Cho-Yeon’s thousand-yard stare persisted, as if she were conversing with someone only she could perceive. A complicated mix of emotions flickered across her face. The faint hint of anger, traces of confusion, and a subtle urgency made her seem both unsettled and pressed for time.

At first, I wondered if something had gone wrong during the transfer. As the moments passed, though, that possibility faded. Whatever exchange she was engaged in concluded quickly enough.

After letting out a quiet, weary sigh, Cho-Yeon finally focused back on me.

“What happened? Did something go wrong?”

“I’m sorry. I can’t tell you.”

“Then is it related to me?”

She shook her head slowly, not confirming nor denying my question, but to show she couldn’t say more. Even so, I couldn’t just accept that at face value. If something had happened to Earth or the rest area, then I couldn’t waste my time lingering here. My family and Ha Hee-Jeong were out there.

Meeting her eyes, I waited and hoped she would offer even the smallest hint. Cho-Yeon remained silent.

My mind churned restlessly. If this had nothing to do with me, she wouldn’t have reacted like that. Even if she couldn’t share the specifics, she could have at least clarified that it wasn’t connected to me at all. The fact that she chose not to offer even the simplest reassurance made it clear that whatever had just happened was tied to me in some way.

Shall I leave the hundredth floor immediately?

My chest grew tight, but I forced myself to steady my breathing and think clearly. There was no need to jump to conclusions. I didn’t know why Cho-Yeon had become so tense, but realistically, three possibilities came to mind—something had happened to the rest area, to Earth, or to my connections outside the tower.

As I sorted through each possibility, I realized the first two could be eliminated.

The rest area is still inside the tower.

No one could interfere with a trial—especially at this point. The same logic applied to my worry about Earth. Earth was technically undergoing one huge ordeal until we conquered the tower, and I still hadn’t left the hundredth floor. Therefore, Earth remained under the tower’s protection even if it wasn’t part of a greenbelt anymore.

Which naturally leaves the third possibility.

Out of everyone connected to me, Thunder Axe was the most high-profile. Moreover, they and Kalain were already locked in a longstanding conflict. If Thunder Axe had suffered a loss, it would make sense for Cho-Yeon to look concerned since they were allies.

On second thought, it wasn’t strange at all.

Maybe I really have been too complacent.

I had assumed that once I left this place, Thunder Axe and the Master of the Five Carriage Wheels would protect me. Of course, I didn’t plan to rely solely on them, but perhaps Kalain’s forces were more powerful than I had imagined. If I were in Kalain’s position, attacking Thunder Axe before the new challenger emerged would be the most rational move. Were I to leave the tower and join Thunder Axe, the balance between them would immediately shift.

Well, I don’t actually know what the situation is like.

However, if both sides were evenly matched and Thunder Axe protected me long enough for me to grow, Kalain’s defeat would be inevitable. The same logic held even if Kalain held the advantage. Thunder Axe would know that as well. If something had still happened despite that, then Kalain’s influence had grown far beyond what I would have expected.

Well, he was a challenger too.

Even if he hadn’t received the Primordial God’s full inheritance, other gods couldn’t compare to him—his reward from the hundredth floor would only add to that disparity. Odds were that Kalain had continued growing while maintaining the stalemate with Thunder Axe. Although if he hadn’t, he likely would have attacked anyway, knowing that an end was in sight.

So, shall I leave as well?

My disordered thoughts eventually converged around the core dilemma. If Thunder Axe truly was in danger, I had to help them before anything irreversible occurred.

Unfortunately, that didn’t solve my other lingering concern. Even if I were as powerful as a first-class god, I hadn’t adapted to that level of strength yet. Jumping into a clash between high-ranking first-class gods without understanding the limits of my power was reckless at best.

Hmm.

There was too much uncertainty for me to comfortably leave. However, remaining here could result in a worse outcome. If something catastrophic happened while I hesitated, my future would collapse with it. In the past, I always believed things would somehow resolve themselves. At this point, though, I knew that without Thunder Axe, facing Kalain would be impossible.

The difference between a first-class and a high-ranking first-class god was vast. Yes, I had grown quickly on the hundredth floor, but Kalain and I were separated by four thousand years of growth. I needed time to develop as well.

I have to go. 𝙧𝙚𝙚𝔀𝒆𝓫𝓷𝙤𝓿𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝙤𝓶

There really wasn’t another option.

A faint sense of disappointment tugged at me. I wanted to chat with Natalie to gain some clarity or advice. She would likely offer me some insight into the situation.

No.

Even the tower couldn’t share any information about what had just happened. Natalie would be in the same boat.

Sensing myself spiraling, I breathed in deeply. I had to trust myself. If I had to adjust to my new strength, I would do it outside. I couldn’t afford to waste time here while something urgent unfolded beyond these walls. Even now, precious seconds could be slipping away.

I turned toward Cho-Yeon and met her gaze. “Send me out of here.”

“S-sorry?” Cho-Yeon looked genuinely startled, far more than I would have expected.

If Thunder Axe is in danger, shouldn’t I help? Or did I misread everything completely?

“I said, send me out. Why?”

She sighed, “Haaa...”

In the brief silence that followed, I could practically feel her thoughts racing.

“I believe... instead of leaving immediately, it may be wiser for you to first adjust to your newly acquired power.”

I didn’t respond. Instead, I watched her expression closely. She wasn’t lying and was sincerely concerned. Her tone was reminiscent of Natalie’s, both cautious and protective—frustrating for me, yet undeniably genuine.

There was no way I could feel frustrated about her response. Both of them had acted for my sake since the beginning, and their advice always came from a place of earnest concern.

