The Tower of Ordeal appeared before me in the same form it had taken when we met in Seorden's Forest.

Her voice felt warm and quietly serene, matching her gaze and bearing. It wrapped around me in an almost familiar calm. Even though we had spoken before, something about her presence felt strangely different now that I understood she was the tower itself.

A faint sense of unfamiliarity lingered, subtle yet undeniable, but I tried my best to keep my expression composed. I had prepared myself for something like this.

This was my best guess for what lay on the hundredth floor.

Just as I had assumed, there didn’t seem to be any kind of trial left for me here. Interestingly, though, the floor’s name was just my divine title.

What shall I say?

Even while looking into Cho-Yeon’s eyes, I found myself momentarily unable to speak. It wasn’t that I was at a loss for words. Rather, there were far too many things I wanted to ask. While I hesitated, Cho-Yeon closed the distance first.

A faint, gentle smile touched her lips. “You’ve endured so much climbing the tower. Truly... thank you so much.”

As I watched her bow her head, I found myself wondering why she would express gratitude toward me.

Is she grateful that the tower’s indirect attempt to make me regress has succeeded, and that I have finally reached the end?

As that question surfaced in my mind, my thoughts untangled, and I knew what I wanted to ask.

Before I could speak, however, Cho-Yeon remarked, “Before anything else, I should clarify that this floor does not contain a trial. Your trial as The Coming Dawn officially ended on the ninety-ninth floor. This place is...”

She let her voice trail off for a moment, sweeping her gaze across the surrounding landscape before meeting mine again. “A place that gathers the meaning of all your past trials, and a space where you’re acknowledged as a true, complete existence.”

Pausing once again, she quietly studied my reaction, then added, “Now that The Coming Dawn stands outside the tower and exists as an independent being, I can no longer read your thoughts.”

So my suspicion from floors gone by was correct—she had been reading my thoughts all along. I had already anticipated it to some degree, but having it confirmed still struck me with a faint sense of realization.

Of course, she likely hadn’t grasped every single fleeting thought that had run through my mind. However, enough moments had unfolded precisely as I had envisioned, or many of my quiet wishes were unexpectedly fulfilled, for me to quietly accept the undeniable truth. One recent example was the sunlight on this floor. I had yearned for its warmth during my time in the waiting room. Lo and behold, I had been greeted by a gentle radiance the instant I was summoned here.

Thankfully, now that I had stepped outside the tower’s domain and stood as an independent existence, such subtle interventions seemed to be beyond her reach. Well, that made sense. I could overpower most gods, so if it were possible for Cho-Yeon to keep reading my thoughts, I probably would have been able to read theirs as well. Moreover, if the tower could truly glean such insights from gods, they couldn’t break the laws in the first place.

“I sincerely apologize for having read your thoughts without permission.”

“It’s fine.”

It was a little unsettling, but not unpleasant enough to disturb me. Nothing she had done had harmed me. The tower had always been on my side. There were probably countless ways she had helped me without my knowing. Perhaps that was why I had ended up as the subject of an indirect regression. It was something I still didn’t fully understand.

“I know you have many questions, The Coming Dawn. It’s only natural. Please feel free to ask anything.”

I could sense that she was completely focused on me, although whether it was the tower’s power or simply her nature, I didn’t know. I met her gaze.

Stay present. This may be a chance that will never return.

“Ha Hee-Jeong regression stemmed from your desire to make me regress, right?”

“That’s correct.”

“Why?”

“It’s both simple and complicated. Explaining it all will take a while. Is that alright?” she asked with a sincere, cautious expression.

“There isn’t some hidden time limit here, is there?”

“There isn’t. You may remain or depart whenever you wish.”

“That’s good. Then go on,” I consented.

After coming this far, it didn’t matter how long it took.

Upon hearing my response, Cho-Yeon declared, “In simple terms, it’s because The Coming Dawn is the one I’ve been waiting for.”

