Goblins (1)–rebels....

  ----

  The Second Floor.

  This was where the true journey began—where one would finally face monsters, missions, and survival.

  Unlike the first floor, which resembled a tutorial zone, the second floor marked the beginning of the climb, where danger lurked just beyond each step and every choice could shape a player’s destiny.

  The sky above was brilliantly clear, dotted only by distant specks of clouds lazily drifting past.

  The warm sun cast golden light over the area, its rays bouncing off polished armor, stone pathways, and wooden signs hanging from crooked buildings.

  Ahead, not far from where I stood, was a large reinforced gate—its iron frame entwined with vines—that led toward a dense forest.

  A faint, distant breeze rustled its treetops, sending leaves fluttering down like confetti.

  The forest beyond looked deep and vast, almost like it swallowed light within its shadows.

  Behind me stood the administration building, a wide structure built with beige bricks and arched windows.

  Around me, a small town had formed.

  The second floor wasn’t just a battleground—it was a hub.

  Players roamed here and there, some checking gear, others trading items or just chatting among themselves.

  Most looked like me—new.

  Fresh faces filled with anticipation and anxiety, their eyes wide with the curiosity of the unknown.

  As I scanned the surroundings, a group of armored figures strode toward us.

  Their steps were orderly and confident, metal boots clanking against stone.

  “Are you all new players?” one of them asked, his voice firm but somewhat rehearsed.

  The soldiers wore matching grayish-blue armor with golden trims, each with a small sigil on their chest—an eagle clutching a sword.

  At their hips were longswords, and each carried themselves like trained men of war.

  “Yes. And you all?” asked one of the players standing near me, curiosity tinged with caution in his voice.

  “We’re from the Empire,” the leading soldier said proudly.

  “We’ve come to recruit. It’s hard out here for new players. Many don’t survive their first week. But with us, you’ll have guidance, protection, and resources.”

  His voice held the same tone as a merchant pushing a too-good-to-be-true deal.

  The way he spoke made it sound as if they were doing us a massive favor.

  “Umm… will you accept all of us?” another player asked hopefully.

  “Yes,” the soldier responded immediately.

  “Even if you’re weak, we won’t abandon you. And if you show talent, the rewards and opportunities grow exponentially. Promotions. Equipment. Status. All within your reach.”

  Some players were visibly tempted.

  Their eyes sparkled at the promise of an easier climb.

  But I had no interest in joining.

  “I’m not interested,” I said calmly and started walking away, not wanting to waste more time with pointless talk.

  Before I could pass, a soldier stepped into my path.

  “Hey,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “You shouldn’t be so hasty. You might not understand who we are.”

  He tilted his head down slightly, gazing at me with disdain and a mocking smirk.

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  His tone wasn’t inviting—it was confrontational, as if he expected me to submit just because of his title.

  ‘Would you look at that?’ I thought, unbothered.

  “I said I’m not interested,” I repeated, this time with a sharper edge to my voice.

  “You—!” the soldier’s face darkened.

  His hand twitched near the hilt of his weapon, as if tempted to draw it.

  Before the tension could snap, a powerful voice echoed through the area.

  “Hey. Stop it, soldier.”

  The aggressive soldier froze instantly and straightened his posture.

  I turned to see who it was.

  A tall man approached, radiating dignity and strength.

  His hair was a gleaming shade of gold, neatly tied back, and his eyes were a striking crimson—calm yet commanding.

  His eyebrows were thick and his face clean-shaven, enhancing his sharp jawline.

  He wore a majestic set of red and white armor, polished to perfection.

  An emblem of a soaring eagle adorned his chestplate.

  The aura he carried was unmistakable—he was not just a soldier.

  He was a leader.

  “Sir Miguel!” the soldiers saluted in unison, voices respectful and stiff.

  “At ease,” Miguel said, raising a hand.

  He walked closer, eyes scanning the gathered players with a quiet intensity.

  The air around him seemed to grow heavier—not with threat, but with presence.

  Even the nearby players, previously disinterested, looked toward him with awe.

  ‘Strong,’ I thought as I observed him more carefully. ‘Too strong for someone at this floor.’

  He was likely a floor veteran—someone who had climbed far beyond the second floor.

  Maybe ten floors or more.

  His stats must be on an entirely different level.

  Miguel turned to the soldier who had blocked me.

  “If he doesn’t want to join, don’t force him,” he said sternly, but not unkindly.

  “As you command, sir,” the soldier replied, bowing his head.

  Miguel then looked at me, a smile spreading across his lips.

  “Sorry for his behavior. We don’t wish to pressure anyone, but we’re always on the lookout for talent. That’s why he acted rashly.”

  His voice was gentle yet persuasive.

  He clearly had experience dealing with people.

  “It’s okay,” I replied coolly.

  “Regardless,” he continued, “should you ever change your mind, the Empire will welcome you.”

  “I’ll think about it,” I said with a nod, offering him a polite smile.

  He nodded back, and I moved past them.

  My footsteps led me toward the exit gate—the one that opened into the forest beyond.

  But my thoughts were already shifting.

  Empire.

  The name echoed in my mind.

  Their presence, their resources, their offers—they were clearly more than just a guild.

  A structured organization?

  A political force within the tower?

  Or something even bigger?

  Whatever they were, I knew one thing:

  'This is gonna be fun!'

  ---

  If there was an Empire, then its natural opposite was the Rebels.

  The Rebels—a scattered group of players who had turned their backs on the rule and reach of the Empire.