Perhaps misinterpreting my silence, Cho-Yeon quickly added, “This space exists solely for you, The Coming Dawn. You can shape it however you desire to suit your training needs. Sky of the Nine Heavens also spent a long time here—”

“It’s fine. I believe you.”

Her last statement was all I needed. Cho-Yeon firmly believed I needed to stay here. If she thought so, then it was for my benefit. My thoughts accelerated as I reexamined the possibilities and came up with three new ones.

First, the situation that had alarmed Cho-Yeon wasn’t necessarily as dire as I imagined. Perhaps Thunder Axe had taken a slight loss, but was still managing to hold out.

Second was what I considered the worst-case—it was already too late for me to help.

That can’t be the case.

If it were truly that bad, then no amount of training here would change the outcome. Well, unless I devoted several thousand years to training, which felt like an uncertain goal at best. Even assuming my mind could endure such a long span of time, the outside world would continue flowing without pause. I wouldn’t be able to see Ha Hee-Jeong at all, and during those same years, Kalain would undoubtedly grow stronger as well.

“So if I train here, how much time will pass outside?”

“You may adjust it however you wish, The Coming Dawn.”

That single answer changed everything. If staying here would pass in a flash in the world beyond the tower, then training here wouldn’t worsen the situation awaiting me.

Now that I knew that, I felt more comfortable considering my final hypothesis—Cho-Yeon’s reaction was related to me, Thunder Axe wasn’t in danger, and something would go wrong the moment I left this floor. Kalain could very well be aiming for me instead, and in the process, had found a way to tie Thunder Axe’s hands.

Since defeating Kalain was impossible for me at this moment, it could mean that the tower wanted me to stay here and train, buying time until Thunder Axe could devise a solution.

There was a simple way to confirm this.

“Can I make it so that no time passes outside?”

“Yes, if that is what you wish,” she responded without the slightest hesitation.

Well, maybe my assumptions are entirely off the mark again.

I genuinely didn’t know anymore, and as usual, overthinking had led me in circles. There was no definite answer at the moment, and I had to keep all possibilities in mind. In the end, regardless of what frightened Cho-Yeon, one crucial fact remained unchanged—I needed to train here.

Of course, this had to come right after I spent roughly twenty years on the ninety-ninth floor.

From the waiting room all the way to the hundredth floor, my life had become an unbroken chain of training. Admittedly, it was tiring and almost suffocating. Judging by Cho-Yeon’s reaction, however, I couldn’t afford the slightest bit of complacency.

At least one thing differentiated this place from the ninety-ninth floor: Cho-Yeon was here. Strangely enough, that alone provided me a small measure of comfort.

“All right. Can you please pause the time outside the tower just like the ninety-ninth floor did?”

“Yes. The time differential is already in effect.”

I held her gaze, one last question lingering in my mind. “So, I only need to get used to this new power?”

“You may choose to train whatever you want, but for now, I recommend adapting to the strength you have gained.”

I nodded slowly. There was no need to ask anything else. Contrary to my earlier worries, she didn’t intend for me to remain in this space indefinitely. Perhaps she was simply worried because the outside world was far too volatile, and training would help me immensely.

Still, she reacted too strongly for the situation to be that unimportant.

Whatever had occurred outside, I could intuit its gravity with startling clarity. Something deep down was telling me that the moment I conquered the tower, I would be walking straight into a battle.

No, calling it intuition felt inaccurate.

Based on the subtle hints Cho-Yeon had offered, it was painfully obvious. Moreover, if adapting to my strength would help Thunder Axe, then it was a necessary step anyway.

“Phew.”

As I readied Soulbound, Cho-Yeon gently stated, “This space can be reshaped however you desire—gravity, atmosphere, even the terrain itself. Anything you can think of. Additionally, you can summon replicas of opponents to fight against.”

“Like in the waiting room?”

“Similar, but not identical. This place was created for any challenger who reached the hundredth floor, so you can summon any foe, regardless of their strength or uniqueness.”

That was a relief. If it had been limited like the waiting room, there wouldn’t have been any proper training partners. The ability to summon any opponent I had encountered was more than sufficient.

“Okay, so how do I...?”

“With your causality.”

I nodded and drew upon the causality flowing through me.

First, I shaped the environment so that it matched the planet I could use as my personal battlefield. In an instant, the scenery shifted. The warm sunlight and rolling plains vanished, replaced by a vast, desolate wasteland.

Cho-Yeon bowed lightly. “Then I will remain nearby until you require me.”

“If I call for you, will you come immediately?”

“Whenever you wish.”

“Good.”

As soon as I replied, Cho-Yeon vanished. I spun Soulbound idly in my hand, letting its familiar weight settle my thoughts. I already knew how I would adjust to my new abilities. Nothing accelerated adaptation like a real battle.

I wasn’t concerned I would lose. Whoever I summoned was someone a weaker version of me had already defeated. I also knew exactly who I wanted to face first.

The other me, the one I encountered on the ninety-ninth floor.

The moment the thought formed, another “me” appeared on the battlefield with a pop! His expressionless face felt strangely familiar, almost nostalgic, as if I were welcoming an old memory.

“Ahhhhh.”

My emotions from the previous floor were still sharp and vivid. A faint sense of guilt stirred in my chest as I looked at the replica. However, I also remembered his final smile.

“Sorry, but...”

Even as he died, he had smiled. Despite being enemies, he had still quietly supported me.

“I need your help for just a bit longer.”

I wasn’t sure if this replica knew what had occurred on the ninety-ninth floor, but he gave a faint, almost imperceptible smile. Everything felt different now, and the battle would be different as well—because I was no longer the same person.

As if proving that point, my imitation took the initiative for the first time, springing forward as he dashed across the barren ground.