CHAPTER 215: 20TH FLOOR

Chapter 211: 20th Floor

The blue light of the teleportation gate didn’t fade gently; it shattered.

One moment, we were standing in the moonlit clearing of Floor 20, the corpse of the Dire Wolf King dissolving into data at our feet.

The next, gravity lurched, and the sterile, digital air of the Tower was violently replaced by a wall of noise and smog.

We materialized on a massive arrival platform suspended hundreds of meters in the air.

The wind hit us first—a gusty, industrial gale carrying grit, soot, and the heavy, oily scent of burning mana-coal.

Then came the sound.

It wasn’t the roar of monsters or the clash of steel. It was a low, thrumming bass note that vibrated in the soles of my boots. The heartbeat of a machine.

"Welcome to Rolune," a mechanized voice boomed from overhead speakers, the sound tinny and distorted by static.

"All arrivals must register at the Central Hub. Unregistered mana signatures will be flagged as hostile. You have thirty minutes."

I stepped to the edge of the platform, the wind whipping the hem of my Academy uniform.

Below us lay the city.

If Arcadia was a dream of white marble and high fantasy, Rolune was the waking reality of industry and greed.

It was a vertical nightmare of brass, iron, and glass .

Massive towers pierced the smog-choked sky, connected by suspended walkways and pneumatic tubes where mana-trains zipped like bullets.

Airships, their hulls glowing with neon runic advertisements for potions and mercenary services, drifted lazily between the spires like fat, luminous whales.

Smoke stacks belched multicolored fumes into the air—alchemical byproduct waste that turned the sunset into a bruised purple bruise.

This was the industrial heart of the continent. The neutral ground.

The place where the Hunter Association, the Merchant Guilds, and the Underworld shook hands under the table.

"It’s... loud," Alex muttered, gripping his new [Runic Shield] tightly.

He looked like a country boy seeing the ocean for the first time—overwhelmed, terrified, and trying hard not to show it.

"It’s filthy," Seraphina said, wrinkling her nose as she brushed a speck of soot from her pristine uniform.

"The mana density is high, but it’s... thick. Heavily polluted with residue. How do people breathe this?"

"It’s beautiful," Gideon whispered, stepping up beside me. His green eyes were wide, reflecting the neon lights of the city below.

"Look at the entropy. The decay mixed with progress. This whole city is a living organism that’s slowly poisoning itself. I could... do so much here."

"Don’t," I said automatically, without looking at him.

"Keep your poisons in your pocket, Gideon. We’re not here to commit war crimes. Yet."

I turned to face my team. They looked ragged.

The mental fatigue of the Labyrinth and the physical toll of the speed-clear were still clinging to them.

They were a mess of mismatched gear and exhaustion, standing on a platform crowded with thousands of other arrivals—students from other academies, hardened mercenaries with scars mapping their faces, and shady merchants eyeing the students like fresh meat.

But we weren’t the only ones arriving.

The teleportation array flared again, a massive circle of blue light erupting twenty meters away.

From the light emerged Team Azure Blade.

Leon Lionheart stumbled slightly as he materialized, bracing himself on his sword.

His golden armor was scorched, his cape torn. His team looked worse—their healer was being supported by their tank, and even the usually stoic Chris Blackthorn looked like he wanted to sleep for a week.

They had cleared Floor 20. They had survived. But looking at them, it was clear they had fought for every inch of ground.

Leon straightened, shaking his head to clear the teleportation dizziness. His eyes scanned the platform, instantly locking onto me.

For a moment, the noise of the city seemed to fade. The rivalry that had burned through the tournament flared again. But then, Leon exhaled, his shoulders relaxing. He offered a tired, genuine nod.

"You beat us to the exit," Leon called out, his voice hoarse. "Again."

"We took a shortcut," I said, keeping my hands in my pockets. It wasn’t entirely a lie. "Good work on the Wolf King. That howl at the end... sounded like you gave him a hard time."

Leon smirked, a flash of his usual charisma returning. "We held the line. Barely."

Before we could speak further, another flare of light erupted.

Team Inferno.

Eric William materialized. Unlike Leon, he didn’t stumble.

He stood perfectly still as the light faded, his white and gold uniform immaculate, though his mana aura felt jagged and agitated.

His team appeared behind him, looking terrified—not of the monsters they had fought, but of their leader’s mood.

Eric didn’t look at the city. He didn’t look at his team. He looked straight at me.

The humiliation of the tournament final still burned in his eyes. The "First Year Monarch" title floating invisibly above my head was a constant insult to his pride.

"Wilson," Eric said, his voice cold enough to freeze the humid air. "Enjoying the view from the top?"

"It’s a bit smoggy," I replied nonchalantly. "But the air is fresh enough."

Eric scoffed, adjusting his cuff. "Don’t get comfortable. The Tower is a controlled environment. This..."

He gestured to the sprawling, chaotic city below.

"This is the real world. Rules don’t protect commoners here."

