Round Two, You Tin Can

A roar loud enough to deafen the ears split the air as countless rounds streaked toward Do-yun.

The Sentinel’s shoulders opened, missiles launching one after another from the bays within. Moments later its chest plates parted, revealing a device like a translucent crystal nestled inside.

A flash.

The instant Do-yun registered the eerie light gathering on the crystal’s surface, a beam packed with overwhelming energy lanced straight at him.

KWA-AAAAANG!

When the white that had drowned his vision finally receded, the sight waiting for him was nothing short of staggering.

The ground beneath his feet had sunk nearly a meter. Asphalt and concrete had melted into liquid and were still flowing, and every structure within a certain radius had long since been scoured away by the shockwave.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Do-yun let out a hollow laugh, as if he couldn’t believe it. This was nowhere near a level that the HP system or a skill like First Aid could cover.

If I’d activated Subspace even a second later…

A cold sweat slid down his spine. Without Subspace’s invulnerability, he would have been dead for certain.

Sizzle.

Air warped by the residual heat blurred his vision. If the shoes on his feet had been ordinary sneakers instead of items, the soles would have melted straight through.

“Anomalous hit detection. Target entity: no damage.”

The Sentinel’s red lenses quivered ever so slightly. The surroundings had been reduced to scorched earth, yet Do-yun’s vital signs remained stable.

“Defensive method unconfirmed. Treating subject as immune to physical attack.”

Even so, the Sentinel began preparing its next assault with cold composure. This was not its first time facing something that shrugged off physical force.

Among monsters, plenty could not be brought ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠down by raw firepower alone. They took damage only from attacks laced with mana—which was precisely why returnees were necessary. Skills that let a person wield mana could only be obtained from the Tower of Trials.

“Deploying Tactical Armament Stage Two.”

Mechanical clanks rose from ports all across the Sentinel’s torso. Judging by the look of it, something far stronger was loading—so Do-yun kicked free of the crater and charged.

“You think I’m just going to sit here and watch?!”

Right now, mid-armament swap, was when the Sentinel was most exposed. But as he closed the distance, the same alert as before flared before his eyes.

An invisible force slammed into him and hurled him back hard. Suspended in midair, Do-yun clenched his teeth. Twice was enough to grasp the principle.

Some kind of transparent barrier that blocks approach?

It didn’t seem to deal damage on its own, but it bought the Sentinel more than enough time to finish swapping weapons.

“Stage Two armament deployment complete.”

The barrels of the fully ready Sentinel locked onto Do-yun’s body as it hung in the air. No way to right himself mid-flight. No structure to use as a foothold. Anyone looking would have said he was about to take the hit for free.

But instead of bracing for impact, Do-yun chose to open his eyes wide.

In an instant his form vanished from the sky—and reappeared behind the Sentinel’s back.

According to the information Absolute Sight had already given him, Isolation Zone produced a fixed, box-shaped barrier. It had no way of stopping a teleportation-type skill like Shadow Step.

“Die!”

Flame and white radiance bloomed along the tip of the sword he swung without hesitation.

It was the same combo that had shattered Destroyer; he had no doubt it would land meaningful damage. A moment later, though, he had no choice but to doubt his own eyes.

The Sentinel had already turned, as if it had expected him, red lenses flaring.

“Combat Log Forty-Six. Match rate exceeds eighty-five percent.”

“What?”

In the split ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠second he froze from the shock, a blade of blue light sprang from the Sentinel’s arm. The edge that cut for his nape forced a binary choice: abandon the dodge and trade blows one-for-one—or take the loss and retreat.

“Damn it!”

Ordinarily he would have trusted the HP system and pressed in, but his instincts screamed that the energy in that blade was lethally dangerous.

He twisted the foot he had been about to plant and drove power the other way. Explosive recoil flung his body backward in a heartbeat. The disengagement was as fast as it got—yet the Sentinel, as if it had predicted even that, launched the blade from its fingertips as a projectile.

Shunk.

The blue blade shot like a bullet along the exact line of his retreat. He jerked his head aside in desperation, but the edge still managed to graze his cheek.

