The moment Floor 13 vanished behind us, reality folded again.
Dark mana tore open space itself.
The familiar sensation of being pulled through the tower washed over me before solid ground returned beneath my feet.
Floor 28.
A wasteland of ruined walls and abandoned fortresses stretched across the horizon. Cracked roads cut through dead fields while clusters of monsters wandered aimlessly between the ruins. The floor should have been quiet.
Instead, dozens of red markers immediately lit up my map.
Oracle members.
Not the veterans.
Not the high-level killers.
The lower ranks.
The ones forced to level the normal way after I turned hunting Zetharians into a death sentence.
My hand closed around Death Bringer.
The cursed sword materialized from black mist.
The moment it appeared, the nearby Oracle members sensed it.
Panic spread through their formation instantly.
Some began retreating.
Others drew weapons.
A few looked ready to fight.
None of them mattered.
