The Mark of Tracking has no shape.

You could think of it as tiny fragments of mana, packed together so it won’t unravel.

Of course, there’s a risk of being discovered.

If it’s a knight or a mage stronger than me.

But would Earth’s humans even be able to notice?

When I first met those bastards, I only stamped the mark on them.

I thought I might be buying suspicion for nothing.

But the next day—

Cossack sensed the mark.

Three mana fragments lingering around the officetel.

It was obvious.

They were surveilling this officetel.

A place that looks ordinary, but has lots of Players living there.

The space where Summoner Bong lives.

And they dared to pull something?

A painful memory surfaced.

The memory of failing to protect my summoner.

For Players, the space outside the Tower is more dangerous than the space inside it.

You have to uproot even the smallest sprout of threat—completely.

Among other summoned entities, there had been a terrifying human who, in the name of protecting their summoner, wiped an entire country off the map.

Because that was better than the world ending.

If that kind of situation and opportunity comes to me, I’ll do it gladly, too.

So I asked to be re-summoned using the excuse of watching soccer.

That’s right.

I lied.

An act I must never do—and cannot do.

But Summoned Principles, Article Three had already activated.

So my lie was granted legitimacy.

What does that mean?

It means the marked bastards are connected to Summoner Bong.

While Summoner Bong slept, I used Stealth and quietly left the officetel.

Since I’d stamped the mark, it wasn’t hard to find them.

And so, the place John Cossack arrived at was a closed massage shop not far from the officetel.

The door was locked, but isn’t picking a lock a basic assassin virtue?

As quietly as possible—

CLACK,

I slipped inside toward the place where the mark was.

There were eight of them.

They were talking, but I couldn’t understand a word.

If it were Korean, I’d understand it since I share a language with Summoner Bong, but—

What does language matter?

What matters is that, among the photos scattered across the table, there was one of Summoner Bong.

‘Then I’ll have to work.’

I let myself appear.

And then I said a single line.

They noticed me.

I poured blade aura into my daggers and took one first.

SHNK!

SLICE!

“Ghk!”

“Th—thiiis!”

“Grab his arm!”

“Shoot him!”

“You bastard...!”

SHNK! SHNK-SHNK! SHNK! SHNK! SHNK! SHNK...!

Do I even need assassination techniques for trash like this?

One shot, one kill.

With twin daggers in both hands, I stabbed into their chests and shattered their hearts.

Before I knew it, the room had gone quiet.

Seven corpses total.

One survivor.

Deng Guanlin felt like he was dreaming.

Where was this? And who was that?

A Korean intelligence agent? Some special forces soldier like UDT or HID?

No.

That couldn’t be it. Neither of those.

The inhuman violence he’d just witnessed.

Is that even a human?

‘...A ghost.’

But he’d ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) felt something like this before.

A memory flashed.

Black Tower clear videos.

‘A Player.’

If that ghost was a Player, could Tower abilities be used in reality, too?

In that instant—

That terrifying ghost turned his head this way.

Deng Guanlin stumbled backward.

His legs were shaking so badly he could barely move.

If he counted the number of people he’d killed with his own hands, ten fingers and ten toes wouldn’t be enough.

And he’d been through endless training and real operations.

So what if a few people died right in front of him?

But now, in this moment, he was terrified.

Fear flooded in and bleached his mind white.

“You. You’re the last one?”

DRIP DRIP,

blood running down the ghost’s blade.

“Say you were wrong. You know Korean, right?”

Deng Guanlin had no choice but to answer.

It felt like he had to.

“I... was wro—”

SHNK!

CRUNCH.

The dagger that pierced his lower jaw punched through his skull and burst out the crown of his head.

Cossack checked again to make sure none of them was still breathing.

One beheaded.

Six with shattered hearts.

One with a pierced head.

‘Then I’ll finish it...’

Unconsciously, Cossack reached into his clothes and took out a ribbon.

But—

“Huh! I—I almost tied it. Haa, haa...!”

Hold it. Hold it in.

I have to.

My signature mark.

My hands tremble because I want to tie the ribbon, but I have to suppress my nature.

Call it superhuman patience.

Any fellow assassin who knew me well would be stunned.

You’re not leaving a mark?

Are you even Cossack?

I decided from the start to keep it hidden.

If I’d told Summoner Bong in advance, with their personality, they would definitely have stopped me.

But for me, this is something I must do, no matter what.

They might scold me, like before.

Of course, they wouldn’t cast me out, but...

‘Hoo...’

Honestly, I can’t be sure of even that.

The future feels unstable.

I might be cast out.

Meatshield, who was R, rose to SSR and firmly established his position as the tank.

Meanwhile, my once-solid position is about to wobble.

And soon, it’ll be the day of Random Summon.