And the damage from that tiny cut was catastrophic.

A mere graze, and his HP evaporated in an instant. That was the double-edged nature of the HP system: damage was fixed by the set value, regardless of how light or severe the wound looked. Until now Do-yun had only ever enjoyed the system’s benefits; he had never imagined he would learn its downside this way.

As he tumbled across the ground, the dog tags at his throat spilled free and blazed with light. The special effect of the tags had kicked in the moment he entered a near-death state.

“Hah… hah…”

Keeping his distance and a wary eye on the Sentinel, Do-yun checked his condition and bit his lip.

His total mana was forty-eight—including the ten temporary stat points from six consecutive first-place rewards. And this brief exchange alone had drained it to the floor.

“Seriously filthy strong.”

Strictly speaking, the challengers he had met in the Tower of Ascension were higher-tier, but something about the sheer weight class made the Sentinel harder to fight. Using a C-rank skill meant it was at least on par with a returnee who had climbed thirty floors or more of the Tower of Trials. On paper, Do-yun’s skill ranks were nothing to be ashamed of—but if he couldn’t land a single hit, ranks meant nothing.

Especially the way it seems to read every move I make and answer it.

Shadow Step had been a trump card even Destroyer never saw coming. Yet the Sentinel had answered it as if it already knew. Do-yun turned over the words that had spilled from its mouth.

It said the combat log matched over eighty percent, didn’t it?

He had no idea what method it was using, but it seemed to have learned every scrap of combat data Destroyer held right up until its destruction. Movement, reactions, attack timing—everything was being read. There was only one way to break a situation like that.

Pull out a card I’ve never shown before.

Unless he attacked in a completely new, unpredictable way, bringing the Sentinel down was close to impossible. His gaze flicked to the mark on the back of his hand.

If ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I can use the spirit well, I might catch it off guard… but…

He had faced Destroyer midway through the seventh floor. It couldn’t possibly know about the spirit’s power he had gained on the eighth. The problem was that the spirit’s power was nowhere near combat-ready.

A soft scrape.

The mark was nearly gone—only a faint trace remained. Spirits were beings that borrowed power from the flow of nature. Ever since he left the eighth floor, the spirit’s strength had weakened dramatically. And the ninth floor’s setting was a hyper-modern megacity at the absolute peak of technological progress. There wasn’t a tree in sight—only buildings of concrete and steel.

If the conch shell were still left, the story might be different…

But he had already used it all; the thought was pointless. So the spirit was out. Still, Do-yun had one more trump card left.

“So I really have to use this.”

He exhaled once, then drew ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the staff he had carefully kept tucked against his chest. Ciel, watching him with anxious eyes from the side, spoke up.

“Don’t you need a special item to activate that, Do-yun-nim?”

She knew full well the staff was not an all-purpose tool. On the seventh floor, he had only been able to draw out its true form by using a jewel called ice crystal. He had nothing comparable now.

“If I need material, I’ll just make it.”

He had already prepared for that, of course. Do-yun pulled the ring from his finger.

It was the ring set with a jewel so luminous Ciel had said she liked it. It had helped him more than he realized—but the time had come to let it go.

Crunch.

He set the ring on his palm and clenched his fist hard. A short, thick grinding sound, and the ring, unable to withstand the force, shattered on the spot.

“Ah!”

When he opened his hand again, Ciel’s face crumpled with distress. The gem that had been casting a clear, pretty light only moments ago was now nothing but scattered fragments. Naturally, its abilities as an item were gone as well.

It’s a shame, but it can’t be helped.

Destroying gear he could have used semi-permanently was not an easy choice even for him—but that was a worry for after he survived the crisis in front of him. Future or no future, he had to live first.

He cast the skill on the jewel fragments. The softened liquid slowly seeped into the runes on the staff.

Crackling light.

A brilliant radiance burst from the staff as it greedily drank in the energy. Moments later the staff that revealed itself had transformed so gorgeously that its former self was nowhere to be found.

Do-yun rose with the staff clenched in his hand. The form would hold for only three minutes—but that was more than enough.

“Round two, you tin can bastard.”