“I really don’t understand why I have to go,” said Ren.
He was perfectly happy doing what he should be doing—sitting in his cozy crafting corner, surrounded by bubbling flasks, dried mandrake root, and dimly glowing mushrooms. Going outside was not part of the deal. Going outside was gross.
Victor, the guildmaster of Prosperous Guild, gave him a tired look. “Ren, you know we’ve been stuck at the last challenge in the level 50 dungeon. The boss nukes all potions unless they’re crafted on the spot. We’ve tried with a couple other clerics, and… yeah. No use. Their alchemy’s too low. And if we go with a pure alchemist, we’re short a healer in the party. With a five-man raid, that’s suicide. So yeah, we need you.”
Ren frowned. “Victor, my guild contract specifically says I don't have to go out.”
And for good reason.
Dusty roads.
Sweaty armor.
MONSTERS.
And worst of all—dying.
Towerbound, as the most immersive VR game ever made, had shattered every previous benchmark in the industry. Real sound, real sight, real tastes—and unfortunately, real feeling. Yeah, you could tone it down, but even with his pain settings at 10% (the lowest allowed), dying still sucked.
He’d died once early on. Just once.
Took him three days to log back in after that. And that was when Towerbound allowed you to play with 10% realism.
Now, years into the game, everyone was forced to be in 100% realism.
It helped him in his potion making.
But now, if he was going to be forced into facing possibly dying in-game, and truly experiencing what it would feel like, he could only imagine how bad it would be.
He only returned the first time because his real-world phone wouldn’t stop ringing—reminding him he technically had a guild contract to fulfill.
That’s when he’d added the all-important clause: No dungeon runs. Ever.
He was the guild’s best alchemist, not some glory-seeking raid monkey.
Victor rubbed his face. “Look, we wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. We’re training another cleric focused on alchemy, but he’s not ready. It’ll be at least a month before he can craft mid-tier healing potions, and you know how important timing is.”
Ren raised an eyebrow. “This about reputation?”
Victor didn’t answer.
He didn’t need to.
Prosperous Guild hadn’t been very prosperous lately.
Once a top gaming guild, riding high from early clears and media buzz, they were now… stale. No first clears in six months. Whispers in the forums. Mocking memes. Reddit threads titled “More Like Mediocre Guild LOL”.
The Prosperous Guild was like every other gaming guild out there: it needed to win.
It needed to dominate leaderboards, claim first clears, break records. It was like one of those big-name sports franchises—nobody tuned in, supported, or threw money behind a team that wasn’t battling for first.
And if they weren’t battling for first, the corporations backing them would start bleeding profits.
If that happened?
Endorsements would vanish.
Viewership would nosedive.
Revenue would crater.
And the players? They’d be replaced faster than a losing Neo-Football coach in District 8.
Ren sighed. He liked being indoors. He liked his quiet. But his cushy crafting position did rely on the guild not falling into obscurity.
“Fine. I’ll go. But I expect extra pay.
Victor perked up. “No problem! Normally, as you know, we pay out in guild points.”
“I don’t want guild points,” Ren said flatly.
He didn’t. He already had all the gear he needed. He was the top alchemist in the guild. If he wanted something, it was usually handed to him. Drops that were alchemy related auto-allocated to his inventory by priority.
Guild points were meaningless.
“What about credits?” Victor offered. “We can convert your guild points into direct credits. Black market rate, if needed.”
Ren’s eyes lit up.
“Now that’s more like it.”
Technically, credits weren’t transferable from the game’s banking system, but guilds had all kinds of ways around that. Legal? Not really. Useful? Absolutely. Credits could buy you real food, rent, fancy VR upgrades—or more importantly his real passion: fancy cheese.
He loved his craft in game. But lately? The guild had been treating him like a potion donkey.
His original contract gave him half a day for experimental alchemy work. But that had slowly been chipped away—first a few hours, then a couple more, and now he was just left with a single pathetic hour a day.
He’d thought about breaking the contract. But every time he brought it up, they said the same thing:
“It’s just temporary.”
It was always temporary.
Ren appreciated the fact that they’d given him a cushy contract—one that let him move out of District 1, get real water pressure, and sleep without sirens. That goodwill had gone a long way.
But this? This was pushing it.
Breaking his contract explicitly, shoving him into a live raid, forcing him to face down a monster that could absolutely kill him—or at least make him feel like it had?
Yeah. That was too much.
He wasn’t trying to be a huge dick about it, but come on. He wasn’t a murder hobo. At best, he was murder hobo adjacent.
