Tower of Remorse.

  Command Room.

  Warden Myers watched a scene of armageddon that was unfolding right outside his prison.

  General Gregory, with the other allied Level 5s, were fighting the cult forces. Many in the command room were looking on in awe.

  “Give me a report of the infiltrators. How many are there?”

  “The exact number is unclear, sir. Some have begun entering the second floor.”

  “What is the status of the first floor? How much damage?”

  “Relatively minor, sir. There have been minor skirmishes with the guards but the cultists prioritized descending rather than destruction. They didn't release the prisoners or anything.”

  Warden Myers let out a low growl with his throat. Most likely the first floor prisoners weren't important enough in their eyes. It was clear their objectives lay in the lower floors, where the more vicious and powerful prisoners were kept. As the sole Level 5 left inside the Tower, he wouldn't let that happen.

  The Warden organized his men for defense, shouting orders and assigning tasks with clear-cut efficiency.

  No matter what they aimed for in the deeper floors, to exit the prison meant they had to climb the Tower again. It was how the place was made, one way in, one way out.

  Because the Tower’s sensor would have caught the signal of a Level 5, the infiltrators were all lower than Level 5 and thus not his opponent. Gregory and the others kept the cultists Level 5 at bay outside because a single one of them would cause too much damage, let alone if there was a fight between Level 5s.

  Warden Myers meant to make a barricade on the fourth floor because the fifth floor was where most of the Level 5 prisoners resided. Despite their powers being sealed and their Victa drained, if the infiltrators freed them, it would cause unprecedented chaos.

  What’s happening now is already unprecedented.

  The first floor of the Tower was the biggest of them all, the second floor was smaller and the third was smaller still and so on. Despite being smaller than the first, the second floor was huge. The Warden didn't have enough men to contain the rats, especially after they reached it. The third might be enough but the warden picked the fourth floor to be sure.

  With him guarding the fourth personally, the cultists wouldn't reach the really dangerous criminals below while the outside lay armageddon. The cultists were trapped. Even if all the first to the third prisoners were all freed, the Warden was confident the Tower forces would eventually quell the chaos and bag the mice!

  Either way, Warden Myers, the Warden of the Bastion of Peace, would see to it that the sinner scums regret their gross transgressions. He would see to their sin-cleansing personally.

  “This just in. Chief Guard Clifford has been defeated but he’s still alive,” the guard said with a nervous voice.

  Myers frowned.

  A screen of the first floor opened up in the command room and they heard music and saw a dancing green-haired girl.

  Myers frowned further.

  ***

  “Uff, that’s heavy.”

  “They don't call this place the Weight of Sin for nothing.”

  The second floor was nothing like the first floor. The previous floor was like a medieval dungeon combined with a deadly boiling water theme park; the second was like a stone quarry.

  It looked like an open space, like they were outdoors. Even the ceiling showed the sky, whether it was an illusion or whatnot, it looked real enough. There was even a little bit of wind, though the dust was too much with all the stone-cutting work the prisoners were doing.

  The increased gravity made even the most mundane movement a pain in the butt, let alone physical-intensive work like they had.

  Granted, gravity-increasing environments were rare but some Power Spots or Biomes had that effect so it wasn't unheard of. Didn't make it any more pleasant.

  “You know what this means, fellas?”

  “Aye!” Many were putting their hands in their pockets.

  “It’s time for whiskey!”

  The guy raised a bottle of liquor and his men cheered, raising their own whiskey bottles. They chugged their drink with gusto.

  “Alright,” He wiped the liquor from his chin. “Go ask the prison guards over there the way to the third floor.”

  The men stampeded over there, battling the guards like a pack of wild animals. The man stayed behind and looked to the side, at an empty space.

  “You wanna fight?” He asked like someone asked the weather.

  “No.”

  Tanael showed himself, as if appearing from the air. He didn't mean to reveal himself but the man detected him.

  “Pity.”

  The man didn't mind and didn't show hostility. He drank from the bottle again.

  “Someone paid you Ravens to assassinate me?”

  “Oh, I’m not with the Bone Ravens,” Tanael said.

  “You use their tricks.”

  “Well, I learn this from their dead members but I’m not with them.”

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  “Oooh, they won't like that.”

  “I don't care.”

  “Kakakah!” The man laughed and wanted to chug again but found the bottle empty.

  Tanael extended a bottle to him.

  “What’s that?” The man asked.

  “Whiskey.”

  The man grabbed the bottle, opened the cork with his teeth, and sniffed it before drinking it.

  “Ahh. This is pretty good.”

  “Glad to hear it. I use special ingredients.”

  “Poison won't work on me.”

  “There’s no poison.”

  “I know.” The man snorted. “Because of this whiskey, I’ll hear you out. Whaddya want, shady guy?”

  “Hmm,” Tanael put a finger on the chin part of his mask. “Nothing much really. Just minding my own business then you called.”

  “You must be hated by a lot of people,” the man grinned.

  “How do you know?”

  “You have a bad personality.”

  “To be fair, a lot of people like me too,” Tanael chuckled.

  The two stood side by side as if the high gravity did not affect them, looking at the scenery of the second floor. Tanael saw the prisoners digging up a stone hill, making caverns with their pickaxes and shovels. Then people carried the yield out with carts. The carts were brought up to the top of the stone hill, reminiscent of ancient Egyptians bringing massive loads of stone to the top of the pyramid during its construction. Once they were at the top, they dumped their cargo there.

  A never-ending pointless job, under the burden of heavy gravity. This was the fate of the second floor’s prisoners.

