Tutorial II (9)–class...

  ----

  Not everyone has the privilege to enter the Tower.

  Despite how vast it may seem—limitless floors, infinite sky, and sprawling terrains—it is still confined in comparison to the Thirteen Worldlines.

  In truth, the Tower is small... far too small to accommodate the entirety of all worldline’s population.

  That is why, during the Integration Process, a harsh and selective filter is enacted.

  Only the dominant and majority species of a planet is chosen for entry.

  In the case of Earth, that species is humanity.

  But even then, half of them are erased.

  This culling is not random, despite what some may believe.

  It is systematic. Precise. Designed.

  Those who die in the initial purge are categorized into three groups:

  - The too young, unable to grasp the weight of survival.

  - The too old, whose bodies have long begun to decay.

  - And the unfit, whose bodies or minds lack the potential to endure what is to come.

  Only the remaining 50% of the species—the physically capable, the mentally resilient, the ones deemed as having "potential"—are permitted to take the first step.

  They are scattered into 1,000 Tutorial Zones.

  Each zone becomes its own hell.

  And from the very first moment, death claims them again.

  Roughly half of those who enter the tutorial die in the First Quest.

  Some are killed by monsters.

  Others by traps.

  Many more by panic, poor decisions, or betrayal. Survival is earned—not granted.

  Only 25% remain.

  Then comes the Second Quest, crueler and more complex than the first.

  Here, an additional 15% perish—either through natural attrition, mistakes, or failure to adapt to the evolving brutality.

  Now, just 10% of the original eligible population remain.

  But even then… the Tower does not open its gates.

  No, entry is reserved for only a fragment of that—merely 4% to 5% of the dominant species ultimately step into the true Tower.

  Why so few?

  Because the final test is the most brutal: a mandatory slaughter.

  The last Tutorial Quest is not about defeating monsters or solving puzzles.

  It is about killing each other.

  It is somewhat similar for all tutorial zones.

  A battle royale disguised as a trial.

  There is no escape. No hiding. Only one law: Kill or be killed.

  Before this blood-soaked trial begins, players are given one final week—a period meant to reveal their nature.

  In this time, what you choose to do defines your fate.

  Will you train tirelessly, mastering your skills and abilities?

  Will you form alliances, hoping loyalty and numbers can grant you strength?

  Will you rest, deluding yourself into thinking others will spare you?

  Or will you plan in shadows, waiting to strike when defenses are down?

  This week is not mercy.

  It is a mirror.

  A test not of strength, but of quality.

  Because the Tower does not need the strong.

  It needs the ruthless, the adaptive, the ones who understand that in a world where gods watch and systems dictate reality—only those who take fate into their own blood-soaked hands are worthy to climb.

  The Tower is not a sanctuary.

  It is the arena of survival.

  And your choices… are the blades that determine if you walk through its gate—or rot beneath it.

  ----

  The ground was soaked red, rivers of blood mixing with mud, pooling beneath twitching corpses and dismembered limbs.

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  The stench of iron and rot saturated the air, clinging to the skin like a second layer.

  Screams echoed without pause.

  “Agghhh!!”

  “Die! Just die already!”

  Steel met flesh. Flesh gave way.

  Backstabs. Betrayals. Blades driven into spines.

  “Why…?”

  “No… don’t—please!”

  “I trusted you…”

  Some begged on their knees.

  Others wailed in disbelief, holding the dying bodies of former teammates, their fingers trembling and stained red.

  Some simply ran, only to be shot down with arrows in the back or sliced open by those who had once fought beside them.

  The chaos was absolute.

  [290/270]

  ‘Only twenty more to go,’ I mused, a smirk playing at the edges of my lips.

  I stood in the middle of the carnage—calm, silent, as if the blood flowing down my cheek was rainwater.

  The players around me had formed a loose circle, keeping their distance, weapons drawn but gripped too tightly, eyes flicking between me and the corpses that lay scattered like discarded dolls.

  Their bodies were tense.

  Their spirits? Already broken.

  “Why so serious?” I said gently, tilting my head.

  “Smile.”

  I gave them one—a soft, eerie grin, painted across a blood-smeared face that twisted the expression into something inhuman.

  Something that made a few of them stagger back in fear.

  And then—footsteps.

  Behind me.

  Quick. Too quick. The fool must’ve thought he was fast.

  ‘Idiots.’

  I didn’t turn.

  Instead, I swung my katana back, blind and precise.

  SHHHNK!

  The steel sang as it sliced clean through.

  A wet sound, like fruit being split, followed by the dull thud of a headless corpse collapsing to the ground.

