[Floor Thirteen]

  Shaper: An External Anima user is able to shape Anima into whatever.

  ***

  Three pants.

  They locked eyes with each other.

  Fire caged them both.

  The shackled child looked up—their face covered in grime. And soon after, their lips curled into a wide grin, eyes crinkling.

  “Thank you, mister!” So genuine, so raw, so gleeful.

  The shackles started to disengage into a blue mist.

  And without any words, Lodio’s body followed the same.

  Ding!

  [Congratulations! You passed [Floor Thirteen]! Moving to [Floor Fourteen]!]

  Ding!

  [Awarded [?1,000]!]

  Lodio’s eyes shot open.

  Surrounding him were dimly lit limestone walls, and in front of him was a metal gate. Sunlight intruded his cell in rectangle-shaped patterns.

  Ding!

  [Goal: Win three rounds (0/3)]

  No announcer?

  The gate lifted, revealing a bridge toward a circular arena.

  Lodio stepped forward. His skin prickled from the chilling wind, and his eyes? His eyes squinted under the hanging sun. And when he finally reached the arena, people cheered. Cheered from their seats—from the high walls.

  No linen shirt. Torn pants.

  Like an animal, he felt.

  The gazes burned his body.

  Do I defeat—

  His eyes widened.

  In front of him was a panting Rokkle. Half of his hair was gone, revealing puckered skin, and his clothes? His clothes were in the worst condition. The only thing left was his white braies.

  Something stirred in Lodio’s stomach.

  Despite their small interaction, deep down, Lodio was grateful for his help.

  “Rokkle, surrender,” he said, his voice barely audible over the wind.

  Rokkle shook his head and raised his fists. “No—I came this far… I can’t give up now!”

  “Then I’ll have to beat the persistence out of you.”

  Closing his eyes, multiple golden threads snaked through the spatial area. It wrapped around Rokkle’s neck, knees, shins, temples, and ears. Some pointed at his eyes, nose, and chin. Even as Rokkle moved, the threads didn’t snap.

  Lodio’s fist followed the thread toward Rokkle’s nose, cracking it. And when he opened his eyes, Rokkle was on his behind. His eyes glinted.

  Looking up, Rokkle’s fists flared, and his chest heaved. Blood welled on his chin before dripping on the ground. It splattered like spilled oil. Despite that, he stood.

  Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

  “Give up.”

  “No. Not when I survived the last floor. I can’t give up!”

  Screaming a battle cry, Rokkle dashed forward, his fist pulling back.

  Does he not have a class?

  He pondered as his fist closed on Rokkle’s.

  He knows Coating at least.

  “You should coat your entire body,” Lodio said before throwing another punch toward his face.

  Stumbling back, Rokkle’s hand flew toward his nose and gripped it like a lifeline. “N-no! I can’t give—“

  “Why are you not giving up?”

  “My family needs the Gilds.”

  Loud silence.

  The wind howled, swaying his bangs over his eyes.

  “If I give up. You’ll die. Someone will kill you here.”

  With his free hand, his nails dug into his palm, drawing blood.

  “Farewell, Rokkle.”

  With that, his free hand curled into a fist and punched Rokkle’s temple.

  Rokkle stumbled around like a drunken fool, his eyes rolling back, and then he fell like a crumbling statue: his knees dropped, he held that position, and then he fell face-flat.

  Ding!

  [Goal: Win three rounds (1/3)]

  Lodio waited.

  But instead of dissolving, blue mist appeared at the arena’s edge. It revealed a man wearing a black musketeer hat. He had a goatee beard. But the odd thing was he didn’t carry any musket at all. Instead, the man raised his finger, mimicking a gun.

  Using Coating, his eyes widened at the ball-gathering aura on the man’s fingertip.

  “Bang.”

  Barely, he rolled out of the way. And the wall at the back cracked.

  Again, the man gathered more aura on his fingertip. “A sword won’t outspeed a bullet,” he declared with a smirk. “From here—“

  Shnick! Shnick! Shnick!