Thankfully, if Trait enhancement happens, there’ll be one more slot—but if it doesn’t?

As an assassin, Cossack’s role in the Tower is extremely limited.

If someone must be expelled, it would be me.

“Th—that can’t happen. It can’t.”

I have to stay by their side for a long, long time.

It was time to go.

But I couldn’t go back to the officetel.

With the stink of blood all over me, how could I enter that sacred place?

‘They’re still asleep, right?’

I hoped Summoner Bong was sleeping deeply.

Good sleep is closely tied to health.

As for me?

Until I’m Dismiss Summoned, I’ll just wander outside and come back.

*****

Juhyeok slept hard and woke up.

When he stepped into the living room, the TV was off, and Cossack wasn’t there.

He wasn’t sure if Cossack enjoyed the soccer match.

First, getting ready to go out.

He planned to visit his parents’ place.

Then in the afternoon, he had to climb Floor 35.

He called a car and arrived.

The bodyguard waited downstairs.

“Your son has arrived.”

His father, Bong Cheolsu, frowned.

“Why do you keep talking weird these days?”

“Yes? Is that so?”

“Something good happen?”

“This humble son is always overflowing with good fortune. So I came to share some of it.”

His mother, Madam Hong Geumja, snorted and said,

“You didn’t eat, did you?”

“Yes!”

“Fine. If you eat, at least you’ll stop talking like that.”

After he finished the meal she’d set out—

“Mom, you don’t need spending money?”

“Oh, I’m fine. I’m going to get a job soon.”

“Where?”

“I’ll go out and work at a restaurant or something.”

Ah.

Republic of Korea’s top Player.

A man with assets in the billions—and he still couldn’t let his parents live comfortably.

“I’ll transfer some money to your account. Take your time looking for work—”

“No. How could I spend money my son earned by risking his life? Save it. You don’t know what might happen later.”

Then Bong Cheolsu, who’d been listening, curled his finger and poked his own chest.

He didn’t make a sound—just mouthed the words.

Send it to me. To me.

‘...’

Seriously. The power of genetics.

“Oh! Right. Here—Nam Gaeun’s autograph and... take one of these each. Keep them in an inner pocket or your wallet at all times.”

“Huh? ...Talismans?”

“Yes! This one’s a health talisman, and this one’s a luck talisman. Three each—for Dad, Mom, and Minhyeok.”

“You believed in stuff like this?”

“I completely believe now. The effect is insane. A really skilled shamaness wrote them for me.”

That wasn’t a lie.

She really was a skilled shamaness.

He’d experienced it himself.

“Uh... alright. You’ve got one too, right?”

“Of course.”

From now on, they’d be healthier.

And good fortune would settle over the family.

Even if it was something very small.

*****

After returning from his parents’ place, Juhyeok gathered the summoned entities.

Now that R Meatshield had been reborn as SSR Meatshield, Floor 35 was non-negotiable.

“With three SSRs, we should have no problem getting S++ all the way to Floor 40, right? Or are we still short?”

“That is an underestimation. Up to Floor 50 will be easy.”

Oh!

So Meatshield becoming SSR really was a huge deal.

“However, from Floor 51 onward, S++ clears—”

He knew.

Giant flying monsters.

Gryphons and wyverns, using feather attacks and breath abilities.

The fact that they’re strong enough to prey on minotaurs and ogres as a staple, the fact that they’re flying monsters, the fact that they attack with magic as well as physical force—everything about them was a headache.

Anyway, he planned to draw one more summoned entity somewhere in the 40s.

The key was whether Trait enhancement would show up or not.

So he stuck the talisman inside his underwear.

If more meant better, he would’ve plastered himself in them, but she’d said one or a hundred were the same.

“Let’s go. Time to kill the cow-head king.”

“Yes!”

[Entering the Black Tower (Republic of Korea), Floor 35.]

The mission was—

[Floor 35 Mission: Kill 80 minotaurs of any type and 1 Minotaur King.]

[Time Limit: Within 13 hours.]

[Completion Condition: All types of minotaurs 0/80, Minotaur King 0/1]

Good grief.

That’s a lot.

White ones, black ones, spotted ones, small ones, big ones.

He glanced over.

Cossack was staring straight ahead with a dead-serious face.

He looked intensely resolved.

He didn’t even flatter like he usually did—he pulled out two daggers, pumped them full of blade aura, and muttered to himself,

“I can’t be cast out. I can’t be cast out. I’ll stay to the end. To the end.”

What’s he talking about?

Who’s casting out who?

Did he suddenly lose it?

It’s not like he’d bet on a match while watching soccer.

JINGLE JINGLE JINGLE!

With the sound of Gyeon Dallae’s bells, the Floor 35 clear mission began.