  Blood sprayed upward in a thin arc, painting the nearby grass.

  A gasp.

  “Ah… aah…!”

  A young man lunged at me, sword shaking in both hands, his face pale with terror.

  I tilted slightly to the side, his blade slicing empty air.

  “That’s not how you swing a weapon,” I said casually.

  I stepped forward, my own katana dragging behind me, its tip leaving a trail of red.

  “Your grip should be firm, but your wrist? Loose. Let the blade move with your body.”

  From the corner of my eye, I caught movement.

  Someone rushing from the right.

  Without missing a beat, I brought my sword upward in a clean arc.

  SLASH!

  The man’s midsection was carved open—intestines spilled out, dangling like wet ropes as he collapsed with a strangled cry.

  The young man tried again, swinging with more force this time.

  I caught his arm in mine.

  “Not bad for a first timer.”

  His eyes lit up.

  Hope. Belief.

  Pathetic.

  SWISH!

  I severed his arm at the elbow.

  “AAAHHHHH!” he shrieked, falling to his knees, clutching the bleeding stump.

  “Noisy.”

  My katana arced once more.

  His head rolled.

  [283/270]

  And then—I began my rampage.

  I moved like a ghost draped in gore, body flowing between blades and arrows, slicing through flesh as if it were paper.

  A woman charged me with a warhammer, screaming.

  CRACK!

  I ducked beneath the swing, drove my knee into her gut, and rammed my blade through her eye socket, twisting it inside her skull.

  Another came from behind—short sword in hand.

  I turned, grabbed his face, and slammed it into the ground repeatedly until his skull caved in with a wet crunch.

  Someone screamed, “Monster! He’s not human!”

  I grinned, spinning the katana, blood dancing in the air.

  “You're just figuring that out now?”

  Two players tried to fight me together—coordinated, desperate.

  I deflected one’s strike, cut off his fingers, then kicked him into the path of his ally’s spear.

  The spear pierced his chest.

  The second man hesitated in horror.

  I didn't.

  SHHHNK!

  I drove my blade under his jaw, up through his mouth, and watched him twitch as I yanked it free.

  The screams around me grew louder.

  The killing hadn’t stopped.

  Players were still turning on each other—slashing throats, bashing skulls, burning others alive with fire skills, throwing allies from cliffs.

  Desperation had consumed them.

  “Please! I don’t want to die!”

  “You have to die! It’s the rule!

  “Get off me! No—STOP!”

  One man had his chest crushed beneath a hammer.

  Another girl impaled her best friend in the back, sobbing as she whispered, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry…”

  Heads rolled.

  Limbs flew.

  Blood soaked the ground until it looked black.

  And I?

  I walked.

  I killed as I moved. Efficient. Cold.

  Like a reaper born of blood.

  [272/270]

  Only three more to go.

  I turned as a trio of survivors—bloodied and exhausted—tried to charge me together, roaring in rage.

  They were brave.

  I admired that.

  But bravery means little when your opponent feels nothing.

  The first I slashed across the throat—his blood gushed out like a fountain.

  The second tried to backpedal. I threw my katana.

  THUNK!

  It lodged into his skull, dropping him instantly.

  The third tried to scream.

  I broke his jaw with a punch, then crushed his skull underfoot.

  [270/270]

  And suddenly—

  BEEEEP!

  A loud tone echoed across the sky.

  The bloodshed halted.

  The screams faded.

  And those still alive—those few trembling souls—stood frozen.

  "Stop! Quota has been met! You all can stop now."

  Sébastien said.

  After a moment of silence–

  "I survived! I survived!"

  The agonized wail echoed through the blood-soaked clearing.

  Around me, survivors clutched their heads, trembling.

  Some collapsed to their knees, their clothes drenched not just in blood, but in guilt and madness.

  Eyes wide, staring at the massacre that still lingered in the air.

  Shaking bodies. Pale faces. Muffled sobs.

  Some players looked around in disbelief, muttering, “Forgive me… please…” as if saying it enough times might bring back the people they’d slaughtered.

  But nothing would.

  "I lived! I lived!"

  A man beside me screamed like a lunatic, voice cracking, his laughter dripping with hysteria.

  His eyes were bloodshot, his armor dented, and his hands still clenched around a broken weapon.

  He was drenched in blood—some of it his own, most not.

  "Noisy," I muttered under my breath.

  My blade swung lazily.

  Shlick.

  His head dropped to the floor, rolling away like an unwanted toy.

  Blood sprayed in an arc, staining the nearby ground.

  The man’s body collapsed, twitching once before going still.

  "You! I told you all to stop!" came an angry shout.

  Sébastien was storming forward, face red with frustration.

