<The Tower Strategy of a Han River Man 37>
The tracking mark has no physical form.
It can be thought of as a cluster of minuscule magical energy fragments compressed to prevent unraveling.
Of course, there’s a risk of detection.
If encountered by a knight or mage stronger than its caster.
But would Earth’s humans even notice?
When I first encountered them, I only planted the mark.
I wanted to avoid provoking unnecessary suspicion.
But the next day,
Kossack detected the markers.
Three magical energy fragments hovering near the officetel.
It was clear.
They’d been surveilling this building.
A seemingly ordinary place housing numerous players.
The residence of Summoner Bong.
How dare they scheme here?
A bitter memory surfaced.
The memory of failing to protect his summoner.
For players, the world outside the tower is deadlier than within.
Even the faintest threat must be eradicated at its root.
Among other summoned beings, there existed one who annihilated an entire nation "to protect their summoner."
Better that than risking the world’s end.
Given the chance, he’d do the same without hesitation.
So he’d requested a resummoning under the pretense of watching soccer.
Yes.
He’d lied.
An act he should never—and could never—commit.
But Clause 3 of the Summoned Beings’ Three Principles had already activated.
Thus, the lie gained justification.
What did this imply?
The marked ones were connected to Summoner Bong.
While Summoner Bong slept, Kossack slipped out using stealth skills.
Tracking them proved simple with the markers in place.
John Kossack soon stood before a shuttered massage parlor near the officetel.
A locked door? Child’s play for an assassin.
With minimal noise—
Click—
he infiltrated the marked location undetected.
Eight individuals occupied the room.
Their conversation was unintelligible.
Had they spoken Korean, he’d have understood through his shared language with Summoner Bong,
but language mattered little.
The critical detail lay among photos strewn across the table—one depicting Summoner Bong.
‘Time to work.’
He materialized soundlessly.
Then spoke.
They noticed instantly.
Energy surged through his dagger as he struck the nearest target.
Thwick!
Schlikt!
“Ghk!”
“H-hey!”
“Pin his arms!”
“Shoot the bastard!”
“You little—!”
Thud! Thudthudthudthudthud—!
Did vermin like these even warrant assassination techniques?
One strike, one kill.
Twin daggers pierced chests, hearts reduced to pulp.
Silence reclaimed the room.
Seven corpses.
One survivor.
Deng Guanlin felt trapped in a nightmare.
Where was this? What was this creature?
Korean intelligence? UDT/HID special forces?
Impossible. Neither fit.
This... this was beyond human capability.
‘A ghost.’
Yet the sensation felt familiar.
A memory flashed—
The Black Tower strategy footage.
‘A player.’
If this was a player, did tower abilities function in reality?
Suddenly!
The specter turned its gaze.
Deng staggered backward, legs trembling beyond control.
He’d killed more people than his digits could count.
Trained relentlessly. Seasoned in combat.
Watching a few deaths shouldn’t faze him.
Yet now, primal terror hollowed his mind.
“Only you remain.”
Drip. Drip.
Blood slid from the specter’s blade.
“Apologize. You speak Korean, yes?”
Deng’s response emerged automatically:
“S-sorry...”
Crunch!
The dagger entered through his chin, exiting the skull’s crown.
Kossack verified each corpse—
One beheaded, six heart-shredded, one skewered.
‘Final touch...’
His hand drifted toward the ribbon in his pocket.
“Hah! Almost— hah— tied it.”
Restrain. Restrain.
His signature flourish.
Fingers twitched compulsively, but he crushed the impulse.
A superhuman feat of will.
Fellow assassins would’ve gaped—
No calling card?
‘You Kossack?’
He’d resolved to conceal this.
Had he consulted Summoner Bong, the summoner’s prudent nature would’ve forbidden it.
Yet this was necessary.
He might face reprimand again.
Though likely not dismissal...
‘Sigh.’
Uncertainty lingered.
His position wavered.
Gobang, once R-rank, now SSR-tier tank.
Meanwhile, his own role as assassin grew precarious.
The random summoning date approached.
Trait enhancement might create another slot, but otherwise?
Assassins held limited tower utility.
If cuts were needed...
“Can’t. Won’t allow it.”
He must remain.
Now to depart.
But returning to the officetel? Unthinkable.
Reeking of blood, how dare he taint that sanctum?
‘Still asleep, I hope.’
May Summoner Bong rest deeply—health required proper sleep.
As for himself?
Roam until unsummoned.
※ ※ ※
Juhyuk awoke refreshed.
The silent living room lacked both TV noise and Kossack.
‘Did he enjoy the match?’
First, visit his parents.
Then tackle the tower’s 35th floor.
Arriving at his family home via chauffeured car:
“Your son has arrived.”
Father Bong Soo-cheol frowned.
“Your speech regressed again.”
“Hm? Has it?”
“Good news?”
“This humble one merely shares life’s blessings.”
Mother Hong Geum-ja chuckled:
“Forgot to eat again?”
“Yes!”
“Good. Less chatter during meals.”
Post-meal:
“Need allowance, Mom?”
“I’ll find work soon.”
“Where?”
“A restaurant, perhaps.”
Ah.
Korea’s top player.
A billionaire still failing to pamper his parents.
“Let me transfer—”
“No. Your life-risked earnings stay saved.”
Father Bong mimed depositing into his own chest.
‘Send mine.’
‘Genetics, huh.’
“Ah! Take these.”
Juhyuk produced talismans.
“Three each: health, luck. For parents and Minhyuk.”
“Since when do you believe this?”
“After seeing real shamanic power.”
No lie—he’d witnessed miracles.
“You kept yours?”
“Naturally.”
‘Health for them. Blessings for our home.’
Even minor ones mattered.
