CHAPTER 133: CH 133: THE WARNING- PART 2

On the tenth floor of the Tower, the wind whistled through the open courtyard, rustling the edges of a crimson banner hanging high above.

Lady Zelphra’s blade cut through the air in fluid, precise arcs, her breathing steady and her footwork perfectly balanced.

Each swing of her sword sent sparks of mana dancing into the air, as if the blade itself was too powerful to be restrained by mere atmosphere.

She pivoted, spun, and finished her form with a downward slash that cracked the stone beneath her feet.

Just as she sheathed her weapon, a young servant rushed onto the training grounds, panting lightly from the effort of crossing the grand estate.

"My Lady, the higher-ups... they have a message for you.""

He bowed, his voice trembling slightly.

Zelphra’s brow lifted in mild surprise. She rarely heard from the Tower’s ruling council—those dusty old fossils never liked dealing with her directly unless the matter was truly critical.

"They never change. So secretive, so self-important. If they’re bothering to contact me, something must’ve really rattled their bones."

She said with a scoff, wiping sweat from her brow.

She waved the servant away with a flick of her hand.

"I’ll be there shortly. Let me finish my set."

Drawing her sword once more, she moved into her final stance.

Her muscles, honed through centuries of combat, flowed with familiarity as she moved through her last five strikes.

When the final slash cleaved the air with a thunderous crack, she stood still, centered. Calm.

Minutes later, she entered her war room—a high-ceilinged chamber filled with ancient artifacts and dusty scrolls—and activated the enchanted communication crystal at the center of the room.

A moment passed, then a dozen shadowy figures flickered into view on the giant circular screen.

None of them had discernible features; each was masked in black and white static, with modulated voices and shrouded identities.

Even now, they hid behind anonymity, as they always had.

One of the figures spoke, its voice deep and crackling.

"Lady Zelphra. We trust your training is progressing well."

Zelphra gave a slight bow.

"Well enough. What’s the occasion? You don’t contact me unless the tower is about to fall apart."

Another figure stepped forward slightly.

"Humans have entered the Tower again."

The room went quiet.

Zelphra blinked once. Then, she folded her arms across her chest.

"Humans? That’s new. How many?"

She repeated, amused.

"Enough to raise concern. You are to monitor their movements. If any pose a threat... remove them."

The figure replied.

Zelphra sighed and waved her hand lazily.

"Relax. I’ll handle it. You know I don’t let trash climb too high. No need to fret."

But the figures weren’t done.

A third one leaned forward, their tone laced with amusement.

"And how is your father these days?"

Zelphra’s eyes darkened, but she didn’t flinch.

"Exactly where I left him. In a cage, sealed with seven locks. He won’t be a problem. I made sure of that centuries ago."

There was a pause, as if the figures were sharing a silent, mutual judgment.

"We hope your loyalty remains intact."

Zelphra’s tone cooled.

"You think I’d go through the trouble of sealing him just to throw it all away now? I know what’s at stake. I haven’t forgotten what happened the last time humans got too high."

The figures remained silent for a beat, then the screen flickered, and they began vanishing one by one. The last voice echoed:

"Ensure they don’t rise too far. Especially this one...’"

And then they were gone.

Zelphra stared at the blank screen for a moment before turning on her heel and muttering,

"Still as dramatic as ever."

She walked over to the long window overlooking the tenth floor’s vast landscapes.

The world outside was calm—mountains in the distance, clouds drifting lazily over forests and rivers. It had been quiet for so long. Too long.

"Humans, huh? It’s been a while."

She murmured.

She twirled her blade once, letting the metal catch the sunlight.

"There’s no need to panic. Humans can’t make it far—not anymore. That era is long gone. And there’s no way another monster like him would appear again."

She chuckled to herself.

"After all, Fenrir was one of a kind."

Lady Zelphra stood tall at the center of the grand hall, her crimson cloak swaying gently as she turned to her assembled servants.

The air was still, yet tense, as if the very walls were listening.

"Before I retire for the evening, do any of you have something to report? Anything... unusual?"

She said, voice cool and measured.

Her piercing eyes swept across the line of servants.

One of them, a thin man with twitching fingers and sweat collecting along his temple, opened his mouth slightly.

But before he could speak, another servant subtly nudged him with an elbow, and a third quickly stepped forward.

"Nothing of concern, my lady. All is well on this floor."

The third servant said with a respectful bow.

Zelphra narrowed her eyes.

She might not be a mind reader, but she knew when someone was hiding something.

Her gaze lingered on the servant who’d almost spoken, then shifted to the others who had silenced him. Still, she said nothing.

"I see. Then I will assume your silence means your loyalty remains intact."

She said slowly.

Her voice turned razor-sharp.

"But let me make one thing clear—if any of you are hiding something from me, or worse... betraying me, there will be no mercy. You may think you’ve seen cruelty, but I assure you, I can show you what true fear looks like."

The servants bowed deeper, murmuring reassurances.

Lady Zelphra gave them a final glance before turning and leaving the hall, her boots echoing against the marble as she disappeared down the corridor.

Once she was gone, a hushed whisper filled the air.

"Do you think this is wise? Shouldn’t we tell her about the report from the lower floors?"

The nervous servant asked quietly.

Another servant shook her head.

"It’s pointless. She’d just overreact. The intruder is on floor seven at best. He’s far from here."

"But the damage—"

"He won’t last. You forget who’s on the ninth floor."

Silence followed.

That servant lowered her voice even further.

"That thing... even Lady Zelphra couldn’t defeat it. So we chained it, collared it, and let it roam that prison we call a floor. Anyone who reaches it... well, they don’t climb any higher."

A chill passed between them. No one said the monster’s name, but everyone knew what it meant: executioner.

Meanwhile, Fenrir strolled through the dusky alleys of the seventh floor’s outer city, his cloak fluttering behind him as he headed toward the direction of the next gate.

He was well aware that the scammer was still tailing him, though the man was trying—and failing—to be discreet.

"I know you can hear me. You’re going to die on the next floor if you don’t get help."

The scammer called, finally breaking the silence. Fenrir didn’t respond. He didn’t slow down. But his shoulders shifted, a sign that he’d heard—and didn’t care.

The scammer gritted his teeth and hurried to keep pace.

"You think you’re strong, but the next floor isn’t like this one. If you don’t go through the proper channels, you’re walking straight into death."