And now they wanted him to run headfirst into a no-potion death dungeon?
Ren sighed.
“And after this run you’ll go back to 100% self guided alchemy.”
“No more constantly grinding out the same level 3 instant heal and instant potions?”
“Yeah… no more.”
“Plus credits? In real life?”
“Yup, a ton of them. Enough for that cheese trip you always wanted to go on.”
The thought of a whole bunch of fancy cheese in real life made Ren smile.
He wasn’t poor—far from it. As the top alchemist in a pretty good guild (until recently), he was doing better than most.
Living in a nice place in district 10, not worrying about getting stabbed on his daily grocery run, you know small stuff like that His contract didn’t make him rich, but if he wanted a nice ten-dollar block of sharp cheddar? No problem. Toss it on the credit card.
But if he wanted something a little stupider—like flying to District 9’s Creambelt, where everyone knew the best cheese came from—cows, class, and consumption in equal measure—just to gorge himself on a $200 block of applewood smoked cheddar aged in the caves of wherever-the-hell?
That was a different story.
He could afford it. Technically.
But being able to buy mountains of it without blinking?
That was the dream.
That was the “swimming in cheese like Scrooge McDuck” dream.
(Although the mental image of literally swimming in melted cheese made him gag a little.)
Still, it was the principle of the thing.
Yet the once-in-a-lifetime vacation overcame his fear of death.
“All right,” Ren said, cracking his knuckles. “I’m ready to go.”
He geared himself up carefully, mentally going over every piece twice.
The guild had loaned him the best equipment available for the run—probably because they knew he’d back out if they didn’t protect his cowardly ass.
Technically, Ren was a Battle Cleric, and he had the basic cleric spells to prove it:
- Basic Heal
- Minor Cure Status
- Blessing of Endurance
- Light Barrier
He also had Battle Cleric spells. The spells weren’t anything special—just the ones people normally got after they hit level 10 and specialized:
- Heal Self
- Aura of Cleansing
- Self Regenerate
- Mendflesh
- Sanctified Rebound
Nothing fancy.
Nothing flashy.
He wasn’t one of those battle clerics who ran around smashing people with a mace while shouting about divine justice.
No, Ren’s real strength came from his professional class:
Alchemy.
His potions could make a tank invincible for thirty seconds.
His healing potions could outpace a regular cleric’s best channeling spells.
His experimental brews could turn the tide of a battle in the blink of an eye.
Assuming, of course, he wasn’t busy being eaten by a boss monster.
Ren sighed and glanced over his gear again.
Lightweight chain under reinforced priest robes.
A belt full of emergency reagents.
Two quick-deploy potion kits clipped to his hip.
And, slung across his back, the Guild-Issued Holy Staff, affectionately nicknamed by other clerics as the Bam-Bam Stick—because if things got desperate enough, you could always smack a goblin with it.
He wasn’t a fighter.
He wasn’t a raider.
But for this one stupid dungeon run…
He was ready to be a hero.
Or at least, ready enough not to die in the first two minutes.
***
Chapter 2
Ren was quickly introduced to his team—the so-called “elite strike squad” of Prosperous Guild.
They were the guild’s spearhead, the ones who usually brought home the glory and the headlines.
Not that Ren cared. He wasn’t here for fame. He was here for the cheddar.
It was a standard five-person composition: one main tank, two DPS, himself as the cleric, and an off-tank/DPS hybrid to round things out.
Victor clapped his hands together. “All right, Ren, meet your team. You’re in good hands.”
A massive wall of a man stepped forward first, armor clanking with every move. His shield alone looked like it could stop a runaway truck.
“Gareth Ironwall,” the man grunted. His voice sounded like boulders grinding together. “I tank. You heal. Keep it simple.”
Ren gave a stiff nod. Simple sounded good.
Next was a wiry woman with a cascade of fiery red hair and twin daggers strapped at her hips. She moved like a coiled spring, ready to pounce.
“Lilith Ekulen,” she said with a playful grin. “But everyone calls me Lil. I stab things. Fast.”
She winked, and Ren suddenly wasn’t sure if she was flirting or threatening him. Possibly both.
A figure in muted green leathers followed her, his bow casually slung across one shoulder. He had a quiet, steady presence, like someone who knew exactly where every exit was and how fast he could get there.
“Milo Greaves,” he said in a calm, clipped tone. “Most call me Moss. I’ll cover from range. Try not to get in the way.”
