The Tower of the Nameless Man: Strategy 32
Meat tastes best when eaten at a proper meat restaurant.
Occasionally, grilling outdoors is fine, but that's mostly about the atmosphere.
Fortunately, there was a meat restaurant nearby.
A specialty Korean beef rib restaurant.
Looking at the sign outside: Raw ribs - 100,000 won per 200g.
‘Hmm...’
It was a high-end establishment.
Of course, some places charge 150,000 or 170,000 won, but this one was no less impressive.
Gobang would likely devour over 10kg, so the bill would start at 5 million won?
‘Did I pick too expensive a spot?’
But turning back now would ruin my dignity.
The summoned ones were already buzzing with excitement, muttering “beef, beef!” under their breaths.
‘Ugh!’
Why stress over something so trivial?
Think of how much money they’ve earned me!
We entered the restaurant.
No one stared oddly at us.
In a quiet tatami room:
“Gobang, sit down slowly. You’ll crack the floor.”
Ding-dong!
After ringing the bell, I called out:
“Um... Could we get 20 servings of raw ribs, please?”
“20 servings?”
“And 10 bottles of drinks, plus... uh, four plates of yukhoe...”
“Understood!”
Phew.
Order placed cleanly.
First hurdle cleared.
I’d ordered at restaurants before, but never this much.
‘20 servings of ribs and 4 plates of yukhoe should suffice for starters, right?’
I gripped my card, ready in case they questioned my ability to pay.
“Impressive, Summoner Bong! Do you frequent places like this?”
“Hahaha! Not this exact spot, but I used to visit similar ones daily.”
“Hehe! Respect! Eating such premium beef every day!”
Gobang shot envious glances, while Gyundallae nodded vigorously.
Did they think I actually ate at those expensive places?
More like I worked there—serving and scrubbing grills.
He’d quit his part-time meat shop job after becoming a player.
“Hmph! Eat up. I’ll handle the grilling.”
Gyundallae jolted in alarm:
“No, my lord! How could we let you perform such lowly tasks? Leave it to us!”
“I grill meat better than anyone. Just eat quietly.”
“But still...”
“Is that an order?”
“Your exalted command shall be obeyed!”
What did they take me for—a former part-timer turned grillmaster?
As we chatted, the door slid open.
Side dishes arrived first, followed by charcoal and meat.
But—
‘Huh?’
This wasn’t raw ribs.
Marinated ribs?
We’d ordered 20 servings, but the portions looked pitiful.
‘Hmm...’
Awkward.
Starting with marinated ribs broke all conventions.
Raw first, then marinated—that’s the rule!
“Summoner Bong, what troubles you? Your face darkens.”
“They brought the wrong meat...”
“Gasp! What shall we do?”
“I’m considering.”
“But these look tasty too!”
Really?
Just eat them?
No.
Customers have the right to complain when orders are wrong.
This isn’t being difficult—it’s basic fairness.
“Let’s call the server.”
“Yes! Show them who Summoner Bong is!”
“Give them a proper scolding!”
Ding-dong!
The server arrived:
“Would you like drinks?”
“No—the meat is incorrect. Please check.”
“Huh? Oh! My apologies! We’ll replace it immediately!”
Phew.
Second hurdle cleared.
Fresh meat sizzled on the grill—gone instantly as Gobang snatched five pieces.
“You glutton! Have some decorum in front of our lord!”
Juhyeok shoved a lettuce wrap into Gyundallae’s mouth:
“Good?”
She nodded, chewing furiously.
Kossack added:
“The princess speaks truth! That ‘Meat Shield’ Gobang aims to become one with beef!”
So what?
Where else would we splurge?
With a 2-billion-won salary, magic stone profits, holy sword rentals netting 10 billion from the Management Bureau plus international fees—we could buy a damn cattle ranch!
“Enough chatter! Gobang’s stuffing his face silently—follow his lead!”
He ate mechanically, even swallowing undercooked meat whole:
“Rare meat’s fine. My stomach’s tough.”
‘Tough’? More like barbarian digestion!
We kept ordering.
True to his “Meat Shield” title, Gobang inhaled servings at lightning speed.
By the 70th serving, the owner approached nervously:
“Sir... Your orders are excessive...”
