After completing the administrative procedures with the Royal Guard, we had only ten minutes left before noon. Every second felt heavier, the anticipation coiling tightly in my chest. Without wasting any time, we made our way toward one of the massive iron doors that loomed ahead like a gateway to an entirely different world.


    Instructor Vallen stood before us, her sharp gaze sweeping over each of us, as if silently memorizing our faces before we stepped into the unknown. Then, in a firm yet solemn tone, she uttered her parting words.


    "May the blessings of the Sacred Forest guide you."


    Her voice carried a weight beyond mere tradition—it was both a farewell and a warning. The Tower was no place for hesitation, weakness, or second thoughts. It was a crucible, one that would either forge us into something stronger or break us entirely.


    One by one, we stepped forward, crossing the threshold into the Tower’s domain. The moment my foot passed through the iron doorway, a familiar yet deeply unsettling sensation gripped my body. Just like the Andrheus Rift, this door was more than just an entrance—it was a warp point, a passage that tore through space and transported us into a cruel and merciless realm.


    Then, in an instant, the shift was complete.


    So… this is the first floor of the Tower.


    What I had seen in the game was nothing compared to this. The sheer scale of the place was overwhelming, far larger and far more terrifying than I had ever imagined. The air was sharp and frigid, biting into my skin like unseen daggers.


    What was truly astonishing was that, instead of the familiar ceiling of the tower above me, I found myself gazing into a vast, dark sky. The space we stood in now was not a literal room within the Tower itself, but a boundless magical realm that seemed to stretch on forever, an ethereal representation of the first floor of the Tower of Ascension. It was as if the very fabric of reality had shifted, and what I had once considered a mere chamber had transformed into an expansive world all its own, with its sky, its atmosphere, and its own unspoken rules. The sensation was overwhelming, and for a moment, I almost forgot where I was, lost in the grandeur and mystery of this enchanted domain.


    I wasn’t the only one unsettled. The other young druids glanced around nervously, whispering among themselves in hushed voices. Their expressions mirrored my own unease, their breath visible in the icy air.


    But I had no time for their fears—or their company.


    I deliberately distanced myself from the group, avoiding the inevitable team-up offers that I had already declined more times than I could count. In the Tower, time was everything. Every second wasted was a lost opportunity, and I refused to let anything slow me down.


    The moment an adventurer enters the Tower, they are always transported to the center of the first floor, an area known as the Safe Zone, placed randomly based on the entered door. Here, thousands of adventurers bustled about, preparing for their ascent. Among them, the ever-present Royal Guards stood watch, their imposing figures a constant reminder that even within the Safe Zone, order was maintained with an iron grip.


    No monsters roamed this area. But beyond the Safe Zone, the Tower’s true nature awaited.


    The first floor was divided into four massive regions: Northern Glades, Gravehollow, Deepnest Tunnel, and Redridge Range. Each had its own unique terrain, dangers, and difficulty levels. Deepnest Tunnel was widely considered the easiest path, a place where even a lone adventurer had a fair chance of survival.


    Unfortunately for me, I didn’t have the luxury of taking the easy route.


    My path lay to the east. To a zone far too dangerous for a solo adventurer. And yet, that was exactly where I needed to go.


    ***


    It had been an hour since I set foot on this narrow, winding trail. Instead of taking the main road, where adventurers often traveled in groups, I deliberately chose an alternate route through Gnashfang Warrens—a treacherous, rocky path that wove through dense undergrowth and jagged cliffs. The reason was simple: during daylight hours, this route had the lowest monster spawn rate in the entire Redridge Range. But that didn''t mean it was safe.


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    A vast, untamed expanse of jagged cliffs, dense woodlands, and scorched valleys stretched endlessly before me. The very air was thick with primal energy, carrying the scent of damp earth, smoldering wood, and the musky odor of countless beasts prowling the wild. Towering crimson-hued mountains loomed over the landscape, their mist-cloaked peaks casting ominous shadows over the battle-scarred terrain.


    This was Redridge Range, a land notorious for being the breeding ground of beast monsters such as Borgoth, Hoblins, and Gnolls. Vicious and territorial, these creatures usually moved in groups, constantly warring over dominance and hunting grounds. To set foot here alone was to invite death.


    Swoosh!


    A sudden, razor-sharp whistle sliced through the air.


    Pain flared in my ear. I winced, instinctively ducking low, my body reacting faster than my thoughts. A piercing sensation burned through the edge of my ear—narrowly missing, but close enough to make my heart hammer in my chest.


    The pain was real.


    My body trembled uncontrollably. Fear crept in—not because of the pain itself. I had long grown accustomed to pain. But because, in this world, the line between life and death was terrifyingly thin.


    I clenched my fists, trying to steady my breath. Stay calm. Focus. My breath hitched as I scanned the shadows, my senses sharpening.


    Then, from the darkness, came a high-pitched, staccato cackle—harsh, guttural, and unnervingly inhuman.


    A Gnoll Archer.


    I gulped. My throat felt dry. The first shot wasn''t a warning. It was a test.


    And the next one would hardly miss.


    Gnolls are sadistic raiders who revel in torment and slaughter. With their wiry, hyena-like bodies and jagged teeth, they take pleasure in hunting for sport rather than survival. Many of their kind are found wearing scavenged armor, adorned with bones and trinkets taken from their victims.


    Fortunately, Gnoll Archers were the weakest among their kind. But that didn’t mean I could let my guard down.


    Instead of traditional bows, these creatures wielded crude blowguns, crafted from bones and wrapped in strips of leather. Their projectiles were far smaller than standard arrows, but what they lacked in size, they made up for in lethality—each dart was coated in a slow-acting poison.


    I could already feel the toxin spreading through my veins, a creeping numbness crawling from the tip of my ear down to my shoulder. My breathing grew ragged. I didn’t have much time before the poison started impairing my movements.


    Gritting my teeth, I channeled Mana into my staff, whispering the incantation for Rejuvenation. A soft green light pulsed around me, its warmth purging the poison before it could take full effect. Relief washed over me, but I had no time to linger—I immediately retaliated, thrusting my staff forward and launching a burst of energy toward the Gnoll.


    The attack landed, but the impact was disappointing.


    It barely staggered the creature. The Gnoll snarled, its beady yellow eyes locking onto me with renewed aggression. Druids really aren’t suited for combat. Even swinging my staff a few times felt exhausting. My strength was abysmal—less than five, if I had to estimate.


    “This damned weak body,” I muttered in frustration.


    I refused to back down. I adapted my strategy—baiting its attacks, dodging at the last second, then counterattacking whenever an opening appeared. If I took a hit, I immediately retreated and healed myself with Rejuvenation before re-engaging.


    Five minutes passed.


    Fifteen minutes.


    Thirty minutes.


    Before I knew it, I had been locked in this grueling fight for nearly an hour. My breathing had grown heavy, my arms ached from repeated spellcasting, and my mana reserves were dangerously low—only 25% left, by my calculations.


    Tsk. I need to finish this as soon as possible.


    Unlike other races, druids relied on mana for even basic attacks. That was one of our greatest weaknesses. While humans and elves could replenish their energy with potions, druids had no such luxury. Our mana wasn’t just a resource—it was a direct extension of natural energy, something that couldn’t simply be restored with an artificial remedy.


    That meant I had to conserve every drop I had left.


    Which also meant one thing—I could no longer afford to use Rejuvenation.