Ren could respect that. Clear. Professional. Non-stabby.
Finally, a man with a roguish smile and a greatsword nearly as tall as Ren himself swaggered up, tossing a casual salute.
“Cassien Vale. Off-tank, part-time disaster artist. If things go sideways, I’m your guy.”
Cassien slapped Ren on the back so hard he nearly face-planted. Laughing, he added, “Relax, potion boy. We’ll get you through this in one piece.”
Ren offered a tight smile. He was not reassured.
Victor looked pleased. “Good. You all know the plan. Ren handles healing and alchemy on the fly. Gareth holds the line. Lil and Moss rip through the adds. Cassien jumps in where needed.”
He gave Ren a long look. “And you? Just stay alive. Keep them alive.”
Ren gave a short nod.
Simple orders.
Easy enough.
Except the boss waiting for them inside—the Shard Revenant—had grown infamous for exactly one thing: punishing anyone who thought things would be simple.
Ren double-checked his potion belt, adjusted his reagent pouch, and followed the team toward the wilds.
‘Cheese. Think about the cheese,’ he told himself resolutely.
And with that, he stepped forward into the unknown.
***
Chapter 3
The trip to the dungeon itself wasn’t quite as horrible as Ren had imagined.
First, they teleported to the region called Emberfall.
Thanks to Prosperous Guild’s resources, they had locked down several lands and territories across the map. In Towerbound, players could teleport instantly to any major city or town—if they had a hearthstone bound there.
The guild owned one massive city and several smaller towns, all vital hubs of shops, trade, and services that fueled their economy.
Naturally, each of those towns also had guild-bound hearthstones, making travel fast.
Well, fast to the right place. What happened after that was another story.
Emberfall was beautiful—scorched red forests, misty valleys, and rivers that steamed in the cool twilight.
Most players loved it.
Ren hated it.
Because traveling meant one very specific nightmare: Kodos.
Big.
Fat.
Swamp-sloshing lizards.
And they stank.
Even when they weren’t loudly releasing gas like biological artillery, they still smelled like a boot left in a bog for a year.
Prosperous Guild wasn’t rich enough to blow fortunes on gilded war-stallions or nightmare steeds. No, they bought Kodos—cheap, dependable, stinky.
The only saving grace?
Storage.
Kodos had an absurd amount of room to physically strap gear onto them.
In Towerbound, players were lucky enough to have personal space bags—small magical inventory fields that could hold far more items than their size suggested.
They came in different tiers. Beginner bags were about ten by ten slots—perfect for new players lugging around basic potions and low-tier gear. Advanced bags could reach one hundred by one hundred slots or higher, holding thousands of items, each compressed neatly into inventory grids.
Ren, as the top alchemist in Prosperous Guild, already had one of the biggest bags available—a one-hundred-twenty-by-one-hundred-twenty spatial grid, massive by normal player standards. Enough to carry reagents, herbs, potions, ingredients, and half a mobile laboratory if he needed it.
But even his gigantic bag had limits.
Mounts, like the poor swampy Kodos, didn’t have magic storage. Anything you wanted carried outside your personal bag had to be physically strapped onto the beast. And Kodos had a lot of scaly real estate to work with.
Ren had taken full advantage.
He strapped a four-person luxury tent with weather protection enchantments. Roll-up carpets enchanted for warmth and softness. A travel-size hookah illusion setup for maximum morale. Genie arrays that floated plates of imported snacks and cheeses. A magical zither illusion for ambient bard music. And most importantly, a plush, rune-stitched bedroll capable of adjusting its temperature and softness automatically.
If he had to spend three miserable days out here, then by the gods, he was going to do it in style.
‘No way I’m living like some dirty-edgy “real adventurer,”’ Ren thought smugly.
‘I’ll be the pampered merchant who actually survives the trip.’
When the others mounted up, they glanced over his ridiculous setup.
Lil doubled over laughing. Moss shook his head with the air of a man deeply disappointed by his gear choices. Cassien offered to swap his saddlebag of rations for “literally anything luxurious you’re hauling.” Gareth muttered something about “soft hands” and kept riding.
Ren didn’t care.
He wasn’t here to win style points.
He was here to not die and then buy so much cheese the Creambelt economy would feel it.
To that end, he had layered himself with every possible anti-monster protection he could afford. There were standard guild-issued protection amulets, but Ren had added quick-deploy shield barriers, emergency teleport blink stones, and a ring of automated defensive glyphs that could trigger in layers around his camp.
