CHAPTER 116: CH 116: SCENT OF BETRAYAL- PART 3

Fenrir stood silently, watching as the massive hybrid drake roared and charged toward him without hesitation.

Its muscles rippled beneath its scaled skin, and its eyes gleamed with mindless rage. But to Fenrir, this fight had already been decided.

The drake was too predictable, its actions too wild and uncoordinated. There was no strategy—just brute force.

He didn’t even bother summoning his companions. Instead, he activated Master of Illusions, letting a dozen false Fenrirs scatter around the arena.

The drake shrieked in confusion, swiping its claws at the phantoms, only to pass right through them.

Again and again, it struck, wings flaring and tail crashing down—but all for nothing.

Fenrir moved silently through the chaos, each step calculated.

The arena floor shook under the force of the drake’s attacks, but Fenrir remained untouched.

He raised his hand and used Master of Earth, sealing off potential exits with thick walls of stone.

One after another, the escape routes were blocked, the arena growing smaller and tighter with each passing moment.

The drake began to slow, its body coated in sweat and blood—mostly its own, from crashing into the arena’s walls and traps.

Fenrir watched patiently. The creature had fallen right into his rhythm.

When the drake finally collapsed into a corner, panting and exhausted, Fenrir stepped forward and, with a clean, precise motion, drove his weapon into the creature’s heart.

It twitched once—then went still.

The system chimed in his ear immediately:

[Floor Boss Defeated. Access to Floor Three Granted.]

Without a word, Fenrir turned and left the battlefield. He had no desire to celebrate this victory. It had been too easy.

The third floor greeted him with a sudden, overwhelming noise—laughter, shouting, haggling, and the clinking of coins.

Fenrir blinked at the sunlight that poured into the open marketplace.

The floor was vast, a sprawling economic hub filled with vendors, performers, and merchants from every corner of the tower.

It was a stark contrast from the brutal floors before.

Colorful banners fluttered in the wind, and stalls displayed exotic goods—some magical, some mundane, all absurdly overpriced.

People bustled about, exchanging coins and bartering with intense expressions.

"Capitalism. Of course."

Fenrir muttered with a scowl.

He reached into his pocket and found only a handful of tower-issued currency. It wasn’t nearly enough for anything worthwhile.

"Figures. Human money probably won’t work here."

He rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"Looks like I’ll need to get my old fortune back..."

But that meant something Fenrir didn’t particularly enjoy—revealing his true identity.

If word got out that he was alive, reborn, and wandering the tower, it would draw both allies and enemies.

And right now, while he was still regaining his strength, the latter was far more dangerous.

"I’ll hold off for now."

He muttered.

He began walking through the busy market, keeping his head low.

The sounds of laughter and trade continued around him, but Fenrir stayed focused—until a sudden burst of familiar laughter made him pause.

He looked up.

A luxurious sedan chair was being carried through the crowd, surrounded by guards and servants.

Sitting atop it, lounging as if he owned the world, was an elf with long silver hair and an arrogant smile.

The man wore embroidered robes, expensive jewelry, and carried a gilded fan.

Fenrir’s eyes narrowed.

"Gozu..."

He hadn’t seen that face in years—since the time of war, when Gozu had served as a loyal elf under one of Fenrir’s generals.

Back then, Gozu had been humble, quiet, and devoted to the cause.

Seeing him now, flaunting wealth and power, was jarring.

Fenrir ducked into an alley and observed from the shadows.

Something didn’t sit right.

Gozu had been part of Fenrir’s faction. A loyalist. And yet here he was, parading through a market like nobility, long after the war had ended and Fenrir’s faction had scattered.

"Did everyone lose? Or... was I betrayed?"

Fenrir wondered aloud.

He clenched his fists.

The idea of betrayal stung more than he expected. If Gozu had switched sides—or worse, sold out their secrets—then things were far more complicated than he’d thought.

He watched as Gozu disappeared into a large, fortified building on the other side of the market. The guards outside wore unfamiliar symbols, none that belonged to Fenrir’s faction.

Something was off.

Fenrir’s instincts screamed that this wasn’t a coincidence.

He pulled his hood up and melted into the crowd, already planning his next move.

If Gozu had turned traitor, then Fenrir needed answers. And if his enemies from the past were building new power here in the third floor... then the storm was only just beginning.

Fenrir followed Gozu quietly through the bustling marketplace, keeping his presence hidden beneath a simple cloak.

He didn’t need to get close to recognize the swaggering elf being carried in a sedan chair like royalty.

Gozu might have dressed himself in fine robes and lined his neck with ornaments, but Fenrir’s eyes only saw betrayal.

The elf’s route led them to a large estate at the edge of the market, and as Fenrir stood before the gates, his hands clenched unconsciously.

This place... it wasn’t just familiar. It was his

. Or at least, it used to be. His faction, his brothers-in-arms, had once rested and planned within these walls.

Now, it was overrun with strangers, and the guards standing watch had no idea what kind of history they were desecrating with their mere presence.

Fenrir’s gaze swept over the guards.

None of them looked particularly strong. Their postures were lazy, weapons dull.

A few didn’t even notice him when he vaulted the outer wall.

Level 50 and under, at best. He didn’t even need to summon his power.

Once inside, Fenrir kept to the shadows. He leaned against a cool stone wall just outside one of the large open windows and sharpened his senses. Voices drifted through the room.

"How long must I suffer this nonsense? No matter how much gold I flash, these mongrels still give me dirty looks. ’Tyrant’s dog,’ they whisper. Can you believe it? I saved them!"

Gozu’s voice was sharp and whiny, heavy with bitterness.

Fenrir’s brows twitched. So that was how he framed it?

Inside, Gozu paced back and forth, his robe trailing behind him like he was some kind of noble.

"I handed them my master myself. I risked everything. And this is the thanks I get? Treated like I still belong to him! I did not betray the Tyrant and my general for this."

A meek voice, belonging to a younger servant, spoke up.

"Please don’t be upset, Lord Gozu. Just focus on the mission. You’ve already come so far. Your master is still locked up to this day."

"I am focused. I know what I have to do. But how am I supposed to pay taxes to those bastards on the fifth floor without access to pure mana? You know how rare it is! They’re squeezing me dry, and if I don’t pay up soon, they’ll take everything.

Gozu snapped.

The servant gulped audibly.

"Perhaps... we could find someone who has access?"

"Don’t you think I’ve tried? It’s hopeless. Unless some fool falls into my lap with enough pure mana to clear my debts, I’m doomed."

Gozu snarled.

Fenrir narrowed his eyes. So that was the game. The fifth floor, again.

Always circling back to it. His power—his legacy—was being traded like coin by cowards who called themselves rulers.

And now Gozu, a once-loyal servant, was wallowing in self-pity and gold, talking as if betraying his master had been an act of heroism.

Fenrir’s lips curled into a cold smile.

Interesting. Very interesting.