She had hardly paused to gather her thoughts, almost as if she had anticipated this very moment, or prepared for it long in advance. Well, she had been reading my thoughts, and with the countless worlds she oversaw, it wouldn’t be surprising if she truly had foreseen this conversation.

Alternatively, with how long she had been waiting for my appearance, she could have prepared for this moment repeatedly. That made sense to me, so I assumed that it was likely the case. Thinking back, since my arrival on the hundredth floor, our conversation hadn’t even stumbled once.

“Well, things become more complicated because, as you have already guessed, the core of the issue is tied to the Primordial God’s disappearance.”

I had suspected as much. The fates of challengers—such as Kalain and me—and the Primordial God intertwined endlessly as we climbed. I opened my mouth to ask why this legendary figure had disappeared.

As if reading my intention, Cho-Yeon interjected, “But before we go into that, I should start from the beginning. As you know, even though He is called the Primordial God, He didn’t create everything.”

I nodded. I had learned as much from Poong-Lyeong.

“The Primordial God awakened one day in the depths of space, among stars and galaxies. He opened His eyes the moment primitive life forms throughout the vast universe developed intelligence and began believing in the concept of a god.”

That also matched what I had heard. Although some peculiar forces predated the Primordial God, many had appeared from that same power of belief. In fact, I had tempered those ancient powers—primordial beings that could have become gods but never crossed that final threshold—into the equipment I carried.

Cho-Yeon continued, explaining that from the very moment that the Primordial God had awakened, he had understood that he was the collective embodiment of every intelligent species’ belief in a divine being.

That didn’t mean he was omnipotent, however.

Even though he could create life, erase worlds, or accomplish feats that appeared impossible by any ordinary measure, he still wasn’t flawless or absolute.

When I wondered why Cho-Yeon was explaining this, she softly added that she was simply calling him imperfect as an explanation tailored for my understanding, nothing more.

“The Primordial God had no notion of right or wrong, no sense of good or evil. Every being in the universe that believed in a god believed in Him.”

Once she explained that, it clicked. Beliefs were neither simple nor consistent even on Earth, not to mention the entire universe. Human history alone proved that. The Aztecs came to mind immediately, with their practices of ritual human sacrifice and cannibalism.

From a cosmic perspective, Earth hadn’t developed the concept of morality for that long. Moreover, it wasn’t as if every intelligent species in the universe had developed at the same pace. The Primordial God had represented beings with beliefs similar to mine, but at the same time, he had represented those who partook in cannibalism or took pleasure in killing. To such a being, the moral principles I held had no inherent significance. According to Cho-Yeon, caught between these conflicting notions, the Primordial God had been deeply confused.

“He was childlike at times, and His temperament was unpredictable. It couldn’t be helped, given that He was born as the god for countless beings. Truthfully, it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.”

Cho-Yeon looked slightly concerned, perhaps worried I wouldn’t think well of him. Personally, the situation made enough sense that I didn’t mind. Anyone in his position would have acted the same.

“Despite all that inner conflict, He loved every existence dearly. To Him, every being in the universe was both His parent and His child. After all, many early civilizations worshipped maternal figures.”

In any case, the Primordial God eventually came to his own realizations and brought his own creations into the universe. For instance, the world Saboden had stolen and Seorden’s Forest were examples from that time period. When the universe expanded even further and the number of inhabited worlds began to multiply, the Primordial God created the Tower of Ordeal. Cho-Yeon added that even he had found it overwhelming to remain the god of so many different beings.

If that is the case, then perhaps the Primordial God was a singular consciousness, much like the gods I have encountered.

Unless he had been something purely mechanical, it was entirely possible for him to have been a single entity. Well, on second thought, even machines had a limit to the amount of information they could process. Therefore, it wasn’t unreasonable to think that a being—despite having been born as a god—would have limits as well.

For who knows how many years, his entire existence was shaped by the beliefs and convictions of others. To exceed the imaginations of the countless minds that sustained him would have been difficult.

