CHAPTER 211: 8TH FLOOR [1]

Chapter 207: 8 th Floor [1]

Gideon’s lips curled into a slow, wide, chilling smile. It was the first time I’d seen him look genuinely excited, not just anxious or curious.

He understood the profound, disturbing utility of my order. I was asking him to weaponize the Tower’s own history against a living team.

"A pre-set decay field," he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction.

"Targeting their lungs and mobility. It will be temporary, but absolute chaos."

"Exactly," I said. "We need to hit them before they expect us, and we need them slowed. I need the debuff active in five seconds. Can you sustain it?"

"I can," he confirmed.

His hands, pale as marble, extended towards the ground they were standing on, but he didn’t move. He channeled his mana—a sickly, purple-black energy—downward, feeding it into the coordinates where Magnus and his core team were clustered.

He was silent for three seconds. Then, a barely perceptible shimmer of green, fetid vapor rose from the concrete beneath Team Ironclad’s feet. It was faint, not a blinding cloud, but a low-lying, persistent miasma.

The [Corpse-bloom: Miasma Field] was set.

Seraphina watched the exchange, her hand frozen on her bowstring.

She hadn’t heard the detailed coordinates or the explanation, but she saw Gideon, our supposed weakest link, perform an impossible act of environmental mana manipulation.

She saw the miasma rise from nothing. Her eyes widened, her entire body rigid with shock.

Precognition.

That was the only word that could explain it. Michael didn’t just guess they were there; he knew the precise square footage they would occupy, and he knew the exact utility skill Gideon needed to break their formation.

The respect she had for me was no longer grudging; it was turning into awe-tinged terror.

"Magnus is moving!" Alex barked, his eyes on the main gate.

Magnus, impatient, had decided to start the show. He was surging forward, mace raised, leading his team towards the empty road.

He was going to lure a weak team out, or simply declare the path clear.

But as he took his third step, he ran directly into the cloud of decay.

"Ghh—cough! What in the hells?!" Magnus choked, stopping dead.

The miasma was instantly effective. The debuff hit them all:

[System Taint]: Mobility reduced by 25%.

Mana flow disrupted by 10%.

And a persistent [Coughing Fit] debuff, preventing high-focus spellcasting.

Magnus’s tank stumbled, trying to clear his throat.

The rogues began to rub their eyes, their concealment spells flickering with the disruption.

The entire, tightly-knit formation instantly dissolved into a chaos of hacking and disoriented movement.

"They’re slowed! They’re blinded!" Seraphina whispered, her voice tight with disbelief. "It’s working!"

"It’s working perfectly," I confirmed. I gave them one second to fully realize their position, to turn their heads toward the real threat.

"Seraphina. Left Tower. Twins. Right Tower. Target: Neutralize."

My voice was a low, cold command that Seraphina obeyed instantly, her shock forgotten, replaced by a surge of adrenaline.

TWANG!

Her arrow, charged with a faint wind essence, flew not at the archer’s torso, but at the delicate tension joint of the water tower’s railing.

The thin metal shrieked and snapped. The left archer, startled by the noise, lost footing and tumbled from the high perch.

No need to kill him—the fall, and the chaos, were enough.

On the right tower, Finn and Freya materialized. Their daggers didn’t need to strike.

They just used the raw edge of their Shadow affinity to blast the archer’s arrow hand with dark, corrosive energy.

The archer screamed, dropping his bow, and dissolved into data particles when he hit the concrete.

"The snipers are down!" I roared. "Alex! Kaelen! Now! Hammer, engage!"

We burst from the pipe-wall..

Alex led the charge, a juggernaut of pure, absolute trust.

He slammed into Magnus’s tank, who was still coughing, disoriented by the miasma.

The tank didn’t even see him coming.

BOOM!

The sound of Alex’s upgraded [Shield Bash] sent the enemy tank staggering into his own commander.

I bypassed the struggling frontline. I didn’t waste time on the stunned rogues.

My target was singular, clear, and paralyzed by tactical confusion.

Magnus Daven.

He saw me coming—a dark blur emerging from the smoke.

His eyes were wide with pure, unfiltered rage and disbelief.

He swung his mace wildly, blindly, attempting to clear the miasma and smash the threat.

"WILSON!" he bellowed, the sound choked by the corrosive air.

I moved with cold, mechanical efficiency. [Swift Step].

