Chapter 181: Impossible.

After Rambo had finished his devouring of blood. Without another word, Ethan stepped forward.

The portal shimmered with violet and silver light, humming with latent power. As his body crossed the threshold, the aura around him flared with brilliance, bathing the whole battlefield in crimson-gold light.

…

The thirty-first step he took wasn’t a physical one, but one into a realm that pulsed with finality.

When the light cleared, Ethan found himself back in the arena. The very first arena. But this time… it was different.

The sky overhead was a shimmering obsidian dome. The crowd of illusionary watchers had vanished. The stands that once trembled with phantom roars were silent. Time itself felt suspended.

In front of him stood a creature that made him shiver—not from fear, but from a deep, primal instinct buried in the oldest parts of his being.

It was tall—towering nearly four meters—cloaked in a shifting mass of obsidian-black flesh, tendrils twitching at its sides like breathing serpents. Its eyes were slits of deep crimson, each filled with intelligence and malice. Its claws curved like reapers’ scythes, and its presence radiated finality.

A predator.

Pure. Ancient. Hungry.

Ethan’s frown deepened. He opened his mouth to speak, but the tower beat him to it.

[Congratulations! You have reached the highest floor in the Tower of Death!][Your power knows no bounds, climber Ethan Brandon.]

He blinked.

The highest floor?

He turned his gaze slowly, observing the space once again.

Everything, the sheer silence, the oppressive pressure, the creature standing before him—it all felt like a finality. An end.

The tower had never spoken in such a voice before. Calm. Collected. A tone reserved only for endings… or beginnings.

Ethan narrowed his eyes.

“All this time…” he muttered, realisation dawning.

The merchant he’d spoken to—the one who claimed the tower had a hundred floors, countless realms of pain and challenge—had been wrong. Dead wrong.

And Ethan knew why. It made sense.

The tower had never told anyone how many floors it truly had.

The rumor that there were 100 floors? Pure hearsay. Probably born out of desperation. A need to create meaning in the chaos. And when the tower itself remained silent, people filled in the gaps with superstition, speculation, and false certainty.

But now, here on the 30th floor, with his name being called by the tower itself, that illusion shattered.

This was the peak. The summit of a structure built to test the very limits of will, power, and survival.

And it all made sense.

Nobody had ever climbed this high; he was the first.

So they guessed.

And their guesses built legends. Legends that Ethan had just broken through.

He stood now not as a mere saint-rank awakener… but as the only man to reach the tower’s summit.

His name would be carved into the truth itself.

He looked again at the monster in front of him.

The creature hadn’t moved. It waited, silent and still. Like it knew this wasn’t just another fight—it was the fight. The one written into the core of the tower itself.

A predator of the tower’s own making.

Something born not just to test him… but perhaps, to end him.

Ethan stood motionless. His breathing even, eyes narrowed, pulse steady despite the chaos that radiated from the beast in front of him like the beating heart of a dying star.

<Ferocious Beast: Chaos Behemoth><Rank: Monarch><Talent: Space (SSS)>

The words hung in the air like scripture carved by divine will.

Monarch.No prefixes. No qualifiers. No “Low,” “Mid,” “High,” or even “Peak.”Just Monarch.

Ethan’s eyes narrowed. That was all the confirmation he needed. This wasn’t a being trying to climb. This was a being that had nothing left to climb.

It was the apex.

And then the second truth struck him like a blade to the gut: SSS-ranked Space talent.

S+ was considered the pinnacle in the world. The only being that he had seen with SSS-Rank talent was Rambo. With his blood monarch talent.

But even Rambo cannot compare to the behemoth in front of him at the monarch rank.

It defied the very limits of comprehension.

He studied the creature more carefully now. It hadn’t moved. It hadn’t spoken. Its obsidian body shimmered faintly, like the void between stars. Its claws flexed lazily, but the movement warped the space around it—lines bent, angles twisted, the air groaned.

It didn’t need to roar. It didn’t need to charge. It simply existed—and that was threat enough.

