Chapter 112: The Worst Trump Card

“Shit, shit, shit.” Kael cursed as his brain was feeling the rush of a thousand bulls going through it while red dots by the dozen were coming down the stairs a few floors above.

The world still hadn’t fully settled after that last swing.

His vision felt too sharp at the edges, like the air had teeth.

The staircase in front of him was suddenly the only thing that existed, a narrow mouth that kept spitting out danger.

He could see the red dots stacking on the mini-map like an incoming tide, and he could almost hear the building answering them with creaks and groans, as if it knew something was running down its bones.

“Kael! You alright!” he heard from below.

A green dot was moving up the stairs from underneath.

Peter seemed to be going up the stairs. And in his situation, Kael was exhausted, mentally spent with one swing.

He couldn’t help but laugh at the grim situation.

It wasn’t a happy laugh. It was the kind that slipped out when your body couldn’t decide whether to puke or keep standing.

It came out dry, a short bark that hurt his throat. He had enemies coming from above, and now he had a “helper” coming from below. Perfect.

“Just my fucking luck…”

The mere action of swinging the Axe with the gauntleted fist allowed it to use a spell he didn’t even think or want to use.

’A new Runic word? What kind of bullshit is that,’ he cursed inwardly as he tried to remain focused but was failing more than succeeding.

His fingers tightened around the axe haft.

The warmth from earlier was still there, but it felt wrong now. Not comforting. Not reliable. Like holding something that might decide to explode again if he breathed too hard.

After all, he did understand what happened.

He wasn’t a fool, and couldn’t act like he didn’t.

But it still happened.

The rune of Fire. It wasn’t a rune that said [Fire Ball] But it said fire.

The axe was fire imbued and was capable of channeling mana.

The reason why the axe became heavy as hell mid swing wasn’t just random.

Kael spent a long time of his life working in buildings; he knew things didn’t simply get several times heavier by themselves.

His mind, even while ringing and aching, still latched onto logic the way a drowning man latched onto driftwood.

Cause and effect. Inputs. Outputs. If he could understand it, he could control it. If he couldn’t control it, it would kill him.

’It was the heft rune. And that wasn’t just once, or twice the weight, that was dozens of times the weight.’ He realized that heft also applied to his axe.

And when that happened, that also meant one more thing.

Heft’s passive effect, besides the weight, also applied.

Doubling the cost of the mana that was funneled into the Fire rune, and then that was doubled more when it shot out from something that wasn’t supposed to shoot fire.

The result? A state close to collapse on the axe that he just obtained. His mana tanking, and his mind feeling like it was being kicked by a pack of mules that were standing in line waiting their turns.

He swallowed hard, jaw tight, trying to get his body to stop wobbling between pain and nausea.

He could still stand. He could still move. He could still fight. But he could also still fall.

The problem was he had enemies on both sides. Though Peter was human, he too would become a hunter if he saw Kael weakened.

Kael didn’t need to turn around to feel the risk.

The tower taught people fast. Green dots didn’t mean “friendly.” They meant “alive.”

Alive things got ideas. Most of the time, bad ones.

Alive things got greedy. Most of the time, all the time.

And Kael had just demonstrated he carried things worth taking.

Kael grunted as he tried to lift the axe from the floor. It looked cracked and about to break.

The metal protested as he pulled. It came free with a harsh scrape, and when he lifted it, he saw it clearly. Hairline fractures along the head, stress marks like spiderwebs. One more heavy swing and it might split apart in his hand. One more bad interaction with his Runic Gauntlet, and it might turn into scrap while goblins poured down on him.

Without wasting time, he pulled out Brokk’s hammer and began striking at the Fire-imbued Axe.

He didn’t swing hard. He didn’t need to. The hammer was a cheat that listened to intent more than muscle.

The first tap made the cracks twitch as if they were alive.

The second made them retreat. The third sealed them, smoothing the surface until it looked as if it had never been damaged at all.

He could see it visibly change. Returning to new, all that lost durability was fixed in a few swings.

The thought of using [Flame Wave] crossed his mind, but just as the thought settled in, one of the mules in Ludwig’s head kicked it immediately.

The cost was too damn much. And he doesn’t have the mana to afford doing stuff like that again. It might sound like a good ’Ultimate’ or hidden card. But miss it once, and he’d no longer be a living body in the Reverse Tower, but a well-welcome dead man in a deadman’s wonderland.

The axe’s edge regained its clean line. The head stopped looking tired. It looked ready again.

Without wasting time, Kael pulled out the Rune Gauntlet and put it in his inventory for later.

The decision tasted like bitterness.

That gauntlet had been his pride. His proof. His weapon and his tool and his insurance policy. But right now it was a liability.

He couldn’t use it with the axe as he needed the latter, and he couldn’t use the gauntlet as he was out of mana. All he had was his body.

And the axe. And a staircase.

Peter finally arrived on Kael’s floor, panting, huffing, and puffing. A foolish risk for someone to take. Running up a den of monsters completely out of stamina is how you die without a chance to fight back.

He looked up at Kael like someone arriving late to a disaster and hoping it was a joke.

“What was that explosion? And what the hell happened in the lower floors, shit is burnt to a crisp,” he said.

Kael forced his face to stay neutral. Forced his voice to stay steady. He could feel how close he was to sounding wrong, sounding weak.

“Was like that before I got here,” Kael said as he tried his best not to sound mentally exhausted.

The lie was smooth enough. Peter didn’t need details. Details created questions. Questions created attention. Attention created problems.

“Also, why did you run up here?” Kael said.

He kept his eyes on the stairs while he spoke, not giving Peter the satisfaction of a full look. Peter was behind him and below. Above him was the real threat.

“Thought I’d help you,” Peter said.

Kael almost snorted. Help. In the tower, help was usually a synonym for “be near you when you die.”

“When you’re panting like this from a few floors, I told you if something kills me here, it’ll kill you too,” Kael said as the first goblin emerged from the upper floor, it was running down the stairs with quite the speed, as it had an open mouth and a flailing long wart filled tongue to match the ugliness of such a disgusting creature.

The goblin’s excitement was obvious. It wasn’t cautious. It wasn’t stalking. It was sprinting, convinced it was about to find food, that screamed and ran.

The hyena-like laughter of the goblin that thought there was easy food didn’t last long, as his body slid all the way to fall next to Peter’s feet, while it didn’t realize that it was decapitated the moment it walked down the stairs.

Kael’s swing was economical. No flourish. No wasted motion. The blade met flesh, then met air, and the goblin’s head separated so cleanly it took a step before its body understood it had already died.

[You have obtained one Soul Core.]

The notification was almost insulting in its calmness compared to the reality of blood spraying against cracked concrete.

Peter could only look in shock.

His eyes tracked the goblin corpse, then the axe, then Kael’s hand, like his brain couldn’t decide which part was the most wrong.

“Told you, didn’t need your help, you were better off staying outside…”

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