I blurred under his clumsy, slow C-Rank swing, Draken’s blade flashing not to strike, but to [Frost Edge] his exposed ankle.

The sudden cold and the lightning-fast movement destabilized his posture.

He was a statue with broken feet. He fell forward, face-first, his weapon clattering harmlessly away into the sludge.

I stood over him, my breath steady, my [Aura Dominion] humming, keeping the miasma from touching my lungs.

"Coward?" I asked, looking down at the commoner champion, who lay defeated in the poisoned dirt.

"I call it... pre-emptive efficiency."

[ Team Ironclad Defeated ]

[ Bonus: Flawless Counter-Ambush ]

Magnus’s form began to flicker, his last act a furious, desperate glare directed at me.

The hatred burning in his eyes solidified, becoming an immovable pillar of rivalry. He dissolved.

My team stood in the sudden, absolute quiet of the courtyard.

Seraphina lowered her bow, her gaze fixed not on the piles of ash that had been the enemy team, but on Gideon, then on the ground where the green miasma was already fading, and finally on me.

She walked over, her posture rigid, her face pale. She didn’t speak.

She just looked at me, her eyes wide with a stunned, profound realization.

She had witnessed something that defied the rules of this world—a commoner who not only knew the future but used it to set a trap that was impossible to escape.

"We... we wiped them," Alex whispered, his voice thick with awe.

"Chief, they were C-Rank... and they didn’t even touch us."

"We fought smart," I said, sheathing Draken.

"Now, let’s loot the cache. We have a schedule to keep."

I walked toward the hidden chest Magnus had been guarding, leaving my team standing in the toxic silence, their disbelief cementing into absolute, unquestioning belief in their leader’s impossible brilliance.

______

The industrial hum of the Water Treatment Plant faded as the chest’s heavy lid creaked open.

The sound was sharp, metallic, and infinitely satisfying in the quiet aftermath of the ambush.

My team crowded around, the adrenaline of the fight slowly ebbing away, replaced by the greedy anticipation that all players—and apparently, all students—shared when faced with high-tier loot.

"It’s... glowing," Alex whispered, leaning over my shoulder, his reinforced shield clanking softly against his armor.

Inside the chest, nestled in rotting velvet, lay two items.

The first was a heavy, rectangular ingot of metal that shimmered with a dull, iridescent oil-slick sheen.

The second was a scroll, bound in blue leather.

[Item Acquired: C-Rank Mithril Alloy (Refined)]

[Item Acquired: Blueprint - Guardian’s Bulwark (Shield)]

I picked up the ingot. It was heavy, dense with mana. "Mithril Alloy," I announced. "And a blueprint for a C-Rank tower shield."

I tossed the ingot to Alex. He caught it, nearly dropping his own shield in his haste.

His eyes were wide, reflecting the iridescent metal.

"For... me?" he stammered. "Again? But Chief, this is worth millions on the market. You could sell it..."

"And buy what?" I asked, standing up and brushing rust from my knees.

"Loyalty? A shield that won’t break when a Boss hits it? We’re climbing a tower, Alex. I don’t need money. I need a tank who doesn’t die." I shoved the blueprint into his chest plate.

"Learn it. When we hit the crafting station on Floor 10, we’re making you a wall."

Alex looked at the ingot, then at me. He didn’t say anything, but he gripped the metal so hard I thought his gauntlets might crack.

The loyalty in his eyes wasn’t just admiration anymore; it was fanaticism.

Seraphina watched the exchange, her arms crossed. "You’re buying his life, Wilson," she murmured, her voice low enough that only I could hear.

"I’m investing in my survival," I corrected her. "There’s a difference."

"Is there?" She looked at the empty courtyard where Magnus’s team had dissolved.

"You destroyed them. Tactically, mentally, and physically. You didn’t just beat Magnus; you dismantled his entire philosophy."

"He was in my way," I said simply. "Let’s move. The portal is active."

We walked to the exit portal, leaving the silent, empty plant behind.

We were leaving Floor 7 with full health, high mana, and loot that would make the noble factions weep.

The teleportation to Floor 8 was different.

Usually, there was a sensation of cold, a digital shiver.

This time, it was like stepping into an oven.

We materialized on a ridge of jagged, red rock.

The air was thick, shimmering with heat distortion. Above, the sky was a relentless, cloudless expanse of bleached white, dominated by a sun that looked too large, too close.

[Floor 8: The Scorched Wastes]

(To be Continued)