  “I pity them all. Such a horrible fate.”

  “Because they got no whiskey?” Tanael asked.

  “Exactly! Gahahaha!”

  The two were approached by a middle-aged man covered in dust and sweat. He was thin and weary.

  “Sirs, can you free us?”

  The man spat the whiskey in his mouth at the prisoner’s face. Instead of a splash, the prisoner was dead. The spit had the power to create a hole in the man’s head.

  “Fuck! I wasted a good whiskey in reflex! What a failure.”

  “Hmm.” Tanael just hummed, swiftly snatching the shortly departed soul for his own.

  The Level 4 drunkard hadn't shown any aggression towards him yet. That said, Tanael was on full alert, as if he were in the vicinity of a man-eating monster, which was probably not false.

  “I’m Whiskey Dog. What’s your name, shady mask?”

  “Tanael. Pleased to meet you.”

  “...Sounds familiar. Where have I... Oh well.” Whiskey Dog shrugged and raised the bottoms of his bottle again. “I’m joining the fight. If you’ve got business with me, make it quick.”

  “Just a short question then. Are you friends with Red Eyes?”

  “I like to hit him, he likes to hit me. That answers your question?”

  “Pretty much. Happy fighting, Warbringers.” Tanael waved his hand and faded away again.

  “You’re welcome to join anytime!” Whiskey Dog said in a slightly loud voice. “I bet you’ll like it there. Might makes right!”

  “No, thank you.” Tanael’s voice came from somewhere, like carried by the wind. “And the world is always might makes right; winners justice, losers evil.”

  Whiskey Dog raised his head to the sky and laughed heartily. He no longer sensed Tanael’s presence.

  He would feel at home with us. How fun it would be to fight against him... But sadly, the mission comes first. Tanael, huh?

  ***

  A group of youngsters were fighting against demons on the first floor. They mowed them down without difficulty or fear, like it was just Tuesday.

  “Left side clear!”

  “Done on the right too.”

  “Good work,” said Freya as she cleaned the demon blood on her rapier by looking at it. The blood evaporated as if burned. Once clean, she returned it to the scabbard.

  “Just imps and other low-tier demons,” Eliott, the vice-captain said. “They got away.”

  Freya’s team was coordinating with prison defenders to repel the infiltrator cultist. They caught one group, most likely from the Wicked Tempters. Before it became a fight, the cultists released a bunch of demons.

  Demons would turn other living things into other demons with their corrupting influence. Left unchecked, the whole first floor could become infected. The prisoners here were helpless and thus easy prey for the demons. They couldn't let that happen and focused on containing the demons. Meanwhile, the vile cultists slipped through during the chaos.

  “How are they summoning demons here? The Tower’s dimensional wards should be impenetrable,” Casey the healer said.

  “They didn't summon them, they released them. They summoned the demons outside, sealed them in artifacts, then released them like a djinn from a lamp,” Hunter answered.

  “Well, vile bastards through and through. What’s our next move, boss?” Cedric asked their leader.

  Their group of five had no injuries and were good to go. Before Freya told them to pursue, she received contact from the command room.

  “Guard Chief Clifford has been defeated but he’s still alive. Your group is the closest. Go to his aid ASAP.”

  “You heard them. Let’s move,” Freya said and they ran.

  “We’re sending the recording of the fight. It’s pretty banged up even after several reconstructions. Hope it’s useful.”

  The group watched the video screen that bloomed in front of their faces as they ran. The fight was short. The Level 4 Guard Chief was totally defeated.

  “What a powerful fire Arte.”

  “It has a mental effect besides burning.”

  “The attacker is masked.”

  “Never seen that fire eye Arte before.”

  “I have.”

  All eyes were on Cedric.

  “I have seen something similar.”

  Freya’s eyes sharpened and she traded eye contact with Cedric.

  “Where?” Eliott asked.

  “In a land far, far away.”

  That answer didn't satisfy him. He was about to press further but they heard a song as they came closer.

  “Music? In this situation?” Casey rolled her eyes.

  They then saw a weird magical image of a girl that wasn't quite human, singing and dancing lively.

  “Anime girl?” Cedric gasped. “Then it must be...”

  “There! Chief Clifford, on the ground!”

  The group of five reached Clifford. Casey immediately cast investigative Arte before providing treatment since the man didn't have obvious physical injuries.

  “By the Goddess, why haven't they shut the music off? I’m trying to concentrate here!”

  “They are trying to analyze it. Trying to find anything useful,” Eliott said.

  “But the rhythm is kind of nice, even if I don't understand the language,” Hunter said then gasped. “You think this is some kind of mental attack?”

  “Don't be ridiculous,” Freya scoffed and covered Casey with a silencing barrier.

  “...Soul-type binding. The Guard Chief also has minor soul damage,” Casey said.

  “Can you undo it?” Eliott asked.

  “The Chief has already done most of the work. Should be easy. If that wasn't the case, it would take hours. This isn't my expertise.”

  Casey made Clifford’s body able to move again in two minutes, not just his eyes. The Guard Chief thanked them and lamented his inability. Freya asked for information about the foe he faced. Information that would be handy in case they encounter him.

  “He didn't give his name, and I couldn’t see through his mask. But...”

  Seeing Clifford hesitate, Freya sent Eliott and Casey away so there were only the two.

  “Do you suspect he’s an otherworlder?” Freya asked in private.

  Clifford looked surprised, then nodded.

  “He’s looking for his kind under our custody.”