Finally!
I’d waited for this.
Slapping my card down:
“Charge me incrementally. Swipe extra upfront if needed.”
“Oh! Thank you!”
Flexing felt good.
The feast continued until we’d devoured ~150 servings across every cut—sirloin, tenderloin, short ribs—even requiring wholesale imports from other stores.
Total: 12.68 million won.
Even for a flex, this was absurd.
The owner handed me his card, begging us to return for a “YouTuber mukbang.”
Mukbang? Unlikely.
Next time, a cheaper joint.
Post-meal, we strolled, ate dessert, and hit a coin karaoke.
Juhyeok grew livelier—when had I last hung out like this?
Never.
At dusk, we dismissed the summons in a secluded spot.
I returned alone to my officetel, hat pulled low.
Beep. The card key clicked.
Elite players shouldn’t roam unguarded, but the guards saw only another resident.
No one noticed—not even the cops or Bureau staff among them.
CCTV? Only reviewed after incidents.
‘Heh. Feels spy-ish.’
Like a thriller protagonist.
Home sweet home.
Tomorrow: Floor 33.
The next morning:
“Meat’s fueled us—let’s move!”
“Raaaah! Energy overflowing!”
“We’ll repay your generosity with zeal!”
“The Meat Warrior arrives!”
I scoffed.
Look at their grease-smeared faces.
※ ※ ※
The Awakened Management Bureau buzzed at dawn.
Team leaders Lee Min-ah and Jeon Gwang-il anxiously awaited Player Nam Ga-eun’s exit from Floor 65.
Would she clear it smoothly again?
In three days: the pivotal Floor 66 raid.
Timeframe shortened—two months remained.
But with holy swords secured, haste was unnecessary.
However, they decided to conquer the 66th floor as quickly as possible.
Why?
Japan’s repeated failures to conquer the 57th floor of their Black Tower had a significant impact.
Though I secretly felt smug that Yoo Cheol-min was the one failing, witnessing the despair of our neighboring country firsthand made it impossible to stay indifferent.
In Korea, public anxiety was also escalating.
The political sphere demanded swift action.
Commissioner Park Kyung-soo’s bold pledge to resolve it within a month further fueled the decision.
After lengthy debates, they agreed to conquer the floor early to buy six months of time.
By then, Player Bong Joo-hyuk would have enough time to reach the 60th-floor tier.
Coincidentally, the U.S. had inquired about holy sword rentals.
The plan was to clear the 66th floor quickly, secure those six months, then launch full-scale holy sword rentals.
Rental fees would flow entirely into Bong Joo-hyuk’s account, while other lucrative deals negotiated by the state would remain theirs.
Those perks might even outweigh direct profits.
For these reasons, the accelerated 66th-floor conquest was finalized.
Now, only Player Nam Ga-eun needed to clear the 65th floor.
“Can Player Bong Joo-hyuk manage without a holy sword once he reaches the 60th-floor tier?”
“Look at Yoo Cheol-min. Even that amateur cleared up to the 65th floor without one. Gerald Watson from the U.S. reached the 66th.”
“Ah!”
“Do you think Bong is less talented than Gerald Watson?”
“Of course not! Absolutely not.”
“He’s an anomaly. With just a few light-attribute items, he could sprint to the 70th floor. The player who conquered the Black Tower with 32 consecutive S++ ranks…”
In an instant!
Lee Min-ah’s expression turned blank.
“Wait.”
“What?”
“You’re mistaken, Team Leader.”
“What?”
Mistaken?
“It’s not 32 consecutive.”
“What nonsense? The entire nation knows he has 32 consecutive S++ clears— Oh!”
Right.
Team Leader Lee Min-ah was a player herself.
So…?
“…Another update?”
“Yes. The system just announced his 33rd consecutive S++ clear.”
“…Hm. Right. My mistake.”
“Regardless, his status as an outlier remains accurate.”
In an instant!
Whooosh!
A swirl of light gathered—
Spot!
Nam Ga-eun materialized.
Six hours had passed.
“Ta-daa!”
Player Nam Ga-eun grinned, holding a holy sword in one hand and flashing a V-sign with the other.
