intervened because you didn't want to see me mess up, didn't you?"
It was a brazen question. The Fragment stared silently before suddenly grabbing Kyle's cheeks with both hands.
"Who are you?"
The Fragment's golden eyes rippled—eyes identical to Ruin Alastor's. Even as it pressed its face close, Kyle saw no reflection in those depths. The radiant gold drew the soul in, bottomless.
"My history can't comprehend you. I can't believe you're truly an 11-year-old human. So who are you? Has the ascended Ruin failed to sever his lingering attachments and returned to the mortal plane?"
"..."
"If not him, is my true self's obsession finally defying fate? That seems more plausible. Ruin had no talents beyond swordsmanship."
The Fragment murmured lowly, leaning even closer.
"If not that... is the Demon King toying with fate? Baal showed interest in you, so it's possible. But all is futile. Fate is fate because it's predetermined. If none of that, then ultimately an outsi..."
"No idea what you're talking about."
Ruin ascended, Dragon King, Demon King—grand figures were invoked, but Kyle thirsted more for completing his Mixed Origin Sword Scripture than their ramblings.
"If you don't want to help, just leave me alone. And you're awfully rude. Why project someone else onto a perfectly fine person?"
I'm actually Raikal, the Sword Ghost killed by Ruin 500 years ago. Kyle nearly said it, then stopped. His gut screamed that spilling the reincarnation beans to this fate-obsessed entity could spell disaster.
"No intention of abandoning that brutish method?"
"You've only made me want it more. I think I glimpsed something from your help earlier."
"Even if it kills you?"
"Then it'd suck."
The Fragment fell silent at the unhesitating reply. It released Kyle's cheeks, circling the rippling mental realm several times in contemplation.
"How about this."
After looping around a few times, the Fragment spoke.
"I'll help you complete that obsession of yours. In exchange, grant me a favor."
"What kind?"
"Cooperate in finding someone—or something. I'll tell you what it is later, once I deem you ready."
"Can't you ask someone else?"
"No one else in this tower can commune with me. And I'm not desperate enough to beg just anyone."
"Why me, then?"
"No way your existence is mere coincidence. A being as absurd as you must have a reason for being born."
The Fragment seemed about to say more, then furrowed its brow and shook its head.
"Don't pry too much. So, what's your answer?"
"I'll do it. You completing the method right now?"
"Does it look that easy?"
The Fragment shrugged incredulously.
"This is unprecedented. Even I'm not certain. And even if I complete it, your body won't adapt immediately. So..."
With a wave of its arm, the mental realm split open, revealing a large passage.
"I'll guide you to the Layers of the Capital. Pass the tower's trials there to forge a body fit for the completed method."
"Layers of the Capital?"
Kyle's eyes widened. Those floors 6 through 9 of the Sword Tower were off-limits even to purebloods without special permission—a harsh, perilous realm.
A year ago, Erica, who had topped her apprentice knight exams, had demanded access as a reward and quit after barely a month.
"Hmm... Even if I want to enter, I doubt I'd get permission easily."
"I'm the Sword Tower itself permitting you. What's the problem?"
"Does that mean you'll protect me?"
"Don't be daft. Climbing the Layers under protection—what meaning is there? If your skill falls short, I'll impose even harsher trials."
That was exactly what Kyle wanted, but he couldn't accept the Fragment's terms so readily.
Honestly, it was because of Arian. With her husband secluded for 11 years—not counting her early pregnancy, making it 12—how cruel would it be if her only son now shut himself away in something akin to seclusion?
To think I'd worry like this.
The love Arian had showered on him these 11 years ran deep. After a moment's thought, Kyle asked the Fragment.
"How long will it take?"
"No idea. It's uncharted for me too—likely years."
"Can I go with someone else?"
"You know nothing of the Layers. No matter how many enter, they never cross paths inside."
The internals were labyrinthine. Kyle pondered briefly before speaking.
"I don't need to answer right now, right?"
"You begged to complete the method, and now you hesitate?"
"Got something to sort out first."
"What an absurd kid."
The Fragment grumbled lowly, closing the passage to the Layers.
"I'll come back after handling it. How do I summon you?"
"Resonate with me anywhere in the Sword Tower. I'll find you."
The Fragment stared at Kyle, face still creased.
"By the way—what 'problem' are you solving?"
"Family issue."
Kyle added one more word.
"My dad's kind of a piece of shit."
*
Leaving the Great Archive, Kyle didn't head back to Rose Mansion.
"Grandfather."
He dashed to the Sword Apex Hall right after the elevator, but the doors wouldn't budge. Julius must not have descended to the first floor today.
What now?
Julius resided on the 10th floor, but Kyle had never been there. Among Julius's own children, only the eldest, Kartan, could knock on those doors.
"What is it?"
As he pondered, Julius's voice came from behind. Kyle whipped around, beaming.
"I need permission for something."
"Without even a greeting?"
Julius's brow arched, but there was no real displeasure. He favored those who proved their worth, and in recent years, Kyle topped that list.
What Julius especially liked about Kyle was that he didn't hoard his growth. The bold kid trained relentlessly while looking after his relatives. Erica, Julius's youngest daughter, had benefited six years ago; Bruno, his grandson, just a year prior.
Thus, Julius couldn't help being lenient with Kyle—enough to personally check on him even when he barged into Sword Apex Hall unannounced.
"Let's hear this request."
Julius opened the doors and entered. Kyle trailed eagerly, saying,
"I want to go out of the Sword Tower—no, out of Gladiheim. Please allow it."
"Suddenly?"
Julius halted, turning to Kyle. Pureblood Alastors could roam Gladiheim freely, even outside. No special permission from the family head was needed.
But Kyle was too young. No matter how exceptional, sending an 11-year-old into the world was risky. Julius gazed down at him.
"Where to, that you seek my permission instead of Arian's? Sneaking out without telling her... You planning to run away with your mother?"
"If I were running away, I wouldn't ask you first."
Kyle grinned boldly.
"I'm going to fetch Aslan Antares."
"...?"
Julius blanked for a moment, failing to process the name. Or rather, he heard it but couldn't grasp Kyle saying it so brazenly.
"Aslan... Antares. Your father? Why call him by name?"
"Should I call a dad who's no dad 'Dad'?"
The retort was equally bold. Julius gaped briefly, then composed himself with a nod.
"Fair enough."
To Julius, Aslan Antares was indeed a bastard.