"That’s what I’m counting on," I muttered.

More teams began to arrive—Magnus Daven’s squad, looking battered and furious; Maria Frostheart’s team, shivering despite the heat, likely from overusing ice magic; Selena and Elara, graceful but weary.

Within minutes, the platform was a sea of Academy students, the elite of the first year gathered in a confused, exhausted herd.

I clapped my hands, drawing my team’s attention.

"Listen up," I said, my voice cutting through the din. "Eric is right about one thing. The rules have changed."

I pointed to the street level far below, where a group of mercenaries were openly brawling outside a tavern, mana flares lighting up the alley.

"Here, there are no safety protocols. If you die in Rolune, you stay dead. This is a free trade city. Guild law rules here, not Academy law . If you get into a fight, no instructor is coming to save you. If you get scammed, you lose your money. If you walk down the wrong alley, you lose your kidneys."

Kaelen swallowed hard, clutching his staff. "So... we’re on our own?"

"Not exactly," I said, a faint smirk touching my lips. "We have the one thing that matters more than strength in this city."

I tapped the dimensional storage pocket on my belt.

"We have money."

I checked my inventory mentally. The [Fenra’s Eye of Solitude] sat there, radiating a cool, blue power .

Alongside it were piles of C-Rank monster cores, rare herbs harvested from the Forest of Trials, and the sheer volume of loot we had accumulated from twenty floors of speed-clearing.

In Arcadia, status was currency. In Rolune, currency was status.

"We need to register," I said.

"Follow me. And don’t make eye contact with the scalpers."

We navigated the crowded platform. Men in cheap suits tried to shove flyers for "Discount Inns" and "Easy Loans" into our hands. I ignored them, my [Aura Dominion] flaring just enough to create a subtle pressure that made them subconsciously step out of my way. We cut through the crowd like a shark moving through a school of fish.

As we moved toward the central elevator, I felt a gaze on my back.

It wasn’t Eric. It wasn’t Leon.

I glanced over my shoulder. Standing near the edge of the platform, watching the students disperse, was a figure in a grey cloak.

He wasn’t a student. He wasn’t a merchant.

He was watching. And he was tapping a rhythm against his thigh—a code I recognized from the game’s subplot.

Three taps. Pause. One tap.

The signal of the Cult of the Black Sun.

My eyes narrowed. In the original game, the Rolune Arc was defined by the Cult’s attempt to sabotage the city’s mana grid, causing a blackout that allowed a demon wave to breach the walls. It was supposed to happen in two weeks, during the Festival of Gears.

But the scout was here now.

’Did I accelerate the timeline again?’ I wondered, the familiar weight of responsibility settling onto my shoulders. ’By clearing the Tower so fast... did we trigger the next phase early?’

I turned back to my team.

"Change of plans," I said. "We’re not going to the student dorms."

"What?" Seraphina asked, blinking. "The Academy reserved the entire East Sector for us. It’s safe."

"It’s a target," I corrected. "If you want to be safe, you don’t sleep where everyone expects you to sleep."

I pulled out a heavy pouch of gold coins—loot from the Mimic floor. I tossed it to Alex.

"Take the team to the ’Gilded Lotus Inn’ in the South Sector . It’s neutral ground, expensive, and run by retired A-Rank hunters. No one starts trouble there."

Alex caught the pouch, nearly dropping his shield. "Chief... this is... this is thousands of Ren."

"Team funds," I said. "Get rooms. Get food. Get baths. And get your gear repaired. Don’t be stingy. We’re rich."

"And you?" Gideon asked, his eyes gleaming with curiosity. "Where are you going?"

I adjusted my collar, looking toward the neon-lit skyline of the financial district.

"I have a meeting," I said. "With my financial advisor."

"You have a financial advisor?" Seraphina asked, incredulous. "You’re a student!"

"I’m a multitasker," I said. "Go. Keep your heads down. If anyone asks, I went to the library."

I watched them head toward the elevators, a ragtag group of misfits who had just conquered the Tower. They were strong, but they weren’t ready for the city’s shadows. Not yet.

I turned and walked toward the private transport bay. I hailed a mana-taxi—a sleek, hovering carriage powered by a crystal engine.

"Where to, kid?" the driver asked, chewing on a toothpick.

I handed him a gold coin.

"The Silver-Spire," I said. "And make it fast."

As the taxi shot forward, weaving into the traffic, I pulled out my old phone. It vibrated instantly.

[Victor: Boss! The signal just pinged. You’re in the city?]

[Me: I’m here. Is the office ready?]

[Victor: Ready? It’s magnificent. But we have a problem. The Iron Syndicate knows we’re coming.]

I smiled coldly, watching the city blur past.

"Good," I whispered. "I’d hate to surprise them without a gift."

The Tutorial was over. The Tycoon Arc had begun. And I had a lot of loot to liquidate.

(To be continued)

Author Note: Finally My Home Coming Arc has end next is the Sky Island Arc..

Three More Arc left for end of this novel.