Yet she looked slightly fatigued.
She retrieved a healing potion from her inventory and gulped it down.
“Phew, that was close. Burp!”
After a refreshing belch, she added,
“Today was… a bit tough.”
“…Should we delay the 66th floor?”
“I said a bit! Just a bit!”
Still, her exhaustion tugged at their sympathy.
If only we could enhance her traits one more time…
“Push a little harder.”
“Yes, sir!”
At least she’d succeeded.
“PR team, prepare the press release. Start editing the bodycam footage.”
The next target: South Korea’s Black Tower, 66th floor.
Clearing this would buy them six months.
※ ※ ※
Most nations, including South Korea, do not forcibly contract players.
They rely entirely on individual choice—whether elite team contracts or standard ones.
Coercion is legally prohibited and risks backlash.
Yet one nation once conscripted players by force: India, the first country to experience a tower’s collapse.
Blinded by the tower’s magic stones, the Indian government lured players into imprisonment, forcing them into conquests.
Resisters were beaten with clubs.
There was no escape—even exiting the tower returned them to captivity.
Initially, this boosted magic stone production beyond China’s.
But proper rewards for players? Unthinkable.
Three meals a day were a luxury.
The result? Indian players died to monsters or chose suicide—their only escape.
Newly awakened players hid their status and fled abroad.
Mass naturalizations followed: Pakistan, Malaysia, Europe, China, Japan, even South Korea.
As player numbers dwindled, unclaimed floors piled up.
Finally, the Mumbai Tower collapsed.
Only then did India revoke conscription, granting freedom and fair compensation—too late.
Yet another nation still enforces conscription: North Korea.
How?
North Korea has no tower.
Its players belong to South Korea’s Black Tower.
A blow to their sovereign pride, but they turned it into an opportunity.
Let South Korea handle tower defense; they’d simply reap the benefits.
Why bother climbing unclaimed floors? The South would do it anyway.
South Korea couldn’t block North Korean players from entering their tower.
Magic stones earned by Northern players became state property.
Compliant ones received Communist Party titles and medals; resisters were sent to labor camps to extract stones.
Thus, newly awakened North Korean players?
They defect—mostly to China, some to South Korea.
What of China?
They operate similarly to others: free civilian players and state-sponsored elites.
But another category exists: forcibly naturalized players.
The government denies this, of course.
In an opulent gold-adorned room, a gaunt man reviewed documents.
His skeletal frame and icy demeanor made subordinates tread carefully.
“Vice Director. Reporting as summoned.”
The man tossed a file.
“This is…?”
“A roster of South Korea’s Elite Team players.”
“How did you—?”
“Why would you need to know?”
“M-my apologies.”
The Vice Director lit a cigarette from a red pack and exhaled smoke.
“Find suitable targets. Prioritize those capable of clearing the 59th floor or newly contracted. Avoid high-profile names.”
“Yes, sir!”
“Leave no evidence. The state will disavow you.”
“Understood!”
As the subordinate saluted and left, Vice Director Xiao Jun of China’s Special Intelligence Bureau didn’t glance up.
China’s progress: 58th floor cleared, 59th underway.
48 days remained until Shanghai’s Black Tower deadline.
Failure meant collapse of two other towers—and three new ones emerging.
Yet state-trained players couldn’t clear the 59th floor.
The crisis had persisted since the 56th-floor wyverns.
China’s solution? Naturalization policies.
Voluntary, temporary… and forced.
Talent scouts approached foreign players; if negotiations failed, abduction squads intervened.
Targets: Mongolia, Laos, Cambodia, Nepal, Bhutan, Africa—weaker nations.
Forced naturalization. Kidnapping.
It worked, propelling them from the 56th to the 59th floor.
But progress stalled there.
Even “talented” abductees couldn’t break through.
Recently, South Korea joined the target list.
Should’ve done this sooner.
Xiao Jun scoffed, recalling Japan’s blunder.
“We’re not fools like them. Publicly recruiting naturalized players? No wonder they’re humiliated.”
Players were mere civilians.
Abduct, torture, coax, forge citizenship, deploy.
To Xiao Jun, this was efficiency.
If exposed?
Who would dare challenge China? Unless it’s Russia or America…
