The wet damp floor swallowed the noise that Riven made.
Blue and red lanterns buzzed with their last breaths as he passed them. The Forsaken Floor was not abandoned. It was waiting.
Minutes turned to an hour.
Riven didn't notice the passing time, lost in thoughts about the past and the future.
His past life was one of sin. Riven lived his life fighting against everything. After his death, he now had the choice to change that.
This could be a fresh start.
But what do I have to live for?
Riven tightened his grasp on the broken blade – which he assumed to be better than nothing.
And everything will be taken away… if I don't have the strength to defy the system.
Riven knew the truth.
Everything will meet its end. But he was the sole person capable of changing it.
It was nearly an hour before Riven found something other than ruined stone and shadows.
A body. No, a warning.
Impaled to the wall with a massive cleaver, its edge glinting, embedded through armor, flesh, and stone. The corpse belonged to a boy no older than him– sunken eyes, dried blood crusted on his face, and skin rotting faster than it should.
[Corpse Identified: Leonel Roads.]
[Status: Corruption (83%)]
Riven said nothing, at first.
Then, he muttered: "May your soul find peace in the system you believed in."
He stepped forward and grabbed the cleaver. Riven pulled, straining his muscles. The moment he dislodged it, the corpse slid down like discarded meat, hitting the floor with a dull, wet sound.
[Iron Cleaver – Tier E]
[Requirements not met.]
The weapon fell from his grasp like a meteor.
It slammed into the floor, cracking stone.
"Too heavy," he muttered. "Too early."
Riven turned toward the body again. A smaller weapon was strapped to the belt. It looked lightweight, hidden in a black leather sheath. He crouched, fingers breaking crusted blood as he pulled it free.
[Crescent Dagger – Tier F]
[Requirements are met.]
The blade let out a faint, hollow, sound as it slid free.
It had an elegant obsidian sheen with a crescent hook at the end. The edge shimmer with residual mana, telling Riven that it was high-quality weapon. In its surface, Riven caught his reflection: a seventeen-years-old with ash-colored hair and hollow eyes.
"It's beautiful," Riven whispered. The awe in his voice surprised even him.
Then came the click of a blade leaving its sheath behind him.
He froze.
"Don't move," a voice warned him. It calm, but firm. Feminine.
A moment later, he felt it—mana—gathering in a dense point between his shoulder blades. The sensation was unmistakable: a targeting spell, locked and ready.
"Drop the weapon," the voice said. "Slowly."
Riven didn't resist. He let the dagger slip from his fingers. It hit the floor with a soft clink.
"Can I turn around?" he asked, raising both hands.
Silence. Then:
"Slowly."
He turned.
The girl who faced him stood a few feet away. Her stance was cautious, but steady. She held a short blade in one hand, and the other was raised in front of her. It crackled with greenish mana. It was healing magic, but transmuted to something more precise.
Her eyes scanned him carefully. She looked about his age. Olive skin, black hair tied in a messy braid, and wearing a white tunic, black leggings, and no armor– likely a new player.
But her stance was that of a veteran.
She knew how to fight.
And how to kill.
"You don't look corrupted," she said at last.
"Because I am not," Riven replied.
"Then why does the system identify you as such?" she asked, weary.
"Your system, not mine," he replied in a vague manner. "But I could ask you the same thing."
"What?" she asked in confusion.
Riven began lowering his hands.
The girl tensed and almost released her spell.
Riven raised them in a hurry.
"My system identifies you as Level 6," Riven said. "It's almost impossible to die in the first floor if your level is that high."
Her eyes narrowed. "You can see my level?"
Riven didn't answer. He merely watched her with steady eyes.
"This place is reserved for one of two kinds of people. The ones who fail… and the ones who aren't supposed to exist."
"I didn't fail," she said quickly. "I bypassed the starting sequence. It's a workaround. A… hack."
"A hack," Riven repeated, like the word tasted foreign in his mouth. "You broke into the Tower?"
"I didn't break in," she said sharply. "I descended into it. I'm looking for someone."
Riven tilted his head. "Someone worth risking your soul for?"
The green light in her hand faltered. Her mouth opened, but the words didn't come immediately.
Then: "My brother. He entered the Tower last cycle. He never came back. No logs. No remains. Just a corrupted data string that said he had become a variable."
"And you came down here thinking what? You'd find a trail?" Riven asked.
"I came to find the truth," she said. "And I found you instead."
The accusation in her tone wasn't subtle.
"I didn't kill your brother," Riven said flatly.
"You're the only one down here," she said.
"You're here too," he replied.
That silenced her.
Then, accusations. "You are still suspicious. I just found you looting a body and admiring the blade you stole. A normal person– a new player would react differently."
Riven's eyes narrowed as he asked: "And how am I supposed to react?"
"Panic. Fear. Disgust. Repulsion. Greif," she listed. "Anything other than… this."
"This?" he pushed.
Her mana flared in response, casting a sickly green hue across the stone.
"You're calm," she said. "Too calm. As if you've seen worse than this. As if this place doesn't even scratch the surface of what you've been through."
Riven didn't blink. "Maybe it doesn't."
She stepped forward, eyes locked on him. "Answer me, then. Who the hell are you?"
Riven looked at her—really looked—and saw past the fury in her words. What stood before him wasn't a killer. It was someone desperate to make sense of a world unraveling at the seams.
His voice was quiet. "I'm just like you."
The girl scoffed. "You're nothing like me."
"Someone who shouldn't be here," Riven continued, ignoring the interruption. "But somehow is."
He pointed to the cleaver lying on the floor.
"That weapon pierced Leonel Roads. If you run a system check, it'll confirm it. You'll see I had nothing to do with his death."
Her jaw tightened. The glow in her hand pulsed—unstable.
"As for the dagger…" Riven nodded at the black blade lying at her feet. "The dead have no use for beauty."