The Wanderer's Sacred Relic

"…0.42%? Me, a Survival climber too?"

And even lower than that damn Raphael! No, more than that—what the hell was the Origin Tower thinking, making this public and humiliating people like this?

Thud. A shabby, ragged cloth bundle plops down over her head.

Unwrapping it and peering inside, she finds a single small gemstone.

Her eyes darkened in an instant, her lips curling into a cold, rigid line. Her expression was like someone who'd just stepped in roadside filth.

"Lowest grade… and it's something I already have?"

Enhancement Stones and Skill Books couldn't be applied unlimitedly. As that flighty Raphael had put it, like in a game… they were like slots with a fixed number.

In a situation where every single one was precious, she couldn't waste a slot on some half-assed, worthless Enhancement Stone like this.

Haa— She let out a deep sigh and set the stone down.

Her gaze locked onto the top of the list: the Unregistered Climber at 69%.

How the hell is that even possible?

Unregistered climbers in the Origin Tower weren't just those who hadn't reported to their governments. The nickname was mandatory for using the community features in the Hub System, even if you skipped the market. The Origin Tower thrived on active advice and info sharing, so unregistered climbers were practically nonexistent. The community was the most-used feature in the Hub, after all.

'Even if there are unregistered climbers, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠there can't be that many…'

She pondered that doubt, but it resolved itself far too simply.

"Doom Tower Survival climber…"

She wasn't the only one struck by that near-certain guess.

"So that's me at the top, huh?"

Unregistered Climber. Yeah, it hit a little close to home. I'd ignored all the government whips and promises of support, telling them to fuck off and register already. But the Origin Tower's "unregistered" didn't just mean not reporting to the government.

I hadn't even set a nickname in the Origin Tower either.

Anyway—world's first Doom Tower clear. And the Joint Trial after that.

A few days had passed since, and the world was buzzing, but my daily life hadn't changed much.

"Ugh… grrr… fuck—"

My whole body was shaking from muscle pain.

Didn't clearing floors restore everything? That's what I'd thought, but my body ached and throbbed like after my first time running a marathon.

Still, my mind was sharp as ever. The 1st floor curse on the Doom Tower had lifted, adding a new feature to the Hub System as compensation.

The Hub System already allowed trading between users. But you couldn't trade real-world items—only Magic Stones and skills from the towers circulated.

Governments and companies bought up all the Magic Stones, or the Climbers' Association brokered deals, so they sold easily. People called them miracle substances or whatever, but it didn't matter. Leave 'em be, and they're pretty rocks. Take 'em out, and tens to hundreds of millions hit your bank account. That's real magic.

As more climbers popped up, lowest-grade stones dropped to a few hundred thousand to a few million won, but hey, still beats nothing.

And skills…

"Who the hell trades skills?"

Even low-grade Enhancement Stones that just boosted strength—like something you could get from hitting the gym hard—barely traded. Climbing was life-or-death; who risks it for pocket change?

Skills? They were nonexistent on the market. Why trade the ability to cast magic for cash?

But ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠clearing this Joint Trial opened a new path for climbers.

The Mysterious Merchant, supplying Skill Books and Enhancement Stones freely.

Stepping into his domain, I stood alone in an old pawnshop. Beyond the iron-grated counter: pitch blackness. I'd imagined some black-robed weirdo on a mat, but nope.

"Oh, skills."

"Hmm… uh…?"

Somehow… it's kinda boring.

I rushed in full of expectations, checking each Skill Book…

Eh… they're good. Yeah, good, but.

"Where's the fantasy magic?"

No fireballs, energy bolts, lightning? Fine, whatever. Skill Books are pricey anyway, and passives suit me better.

"Hmmm…"

Tsk… let's stop looking. Nothing appetizing. And the prices? Only Magic Stones, and you'd need six or seven lowest-grade ones for even one mediocre stone. You might get one lowest-grade stone after repeated clears, if you're lucky. This guy's got no intention of doing business.

I sighed heavily and left the Mysterious Merchant.

Rich folks'll love it. Not me, the broke-ass.