She also mentioned that around the time the tower was formed, the Primordial God began to restrain those strange primordial forces as well. He had shaped divinity through causality, and those untamed forces had the potential to disrupt everything he had intended to build.

Therefore, the Tower of Ordeal had come into being, and the gods were born.

In truth, the process at that time was completely different, akin to fashioning new gods for the sake of each world and its people. They were subordinates, not independent rulers. With the diversity present in the vast universe, an equally varied and numerous collection of gods emerged.

However, none of them could oppose the Primordial God.

“Ultimately, the gods began to clash with one another, much like the many intelligent species throughout history.”

“The Primordial God simply watched that happen?”

“There was no reason for Him to intervene.”

I didn’t refute her. It reminded me of something I had heard before.

“As I mentioned earlier, the Primordial God had no sense of right or wrong, no concept of good or evil. He had no reason to discipline them.”

“Still, looking at the universe as a whole, aren’t there many beings with social tendencies similar to mine?”

“The Primordial God didn’t concern Himself with who believed in what, or how deeply those beliefs were held.”

Thinking about it, the early universe would have likely been filled with violent and predatory species. Even on Earth, though the exact timeline was blurry, raids and wars had existed as far back as the Bronze Age, and countless civilizations had utilized ritual sacrifice. If I had been born in such an era, I could have become a warmonger or even a killer without blinking.

Almost as if defending him, Cho-Yeon quietly remarked, “The Primordial God simply observed, but the conflicts among His children pained Him deeply.”

It hadn’t made complete sense at first, but the more I thought about it, the clearer it became. Parental love had existed since ancient times. Thought this was purely theoretical, but if I had two children of my own, I would be willing to give my life for them. Plus, if those children fought with the intent to kill each other, my anguish would be unimaginable.

“Then what about the laws that exist now? Weren’t they created to prevent invasions?”

“That was actually something the gods requested. They asked the Primordial God for the right to create laws among themselves.”

Even back then, gods didn’t possess equal power. It was inevitable, given the passage of time. The Primordial God had accepted the proposals of both the strongest gods and the majority of the weaker ones. Since the gods had already begun managing their own worlds in his stead, and he himself was becoming more of an observer, he gradually handed authority over to them.

The tower became their administrator, and Cho-Yeon explained that the change had seemed overwhelmingly positive. Interplanetary wars dwindled until they were nearly gone, and an apparently peaceful period began.

“The first laws weren’t perfect.”

The gods themselves were far from flawless, and gaining the approval of the strongest among them required making certain concessions. Of course, some violators were punished, but over time, a number of gods began treading the boundaries of the very laws they had created. Even after multiple revisions, there were still countless ways to exploit the system.

Listening to Cho-Yeon, I realized it wasn’t all that different from Earth. If anything, it reminded me of the loopholes corporations utilized to counter each other.

“Still, that era was better than now; their conflicts wouldn’t result in the destruction of worlds or civilizations. As you saw while climbing the tower, that is fairly commonplace now.”

“It was that much better back then?”

“Yes. Little by little, what began as minor tributes evolved into full colonial domination,” she admitted, then softly added, “Ignoring those circumstances, things look better than before the laws were established, but beneath the surface, the present may be even more brutal.”

The revelation left me momentarily speechless.

By “brutal,” is she referencing the restrictions placed on the tower, or the constraints forced upon challengers? Or is she talking about something else entirely?

I was just about to ask, but my chance slipped by since Cho-Yeon continued, “In any case, it wasn’t always this chaotic. Not until the Primordial God disappeared.”

Her eyes shimmered faintly. I knew instinctively that the time had come for her to explain why the Primordial God had vanished. I still hadn’t heard the reason I had been made to regress, but even reaching this point had required a long explanation.

I swallowed and met her gaze. Cho-Yeon, maintaining a calm and steady visage, started explaining.