The silence pressed in around him like a closing tomb. And then, as if stirred by his unspoken questions, the Tower offered its final message:

[You have the opportunity to stay or leave.]

A simple but final prompt.

Ethan’s gaze flicked from the towering beast to the swirling portal behind him. No wind. No sound. Not even a flicker of mana. Just a glowing, silent door… offering escape.

His jaw clenched. From the goblins to the Night Monarch, from the Peak-Saint to the swarm of low-ranked Saints—he had torn through them all, claimed their power, and devoured their legacy.

But this… this was different.

Ethan was strong now—absurdly strong. A Peak-Saint with multiple S-rank talents and a fused SS-rank physical body. His stats dwarfed what most in the world could even dream of.

And yet, all that strength meant nothing here.

This wasn’t a fight. It would be a slaughter.

His slaughter.

Because the Tower hadn’t designed the Chaos Behemoth to be beaten.

It had designed it to watch the gate.

Maybe it was never meant to be fought.Maybe it was there to keep even the strongest in check.To remind anyone who climbed this far that even those at the top bled… if they were foolish enough to overreach.

Ethan exhaled slowly. Not in frustration. Not in anger. But in understanding.

He’d climbed to the top. He’d shattered records. Transcended mortal limits. His name would be engraved in the fabric of the Tower forever.

But this… this wasn’t his fight. Not yet.

He looked at the Behemoth one last time.

It didn’t react. Didn’t taunt him. Didn’t lunge or growl.

It just… waited.

Like it knew.

Like it understood that true power wasn’t always about swinging harder—but knowing when not to.

Ethan turned to the portal. With each step away from the beast, his heart felt lighter—not out of relief, but resolve.

Because this wasn’t the end.

It was a pause.

He’d return one day.

When he was ready.

When he could match Monarch for Monarch.

And maybe, even then, it wouldn’t be enough.

But next time… he wouldn’t run.

He stepped through the portal.

Light swallowed him whole.

And the Tower of Death stood silent once again.

…

The moment Ethan stepped through the portal, light bled from his body like mist, and the once-muted roar of the outside world came crashing down on him all at once.

He was back.

The Tower of Death loomed behind him, its obsidian spires stretching skyward like spears piercing the heavens. But it was no longer silent. The area surrounding the base of the tower was packed—hundreds, perhaps thousands of people gathered at its perimeter, forming a semi-circle of stunned silence.

They had been waiting.

Lords from various factions stood rigid, guards posted near carriages and platforms. Banners fluttered in the wind.

But all eyes now focused on him.

The figure who emerged unscathed. Alone. Radiating pressure so intense the very ground seemed to resist him.

Ethan Brandon.

Whispers erupted like wildfire.

“It’s him…””He survived! Alone?””God… look at his aura…””It’s been over a year!””He reached the 29th floor of the Tower… He broke it, he really broke the 25th floor curse.”

The murmurs turned into excitement, awe, and fear. But Ethan wasn’t interested.

His eyes scanned the crowd swiftly.

No sign of Seraphina. No sight of Magnus.

He stepped forward slowly, his cloak brushing the dust at his feet, the silence moving with him.

He walked up to a familiar figure near the front—one of the merchants who often waited outside the tower, his face now pale with disbelief.

“…What year is it?” Ethan asked, his voice calm, smooth—but with a sharp edge.

The man blinked, stammering slightly. “Y-Year 10,254… fifth month, sir.”

Ethan’s brow rose.

’A full year and a month?’

He had entered 10,253 in, fourth month.

His battles had felt long, intense. Many floors stretched beyond the constraints of time itself—especially with the way the tower twisted space and battlefields to suit its trials. Still… thirteen months?

He hadn’t realized it had been that long.

He closed his eyes briefly, calculating. He had to return to his territory. His people. If this long had passed, anything could have happened.

Before any more questions could come.

Before the press of the crowd could encroach.

Ethan vanished.

One instant, he stood before them, cloak billowing in the wind and the next, a burst of light shimmered where his form had been.

Gasps filled the air.

“Where did he go?!””He’s gone!””Teleportation?!”

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