  They were a thorn in its side, made up of the disillusioned, the betrayed, the broken, and the outlaws.

  While the Empire claimed to nurture players—offering protection, training, and structure—the Rebels were whispered about as wolves among sheep.

  It was said they lured players away with false promises only to exploit them.

  Robbery, sabotage, ambushes—the rebels were called criminals, outcasts, anarchists.

  A den of misfits.

  And right now, two such misfits stood hidden among the thick underbrush of the second-floor forest: Greg and Joe.

  They were new members of the Rebels, only having reached floor 4 before retreating back here.

  Their goal wasn’t noble.

  It was simple: harass and steal from unsuspecting newbie players.

  And one such player had just entered their sights.

  The young man—slim but toned—was cutting through a pack of low-level goblins like he was slicing through paper.

  His movements were fluid, his stance tight, and the blade in his hand—a single dagger—moved with deadly grace.

  Not a hint of hesitation in his strikes.

  "Hey… are you sure we should go after him?" Greg whispered, shifting uncomfortably in place.

  The leaves rustled beneath his feet.

  His large body was round with excess fat, a clear indicator of neglect rather than natural bulk.

  He clutched a spiked mace in his gloved hand, but the way his fingers trembled around the handle gave him away.

  Joe, crouched beside him, didn’t look concerned. Her lips curled into a sly smirk.

  "Look at his gear. No proper armor, no secondary weapon. He’s alone," she said, adjusting the short blade sheathed on her hip.

  She was slender—almost fragile in build—but there was a sharpness in her dark eyes, a cunning edge that made up for her lack of physical power.

  "But he… he looks like he knows how to fight," Greg muttered, watching as the player executed a goblin with a clean, reverse grip slash.

  "Exactly. That’s why we don’t fight fair. We set a trap. I’ll act injured, bait him in. When he lowers his guard—boom—you finish him."

  Greg looked at her, confused. "...Boom?"

  She sighed. "You hit him. Hard. Surprise attack. Got it?"

  "...Got it."

  Joe stepped back and quickly applied red dye and a powder mix from her pouch to her arm and stomach—mimicking the appearance of bruises and bleeding wounds.

  She scratched her cheek a little and let out a few coughs to make her voice hoarse.

  Then she stumbled out from behind the trees, one arm held over her stomach, limping dramatically.

  [Skill Activated – Fox Act]

  "Excuse me… please… can you help me?" Her voice was a soft tremble, laced with desperation.

  Her eyes shimmered with artificial tears.

  If someone didn’t know better, they’d believe her.

  But I did.

  I looked at her calmly as she emerged.

  Her acting was excellent—pitiful enough to disarm suspicion.

  Her stance, tone, and expression were polished.

  Most would’ve run to her aid.

  "Please… I can't walk much further… could you come closer?" she said, inching forward slightly.

  Her eyes sparkled with pain.

  Her voice cracked.

  I tilted my head slightly and narrowed my eyes.

  "Quite a good skill. But where's the other one?"

  Her pitiful look cracked. "...What?"

  "Your partner. Where is he?"

  The mask slipped.

  Her eyes widened for a second before she hissed, "Tch… plan’s blown. Greg, now!"

  From behind the tree, Greg let out a roar and charged, his heavy feet thudding across the forest floor.

  Bad move.

  I waited—just half a second—and as he raised his mace overhead, I stepped forward and twisted.

  My leg swept low.

  Greg’s foot caught the full force of my kick, and his balance faltered. His bulky frame tilted sideways.

  "Wh–!"

  Before he could react, I rotated my body and brought the side of my hand crashing into his exposed neck.

  CRACK!

  He collapsed like a dropped sack of flour. His mace hit the dirt with a dull thud.

  Joe’s eyes widened in horror. "W–what the hell?!"

  I turned toward her slowly.

  "You’ve got a good act," I said, brushing dust off my arm. "But you didn’t plan for failure."

  She drew her dagger shakily, taking a defensive stance.

  Her lips curled back slightly, but her hands were trembling.

  I raised my voice. "Wake him up."

  "...What?"

  "Wake. Him. Up."

  I stepped back, arms folded.

  Still on guard, she warily approached Greg.

  She knelt, shook him, then pulled a small flask from her pouch and splashed water on his face.

  "Wh-what happened…?"

  "You got knocked out, dumbass," Joe snapped.

  Greg groaned and sat up slowly, rubbing his neck.

  I stepped forward, my voice calm. "Your names."

  "...I’m Joe. He’s Greg."

  "Rebels, right? Take me to your leader."

  Joe narrowed her eyes. "No."

  I paused.

  "Really?"

  Her expression hardened.

  She stood straight.

  Even Greg seemed to shift his posture.

  "No. We’re not just gonna do.that. You might be from Empire."

  The way they stared at me—there was no fear.

  Just burning resentment.

  Rage. A silent scream behind their eyes.

  It wasn’t loyalty to the rebels.

  It was hatred for something else.

  'The Empire, most likely.'

  A woman like Joe, weak in body but strong in wit.

  A man like Greg, too slow to survive alone.

  It wasn’t hard to guess what might even happened to them in tower.

  "You both must have a story," I said, voice softer. "But I’m not interested in hearing it."

  I stepped closer, my eyes sharp.

  The air around us thickened.

  "So just take me to your leader."

  Joe hesitated.

  "And in return…" I said, lowering my voice to a quiet promise.

  "...I’ll destroy the Empire."