And right then—

FWEET—!

Cossack shot forward like a bullet.

In an instant, he leapt and slit the throat of a Stage-3 minotaur, then he was already charging another target.

‘...Hmm.’

What’s with Cossack again?

He should hunt safely.

He could just stick behind Meatshield and mooch.

Did he get restless from lazing around too long?

‘Then what do I do?’

I’ll just kill Stage-1 and Stage-2 minotaurs.

BZZZT!

The Energy Barrier activated, and he pulled out his round hand shield and mace.

The worried looks his summoned entities kept shooting him bothered him, but—

“Who am I? A natural talent who pulled off Shadow Step in midair!”

Before they could stop him, he’d better kill a few.

HAAH!

SWAT! SWAT!

And then—

“KRAAAAAAAH!”

The Minotaur King appeared on the battlefield, holding a gigantic axe.

Already?

“Come on! I’m just getting started!”

The moment the king appeared, SSR Meatshield—

WHIIIP—!

He slammed in with a body check at terrifying speed.

THOOM!

“Ummuh...,”

It went down like a lump of minced meat.

The axe flew from its hand, and it went soaring, soaring, WHOOSH, far away.

‘...’

SSR Meatshield really was a balance collapse.

At least in the 30s.

[Notice: You have achieved Clear Rank S++ on Floor 35 of the Black Tower (Korea).]

[S++ Clear Reward: You have been awarded a Platinum Badge.]

Now all that was left was checking the perk.

Please!

*****

A yellow police line was thrown up around a building in a Seoul nightlife district.

A mass murder had occurred inside the closed shop, <Imperial Traditional Massage>.

In the morning, a mail carrier delivering mail smelled something strange through the crack of an open door.

Thinking it might be the smell of blood, they reported it to the police.

Violent crimes detectives stared at the scene with dumbfounded expressions.

Another mass murder.

How long had it even been since the last one?

“Could it be connected to the SmileCash case? That was mass murder too.”

“Not sure. There’s only one cleanly beheaded body here. Most of them have their hearts destroyed, and there’s one with a pierced head. The key point is—there’s no ribbon.”

Still, the clean cut on the neck was similar.

“Did we secure CCTV?”

“There isn’t any installed inside the shop. The convenience store CCTV across the street only caught these victims going in and out.”

“Damn it. This is going to be hell.”

A second mass murder, unprecedented once again.

The media would swarm like wild dogs.

The police would be buried in criticism.

“Squad Chief.”

“What?”

One detective pulled an item from a victim’s body.

“A handgun. Looks like a Tokarev.”

“What?”

A Tokarev—

one of the most copied pistols in the world.

Meaning it was common as dirt.

“There’s one here too. And here... every one of them had one.”

The handgun wasn’t the only suspicious thing.

Military knives, syringes filled with clear liquid, rope and duct tape, binding handcuffs...

And that wasn’t all.

Photos scattered across the floor.

Close-ups of specific faces—about ten of them.

Who are these people?

“The murder suspect is suspicious, but somehow the victims are even more suspicious.”

The squad chief nodded.

“IDs?”

“They all had them.”

“Run them. Now.”

A moment later—

the detective on the phone with headquarters said,

“Squad Chief, this is really weird.”

“What is?”

“All the IDs are fake. The names exist in the database, but the faces don’t match.”

“...Figured.”

So who the hell are these guys?

By the feel of it, they weren’t Korean.

Illegal laborers?

No chance.

Laborers don’t carry handguns.

Then organized crime?

Also unlikely.

They had tabs on every gang in the area.

Domestic or foreign.

The violent crimes squad chief had a suspicion.

The syringes found in their belongings.

Drugs—or more likely, anesthetic.

‘They tried to kidnap someone.’

Who?

The people in these photos, obviously.

They had to confirm it.

“Call upstairs and ask them to contact the National Intelligence Service. Tell them to send someone over immediately.”

Time passed.

A National Intelligence Service agent arrived at the scene.

“Wow, you’ve been working hard. Looks rough. The victims?”

“This way.”

“Understood.”

The moment he stepped inside, the stench of blood hit.

The agent covered his nose with a handkerchief and carefully examined the bodies.

Then—

“...Huh?”

His gaze shifted to the photos on the floor.

He walked closer in a daze, picked one up, then another, then another...

“FUCK!”

The curse burst out.

The National Intelligence Service agent’s eyes sharpened.

His face went rigid.

“Squad Chief.”

“Yes.”

“You haven’t told the media about this yet, right?”

“They probably don’t know yet.”

“Then we’re taking this case. This looks like National Intelligence Service jurisdiction.”

And that day—

the National Intelligence Service and the Tower Player Awakening Administration flipped upside down.