Exiting the Mysterious Merchant, there ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was something even more important than this open-to-all shop.

The rare Imprint I'd just gotten made my Status Window feel fuller, or maybe it was leaving my moldy studio for this sunny forest, but I felt pretty damn good.

"Nice air."

To others, the Doom Tower was a nightmare, but to me, it was a stroll. These days, I even slept inside when I felt like it.

Walking the now-familiar path, my sunflower buddies called hobgoblins still stood tall. I finished them with a triple roundhouse and a spinning back elbow, then hopped over to the cave beyond.

Beyond the deep, dark tunnel: a burst of light. An underground cavern untouched by human hands, leaves of giant trees glowing gold and green. Stepping on the moss and underbrush filled my lungs with earth, grass, and that damp cave scent.

Beautiful sight, every time. I zoned out, staring up.

Cracking my neck back, I saw through the giant tree's leaves covering the ceiling—beyond the stage the tower permitted.

Rip the painting-like image, and a clear message would pop up. Ten seconds later, forced ejection from the tower. Why other climbers couldn't search or harvest in peace.

But not me.

Summons the Collector's Glass Bottle to my palm, passes the giant roots, stands before the vast cave lake.

"Brr, cold."

Kicks off shoes and socks, rolls pants to knees, dips feet in.

"Come here, lil' guy~"

Summons the Imprint's glass bottle, plunges it in, swishes around.

Wasn't expecting much. They'd always fled in contempt at my face before.

"…!"

But did the bottle have some effect? It fluttered its fins, swimming curiously toward me.

"Yeah, that's it. Come on, pretty~"

I cooed as sweetly as I could; it relaxed and approached the bottle up close.

Translucent rainbow shimmer—beautiful just to look at. The lake's glow in the quiet cave sparked awe for this mystical creature.

Peng!! Boom!!

"You fuckin' come here!"

Slammed the bottle down hard on the silk carp's head. It jerked away quick but took the hit, body shuddering.

Second smash to the skull, then grabbed its slimy body and flung it out of the lake.

It arced beautifully, then splat—flopping pathetically, begging for life.

"Oh ho~ heh. Hehehe."

Skipping over excitedly, shoved its head-first into the bottle.

As advertised for mysterious rarities, its translucent body shrank cutely, slipping perfectly inside.

Sealed and unsummoned it.

"So… how do I use this? Can't make spicy fish stew."

Pondering my new pet. Name tag and all, seems pretty rare… but we're not even properly introduced yet.

Need time to get to know each other, like a blind date.

"Huh?"

Sudden message in my vision. Joint Trial rewards dropped.

Realizing that, my tongue tingled like I'd chugged honey.

"Whoa, so sweet."

Got a rare pet already, and now rewards? And basically 1st place, right?

I farmed invincibly solo in the safe zone during the trial. 69% contribution as Unregistered Climber—bet 65% was me. Hogging over 60% of rewards from 200k+ participants solo.

"Room of Souls?"

The reward from clearing the Doom Tower's Joint Trial, with its glowing praise. Getting it again?

Familiar taste. And damn good.

This was definitely a new rare Imprint. Resistance Seed or Collector's Glass Bottle felt vague. Strengthening them wouldn't change much dramatically.

Even same grade has highs and lows—like random rewards, eventually a cheat Imprint would pop, right?

"Imprint gran—wait—"

Then I remembered the mystical critter in the bottle.

"Tsk—"

Sudden curiosity hit. Do it? Don't? Fingers trembled like Parkinson's.

No. The bottle's rare-tagged too; strengthening shouldn't be a loss, right?

Resummoned—fits perfectly in hand. The Aurum Silk's glow made it like a mysterious terrarium.

"Imprint strengthen."

Pressing the air message, embers from the quiet forest surged into the bottle.

Like an old smith hammering iron—phantom sounds—and indecipherable runes etched onto the glass.

Reading that, I couldn't hold back—released the Aurum Silk from the bottle.

"Oh, fuck yeah."

Lifting my head: the pathetic flopper on the ground now swam gracefully in midair.