  The man’s body flew back, sending his hat to flutter in the air. Dozens of pink petals lodged themselves into his body. When he landed, he skidded across the arena, painting a bloody trail. Rolling on his stomach, he attempted to stand, but more petals pierced his skin.

  Thud!

  Face flat into the ground.

  “Fool, don’t make long speeches,” Lodio spat.

  That was easy…

  Ding!

  [Goal: Win three rounds (2/3)]

  The man’s body dissolved.

  And again, a person appeared. Their green cloak fluttered in the wind, and their face? Their face was shadowed underneath that hood.

  But that wasn’t the thing Lodio cared about. The thing that he did care about was the bow behind their back. His gaze followed their movements: drawing the bow and two arrows from their quiver.

  Is that?

  Shaking his head, Lodio cast his arms over his head. Muscles stretched. More petals surrounded his sword, and with a sharp glint, he swung down.

  The archer shot as well, sending two arrows. It cut through the air, aiming straight toward the moving petals, but instead of moving straight. Each arrow curved around it.

  Lodio’s eyes widened. Quickly, he rolled out of the way, panting. But the arrows didn’t stop. No. They turned around and aimed straight at his back.

  Shnick! Shnick!

  He stumbled forward, mouth opening. His shoulder blades burned—burned hotter than that fire in the manor.

  The archer didn’t say anything. Instead, they drew two more arrows.

  He drew two ragged breaths before coating his feet with Anima. Dangerous. That word repeated in his head like a mantra. If he left his body open? For sure the arrows will pierce through.

  Whzzz! Whzzz!

  Lodio slid under them before recovering quickly.

  They stand still when moving their arrows! So if I can get there…

  He didn’t finish his, though. And when he arrived, he struck diagonally.

  The archer dashed back and reached toward their knife sheath, but Lodio thrust forward. An audible gasp escaped their lips. And when they looked down, the blade pierced through their gut.

  Cheers erupted from the crowd.

  Their hood pulled back, revealing a woman with blond hair. Blood escaped her lips.

  Lodio’ eyes narrowed into slits. “Are you the archer from the eleventh floor?!” He demanded.

  No answer.

  Then a smirk before slumping against his shoulder.

  Ding!

  [Goal: Win three rounds (3/3)]

  Dissolved into mist.

  But instead of finding himself on the next floor, he found himself on the limestone seats. A spectator, he is. He stared at the arena as two more people were placed.

  Ding!

  [Goal: Watch the fights]

  Ding!

  [

  Betting System

  Would you like to bet?

  - Please note: You will gain 10% of each bet you place.

  ]

  Lodio stared at the hovering translucent screen.

  No.

  It disappeared.

  Looking around, he stared at the crowd—now more visible. Climbers—that’s what they were, climbing, climbing, climbing the Tower. All to become a Vagabonder. Deep inside him, a rushing feeling thrummed, but it quickly disappeared. Should he have let Rokkle win? He didn’t know him much. But what he did know is that he helped him—them—to clear the floor.

  Lodio’s mind flashed to Rokkle’s puckered skin. Pink like a pig’s skin. Now, he looked up at the sun, at the swirling clouds. Real or not? All he knew was he was close.

  Close to the beginning after the end.

  But first? He had to mend himself. Taking out the arrows off his shoulder blades, he placed his hand on the wound. Curling vines stitched in and out. Done. Then the second. Done.

  Now, Lodio’s mind lingered on the beaked figure. Their leather mask and black attire. Again, something stirred. A burning feeling stirred. And the next time they meet? He will defeat them.

  Hours blurred by.

  Lodio didn’t pay much attention. His gaze landed on the crowd, occasionally the hovering screen, and the sky.

  Then, the last cheers.

  Ding!

  [Congratulations! You passed [Floor Fourteen]! Moving to [Floor Fifteen]!]

  Ding!

  [Awarded [?1,500]!]