※ ※ ※
After returning from his family home, Juhyuk gathered the summoned individuals.
Since the Egg Room had been reborn as the Self-Egg Chamber, they absolutely had to go to the 35th floor.
“With three Self-Eggs, reaching the 40th floor with an S++ rating should be no problem, right? Or are we still lacking?”
“You underestimate us. We could clear up to the 50th floor with ease.”
Oh!
It seemed the Egg Room’s transformation into the Self-Egg Chamber truly was remarkable.
“But from the 51st floor onward, the S++ strategy…”
I know.
Giant flying monsters.
Griffons and wyverns that use feather attacks or breath weapons.
They’re strong enough to prey on minotaurs and ogres, their flight makes them troublesome, and they wield magic alongside physical strength.
Regardless, I plan to summon another ally around the 40th floor.
Everything hinges on whether the trait enhancement activates.
That’s why I stuck a talisman inside my underwear—don’t ask.
If quantity mattered, I’d have covered myself in them, but apparently one talisman works as well as a hundred.
“Let’s move. Time to hunt the Minotaur King.”
“Yes!”
[Entering the 35th floor of South Korea’s Black Tower.]
The mission:
[35th Floor Mission: Eliminate 80 minotaurs of any type and 1 Minotaur King.]
[Time Limit: 13 hours.]
[Completion Status: All minotaurs 0/80, Minotaur King 0/1]
Good grief,
that’s a horde.
White coats, black coats, spotted, small, large.
I glanced sideways at Cossack, his face rigid as he stared straight ahead.
His resolve seemed unshakable.
Abandoning his usual flattery, he drew twin daggers and channeled sword energy while muttering:
“Can’t be discarded. Absolutely can’t be discarded. I’ll remain till the end. Till the end.”
What’s this about?
Who’s discarding whom?
Did he snap suddenly?
He wasn’t even betting on sports matches.
Clang-clang-clang!
Gyundallae’s bell announced the start of the 35th-floor mission.
Right then—
Fwip!
Cossack shot forward like a bullet.
He instantly vaulted onto a level 3 minotaur, slitting its throat before lunging at another target.
‘Hmm.’
Why’s Cossack acting like this again?
Shouldn’t he hunt safely?
He could just scavenge behind the Egg Room.
Did prolonged idleness make him restless?
‘What should I do?’
Focus on level 1 or 2 minotaurs.
Zzt!
Energy shield activated. Hand shield and mace ready.
The summoned ones’ anxious glances prickled at me, but—
“Who am I? The genius who mastered aerial shadow-stepping!”
Before they intervene, I’ll bag a few.
Slash!
Swish! Swish!
But then—
“ROOOOAR!”
The Minotaur King stormed onto the battlefield, hefting a colossal axe.
Already?
“Seriously?! I just got started!”
The Self-Egg Chamber charged the moment the King appeared—
Skreee!
It smashed into the King at horrifying speed.
Crunch!
“Ugh—”
The King became a bloody ragdoll, sent soaring.
Its axe spun away as the King flew through the air.
‘…’
The Self-Egg Chamber was blatantly overpowered.
At least for the 30th floors.
[Notice: S++ rating achieved on Korea’s Black Tower Floor 35!]
[S++ Reward: Platinum Badge awarded.]
Now for the special reward.
Please!
※ ※ ※
A police line cordoned off a building in Seoul’s nightlife district.
The closed shop had become a mass murder scene.
A mail carrier noticed a metallic stench from the ajar door that morning.
Suspecting blood, he alerted the police.
Homicide detectives stared at the carnage, faces stiff with shock.
Another mass killing.
Too soon after the last.
“Could this link to the SmileCash case? That was a mass murder too.”
“Hard to say. Only one victim had a clean neck slice. Most were heart or head shots, and crucially—no ribbon.”
But the surgical neck cut was a shared trait.
“Any CCTV?”
“None in the shop. The convenience store across only caught victims entering and exiting.”
“Ugh. This’ll be a nightmare.”
Another unprecedented massacre.
The media would descend like vultures.
The police would face brutal criticism.
“Captain.”
“Yeah?”
“Look at this.”
“Hm?”
A detective pulled an item from a victim.
“Tokarev pistol.”
“What?”
The most cloned handgun worldwide.
Extremely common.
“Another here… These guys each carried one?”
But the pistols weren’t the oddest find.
Combat knives, syringes of clear liquid, rope, duct tape, restraint cuffs…
And photos strewn across the floor.
Close-ups of a face—about ten copies.
Who was this?
“The killers are shady, but the victims seem shadier.”
The captain nodded grimly.
“IDs?”
“All had them.”
“Run checks.”
Minutes later:
“Captain, this is weird.”
“How?”
“IDs are fake. Real names exist in the database, but the photos don’t match.”
“…Expected.”
Who are these bastards?
Not Korean, by the look.
Illegal workers? No way—workers don’t pack heat.
Gangsters? Unlikely.
We monitor all local crews.
Domestic or foreign.
The captain eyed the syringes.
Likely drugs or sedatives.
‘They planned to kidnap someone.’
Who?
The person in these photos.
“Contact HQ. Get the NIS to send an agent.”
When the NIS agent arrived:
“Appreciate your efforts. The victims?”
“This way.”
“Understood.”
The stench of blood assaulted him upon entry.
Handkerchief pressed to his nose, he examined bodies until—
“…Huh?”
His gaze dropped to the scattered photos.
He mechanically picked them up, one after another—
“Fuck!”
The curse tore through the room.
The agent’s eyes turned glacial.
His face hardened to stone.
“Captain.”
“Yes.”
“Media’s unaware?”
“Should be.”
“We’re taking over. This is NIS jurisdiction.”
That day, the NIS and Awakening Management Agency plunged into chaos.