  "Sorry," I said with a casual shrug. "I reacted instinctively to his shout."

  I wiped the blood off my blade on the corpse’s tunic, then sheathed it slowly, like nothing had happened.

  "You!" Sébastien growled, fists clenched.

  His eyes flared with fury, but he didn’t move.

  He knew better.

  "Chief! Forget about it!" Gilbert’s voice rang out, trying to calm the tension. "Let’s move onto the next thing."

  "Yeah, calm down, boss!" Fiona added quickly, her voice tense but placating.

  Sébastien let out a long sigh, massaging his forehead. "Haa… fine!"

  He snapped his fingers with finality.

  FLASH!

  A wave of shimmering light washed over the bloodied field.

  In the blink of an eye, all the corpses—limbs, blood, scattered weapons—vanished. The ground was clean, though the metallic stench of blood still lingered, impossible to erase from our minds.

  And then—

  [You’ve completed the quest!]

  [You’ve rewards are being given!]

  [You’ve obtained 5,000 TP!]

  A soft chime echoed, and a message floated in the air in glowing blue letters.

  "Congratulations everyone!" Sébastien said, spreading his arms. "Now you are all free to enter the Tower!"

  A massive, swirling portal shimmered into existence before us, pulsing with arcane energy.

  It looked like a whirlpool of starlight, beckoning us into the unknown.

  But before anyone could move—

  "But before that, please choose your class!" Sébastien announced.

  "Class?" someone asked, blinking. "How do we choose that?"

  "It’s nothing difficult," Sébastien replied. "You purchase a class using your points. The junior guides—Gilbert, Fiona, and Melissa—will sell them. If you don’t have enough points, that’s okay. You have one week to collect more. You can trade with other players, or hunt monsters."

  A collective murmur ran through the survivors.

  "The cheapest class is 7,000 points, so it’s not hard to afford," Sébastien said. "Now, listen carefully. Let me explain what classes actually do."

  And thus began his long, long lecture.

  Classes, he explained, gave two primary benefits:

  First, you could select two main attributes.

  These attributes would receive +5 points immediately upon selecting a class and gain +1 extra stat point per level.

  You could even choose one of the three attributes if you wanted, but in doing so, you'd have to downgrade a core attribute to an auxiliary one.

  This system offered insane flexibility.

  A swordsman could boost INT and STR together to eventually evolve into a magic swordsman, blending both might and sorcery.

  Second, classes granted you free skills.

  Powerful ones. Unique to the path you chose.

  But other than that?

  Nothing else.

  You were free to mix and match skills from other classes, explore hidden evolutions, and forge your own path.

  Then Sébastien moved onto other things:

  - There were no lackeys to harvest monster corpses for us. We'd need to carve, collect, and sell manually.

  - Shops didn’t need lackeys either—we could open them directly.

  - Monsters in the Tower could learn and level up, just like us.

  - Each floor of the Tower had its own tests, mechanics, and hidden features. Failing to read the environment could lead to death.

  He went on and on—about rules, player inventories, hidden mechanics—but I stopped listening.

  I’d heard enough.

  "You can read the Player Guide Book for the rest," he concluded at last. "So now… let’s start the class selection!"

  Gilbert, Fiona, and Melissa stepped forward, each holding translucent blue tablets.

  The crowd surged toward them.

  Gilbert and Fiona were instantly surrounded.

  I moved toward Melissa instead.

  As I approached, the crowd split open before me.

  Players moved aside like leaves caught in a breeze—silent, fearful, eyes avoiding mine.

  Melissa flinched as I neared.

  She was a timid-looking girl, younger than the others. Her hands trembled as she held up her tablet.

  "U-umm… which class do you want?" she asked nervously.

  A blue screen floated before me.

  There were many classes—Warrior, Swordsman, Berserker, Mage, Thief, Archer, Summoner, even Blood Knight…

  And several mana-based ones too.

  But my mind was already made up.

  I scrolled through the list, ignoring the flashy ones, until I found it.

  "Why are you choosing this class?"

  Sébastien’s voice came from behind me.

  He had walked over silently.

  "It’s a great class, no doubt," he said. "But watching you fight… I feel like Berserker suits you more."

  He wasn’t wrong.

  Berserker was a perfect match for my brutality, my raw physical strength, my overwhelming bloodlust.

  But I wasn’t interested in raw power.

  "Yeah, but I think this class is better," I said.

  My finger tapped on the screen.

  [You’ve selected Runic Scribe as your class!]

  [You’ve used 35,000 TP!]

  My greatest affinity was with Darkness.

  But second to that—

  Was Rune.