CHAPTER 112: CH 112: RISK ON THE SECOND FLOOR- PART 2

Outside the Tower, the atmosphere was razor-sharp with tension.

Dozens of cameras flashed, reporters shouted over one another, and the elite team preparing to enter the mysterious structure stood in formation.

But the oppressive mood that blanketed the scene wasn’t due to the looming journey into the unknown—it was because of Fredric Black’s temper, simmering just beneath the surface.

Kevin Jenner, the #1 ranked hunter in the world, leaned in toward Rick, one of Legion’s top handlers.

"What’s with the boss? He’s been looking like he wants to tear the Tower down with his bare hands."

Rick exhaled slowly, gaze flickering toward Fredric.

"He’s mad because Fenrir entered the Tower without saying a word. Just disappeared."

Kevin frowned.

"He’s a teenager. How the hell did he get past the security detail?"

Before Rick could reply, Louise chimed in, arms crossed and eyes sharp.

"If the security team is that sloppy, I’d be more than happy to retrain them. Personally."

The nearby guards stiffened in alarm, suddenly straightening their backs and checking their gear.

Even the boldest among them had heard stories about Louise’s ’training’ sessions. They had a better survival rate in A-rank dungeons.

Rick waved a hand dismissively.

"No need to go nuclear. This isn’t on them. Fenrir’s just... craftier than anyone gave him credit for."

Just then, Fredric stormed toward them, his footsteps hard and fast. His presence was like a pressure wave—everyone instantly turned quiet.

"Listen up. "I don’t care what it takes—find Fenrir and bring him back. I don’t care if he’s in the middle of a war zone or buried in the Tower’s core. Bring him back. Whoever does... I’ll grant them anything they want."

Fredric barked.

The eyes of the Legion team sparked with interest. Promises from Fredric Black weren’t empty—they were gospel.

A few members exchanged subtle nods. The Tower had just gone from a mission to a golden opportunity.

At the edge of the gathering, the media clustered like vultures, eyes scanning for Legion’s elusive powerhouse—Mr. X. A reporter yelled.

"Where is Mr. X? Why hasn’t he appeared?"

Before the PR representative could give the standard "no comment," Fredric stepped up, seized the mic, and stared straight into the cameras.

"He’s already inside. My dumb little brother went in alone."

Fredric said, voice even but cutting.

Gasps erupted across the field. The news spread like wildfire through the crowd, phones lighting up as breaking headlines rolled across social media and broadcast tickers.

[MR. X’s IDENTITY REVEALED—FENRIR BLACK, YOUNGER BROTHER OF LEGION CEO, ALREADY INSIDE THE TOWER!]

Reporters shouted follow-up questions in a frenzy, but Fredric had already turned his back on the chaos.

He didn’t care about the headlines. His focus was on one thing—getting Fenrir back.

Back in the press area, the PR rep looked like he might pass out, clutching his notes helplessly.

"He... he wasn’t supposed to say that."

Rick patted the man’s shoulder.

"You’re new, huh? Rule one—don’t try to stop Fredric when he’s mad."

As the storm of voices grew louder, the Tower began to stir.

A deep hum resonated through the ground, vibrating through everyone’s bones.

The air turned thick and heavy, and the swirling gate at the Tower’s base pulsed with growing intensity. It was time.

Security lines were tightened, the media pushed back, and the first wave of elites stepped into position. Kevin cracked his knuckles.

"Guess we’re really doing this. Hope the Tower’s ready."

Rick glanced at the glowing entrance.

"No. I hope Fenrir’s ready. Because once we’re in there... we’re not leaving without him."

Fredric stood apart from the crowd, watching the gate with narrowed eyes.

Somewhere beyond those walls, his brother was already carving a path through the unknown. He clenched his fist.

"You better not die in there, Fenrir. Because I will find a way to bring you back and then kill you again.."

He muttered.

______

The moment Fenrir’s foot crossed the boundary between the first and second floors, the air changed.

A low pulse echoed in the atmosphere, and a message popped up across his vision:

[System Announcement: The Floor Boss of the First Level has been defeated. Universal access to the Second Floor has been granted to all registered Tower Residents.]

Fenrir blinked and let out a small huff.

"So the system really did broadcast it."

Despite his confidence, a shiver ran down his spine. It wasn’t fear, not exactly—more like a primal instinct warning him that eyes were turning toward him, far beyond what he could see. He shook it off.

"Tch. Probably just nerves."

Another ping rang out in his ears, and the map of the Second Floor appeared on his interface.

A vast stretch of land opened before him—dense marshes, swamps, and forests tangled together into one giant, suffocating mess.

But one thing stood out immediately: none of his powers had resonance here. The fragments he’d hidden in his past life didn’t stretch to this floor.

"Great. Time to keep moving."

Fenrir muttered.

His instinct told him to move fast. The longer he lingered here, the more exposed he would be.

If possible, he wanted to skip the floor entirely—but just as he turned to scout a path forward, something roared in the distance.

A pack of swamp monsters, grotesque creatures with moss-covered hides and glowing red eyes, burst from the tall reeds, rushing straight toward him.

Fenrir cracked his knuckles and sighed.

"So much for a quiet entry."

He met them head-on, using Master of Earth to manipulate the ground, turning the murky terrain against them.

Roots wrapped around ankles, muddy walls rose to separate the pack, and with a few decisive blows from his reinforced fists, he shattered skulls and cracked carapaces.

One by one, the monsters fell.

The system dinged again.

[Level Up! Current Level: 55]

He rolled his shoulder as he looked at the corpses.

"Could’ve been worse."

But he knew better than to leave the bodies out in the open.

Blood carried scent, and scent invited more trouble. Grabbing the limp corpses one by one, he hauled them deep into a nearby marsh pit, letting the muck swallow them whole.

Only after the last one disappeared beneath the surface did he let himself breathe a little easier.

The swamp stretched for miles, damp and miserable. Each step squelched under his boots, and the waterlogged shoes clung to his feet like curses.

"I hate wet socks."

He growled under his breath.

Eventually, the system pinged again, showing him a nearby cave labeled as a "low-threat safe zone."

Fenrir moved quickly, scaling a ridge and ducking into the rocky hollow. It was cooler inside, and more importantly, dry.

There was even a small pond fed by a trickling spring.

Without wasting time, he sealed the entrance with a makeshift earth wall and laid a few defense glyphs around the area using the system’s base toolkit.

His boots were the first to come off—he flung them across the cave like they’d personally offended him.

"Never again."

He muttered, wiggling his toes.

Stripping off the soaked clothes, he cleaned them in the pond before setting them aside to dry using a slow fire spell to warm the air.

He changed into a fresh set and leaned against the cave wall, exhaling.

For the first time in hours, he let his body rest. His eyes drooped. His thoughts drifted.

But just as sleep was about to take him, a shift in the air triggered his instincts.

A faint rustle.

The weight of mana—someone else’s mana.

His eyes snapped open, and his hand was already on his weapon. He rolled to the side just as a knife embedded itself in the ground where his throat had been.

"Ambush."

He muttered, already moving.

A figure dressed in dark cloak emerged from the shadows of the cave—silent, efficient, deadly. Fenrir narrowed his eyes.