CHAPTER 101: CH 101: FIRST STEP IN THE TOWER- PART 2

The guards stood their ground, hesitating as they watched Fenrir dispatch their comrades one after another.

His movements were too sharp, too clean—nothing like the usual adventurers or troublemakers they were used to dealing with.

The sword in his hand radiated a pressure none of them could ignore, yet it wasn’t marked by any known smith or guild. And the man wielding it... they had no record of him.

"Who is this guy?"

One of the soldiers whispered.

"No idea. But stay back. Don’t get too close. He’s not normal."

Another replied, eyes narrowed.

Fenrir caught the whisper and couldn’t help but chuckle.

"Too late for caution now."

He said, his voice calm under the hood. Then, before they could react, he closed the distance.

A blur. That was all the soldiers saw before Fenrir appeared in front of them.

His sword moved with ruthless precision—disarming one, knocking another to the ground, and cutting clean through a third’s armor without so much as a pause.

They tried to respond, but his movements were faster than their eyes could track.

Fenrir didn’t rely on brute strength.

His body, though lean and compact, moved with grace and deadly efficiency. Instead of exhausting his mana recklessly, he channeled small bursts through his limbs at critical moments—amplifying his reflexes, his strikes, his speed.

It was an elegant balance of conservation and force, the mark of someone who had trained for years.

"Keep your distance! He’s using mana reinforcement!""

One soldier shouted.

"We can’t match him in close combat!"

"No kidding."

Fenrir muttered as he sent another soldier flying with a kick reinforced just enough to shatter the man’s stance.

The soldiers in the second wave quickly began to realize what the first wave hadn’t. This wasn’t a skirmish—they were being toyed with.

"He’s overwhelming us! Send someone to inform the city lord!"

One shouted.

"Request backup—immediately!"

Two soldiers tried to run, their feet pounding against the cobblestone as they dashed toward the city’s inner gates.

Fenrir didn’t even look their way. Instead, he raised a hand, his fingers briefly glowing with brown runes.

[Master of Earth.]

The road in front of the fleeing guards split open violently, swallowing one and sending jagged stone spires upward to cut off the other’s path.

The man tumbled to the side in a panic, only narrowly avoiding being skewered.

"I said that level 45 grunts like you aren’t going anywhere."

Fenrir spoke clearly this time.

The soldier who had dodged the earth spike scrambled backward, terrified, only to be kicked unconscious by Fenrir moments later.

Still, a few had gotten away—dashing through alleyways, trying to circle around or find other exits.

Fenrir sighed.

"Figures some would slip past."

He didn’t chase them. There was no point.

Even if none of them made it to the city lord, it was impossible that the noise, the mana surges, and the growing destruction wouldn’t reach the ears of the person in charge.

Especially not in a place that supposedly had ’order’ now. The guards had made it clear: the tower was no longer lawless. That meant rules, structure, hierarchy.

Which meant a city lord.

And that was exactly who Fenrir wanted to meet.

"I’ll just wait here. Better to get a read on the tower’s level right now, anyway."

He muttered, knocking out another guard with a flick of his wrist.

As the battered remnants of the second wave regrouped and formed a shaky perimeter around him, Fenrir relaxed his stance.

His sword still hung loosely in his hand, but there was no tension in his frame. Only patience.

The guards, panting and wide-eyed, looked at each other in silent communication. They knew they stood no chance, but they had to stall him. Delay him. Keep him busy until help arrived.

"For the city!"

One of them yelled, charging forward.

"For order and the tower!"

"For the Lord!"

The others took up the cry, lunging at Fenrir with renewed—if foolish—determination.

He tilted his head, expression unreadable beneath the mask. Then he stepped forward to meet them again.

"Seriously, you all need to be more cunning."

He said, dodging a halberd and tripping its wielder with his foot.

His sword slammed into a shield, then redirected the impact into a spin, sending the wielder sprawling.

"Throwing your lives away like this isn’t noble—it’s stupid."

He dodged a set of arrows fired from the side, each one missing by inches, then retaliated with a stone spike that shattered the archer’s cover.

"You don’t overwhelm strength with numbers. You use traps. Distractions. Terrain. Basic stuff."

He continued as he parried three attacks at once, his body twisting effortlessly between them.

Fenrir’s blade danced through the air, carving arcs of mana and pushing back the tide of bodies.

"But no. You just come running like it’s some sort of righteous crusade."

He said with a small sigh.

Even as he scolded them, he never lost the grin on his face. He was enjoying himself, and it was obvious.

Every exchange was another warmup.

Every parry and counterstrike was another reminder of the strength he still held and the potential of the tower ahead.

His instincts were already stirring, old memories and combat patterns from his past flickering to life inside him.

His system pinged again, another quiet alert that the merging of past and present had begun. But Fenrir ignored it still.

This fight, after all, was just the prologue. He wasn’t truly being challenged yet.

Not until the city lord showed up.

______

A handful of battered guards burst through the grand doors of the city lord’s palace, their breathing ragged and their uniforms torn.

Without hesitation, they rushed toward the throne, dropping to their knees in unison.

"Your Majesty! A man is causing chaos in the central plaza! We tried to stop him, but—he’s too powerful. Our forces can’t hold him back!"

One of them cried out, voice trembling.

The man seated on the throne raised a brow, bored and unimpressed. His long crimson cloak draped lazily over the armrest, and a single leg dangled over the side of the elevated platform.

"A man? Is he human?"

He asked, his tone flat.

The guard hesitated.

"N-no, Your Majesty. That’s the thing. We don’t believe he is. No alarms triggered at the gates, and no intruder detection spells activated. It’s like he was already part of the tower..."

"Tch. Useless. You can’t even hold a single outsider?"

The city lord scoffed and leaned forward slightly, looking down at the cowering men.

"P-please, Your Majesty. we need your strength. Will you intervene?"

The guard begged.

The city lord opened his mouth to decline, his disinterest clear.

But before he could speak, a delicate hand touched his shoulder. Beside the throne stood a woman of striking beauty, her smile soft and persuasive.

"Go take care of it, darling. Show them why you’re king."

She said, her voice sweet.

He paused, smirked, then rose from the throne with a stretch.

"Fine. If it’ll shut everyone up."

She leaned in closer, her tone low and playful.

"And I’ll give you a reward when you return."

The king’s grin widened.

"Now that’s motivation."

Without another word, he vanished in a flash of crimson light.