He was practically a walking fortress disguised as a traveling apothecary.
‘Gotta not die,’ Ren reminded himself fearfully as the first night loomed.
‘Fancy cheese. Imported, smoked, aged cheese. Focus, Ren.’
He secured the camp, activated the protection arrays, and climbed into his luxury bedroll under a canopy of illusionary stars.
Maybe tomorrow they’d run into goblin ambushers or giant Emberfall predators.
Maybe he’d die a painful, screaming death.
But tonight?
Tonight, he would sleep like a king—wrapped in luxury, snacking on brie, dreaming of cheddar victories to come.
***
The road from Emberfall to the dungeon wasn’t particularly dangerous.
And really, why would it be?
Guilds were crawling all over the place, all desperate to be the first to clear the new dungeon.
And wherever there were adventurers, there were people happy to smash anything dumb enough to wander close to the road.
Troll? Free loot.
Goblin? Free EXP.
Harpies? Free target practice.
Stick to the roads, you were fine.
Wander into the woods, you were on your own.
Ren’s group wasn’t wandering.
They were on a tight, miserable, no-stops timeline.
Prosperous Guild wasn’t just aiming for a clear. They were racing for the First Clear.
And First Clears weren’t just about giving Victor something to brag about, though Ren was pretty sure Victor was already drafting his speech.
First Clears meant exclusive loot.
One-time rewards.
Sponsored Messages.
Exclusive equipment, bonus experience boosts, unique titles, and sometimes secret questlines—things you literally couldn’t earn after someone else got there first.
First Clears weren’t bragging rights.
They were power.
And Prosperous Guild desperately needed the boost.
Ren understood.
He just wished they hadn’t dragged him along for it.
Three random monster attacks on the way already, and every one of them made the group more tense.
Ren still hadn’t gotten off his Kodo once.
He fired off lazy healing spells from his saddle, kept everyone alive just fine, and didn’t even wrinkle his robes doing it.
He wasn’t here to win Best Healer of the Year anyway.
His cleric level was a sad little 10.
Realistically? Not dungeon material.
But his Tier 7 Alchemist level said otherwise.
In Towerbound, level 10 was the threshold—the real start of the game. That’s when everything changed. Players could finally unlock their elite combat class, shaping how they’d fight, survive, or dominate. But just as importantly, they could pick their professional class—the economic, crafting, and support lifepath that let them manipulate the world in quieter, subtler ways.
Professional classes came with their own skill trees, tools, and independent EXP gain systems. Leveling your professional class didn’t boost your main class directly, but it did grant passive bonuses, unlock crafting synergies, and occasionally give hidden quests that bled into the rest of the world.
Ren, though? He’d never really fought. Never delved into dungeons like the others. Not after what happened last time—the time he died. That memory had been enough to keep him tucked away, safe behind walls and workshops. Which meant one thing:
All of his professional EXP came from crafting potions.
Thousands of them. Healing draughts. Mana elixirs. Buff infusions. He’d practically drowned in cauldrons and recipes, leveling faster than most combat players just through sheer repetition. His Alchemy skill was absurdly high. His tool proficiencies were maxed out. His potion crit rate was bug-level broken.
He wasn’t a fighter.
But he was something better. Something stronger.
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A force multiplier.
And according to the global rankings, he was the number one alchemist in the world.
The others didn’t need him to battle-heal.
They needed him for a specific moment inside the dungeon—a crafting ritual site hidden deep in the labyrinth.
The dungeon’s main gimmick blocked outside healing potions, scrolls, buffs—pretty much everything.
If they wanted supplies to survive the final boss, they had to craft them right there, on the spot, using raw ingredients they had.
No pre-packed potions. No mass-produced pills.
You either had a good enough alchemist to brew what you needed at the ritual site—or you died.
And Prosperous Guild?
They didn’t have another alchemist who could pull it off.
They had tried someone else first.
Specifically, Adhir—Victor’s girlfriend.
On paper, she looked okay.
Level 52 Holy cleric.
Problem was, her alchemy was a pitiful Tier 2.
Practically a hobbyist.
They’d thrown every boost they could at her.
Guild bonuses, top-tier gear, crafting guides handed to her on a silver platter.
Didn’t matter.
She wasn’t good enough.
She failed, the raid failed, everyone went home pissed off. With the loss of EXP as a reminder of their failure.
No amount of favoritism could fix that.
And Adhir had definitely gotten favoritism.
She got the best crafting stations, best raid slots, best opportunities—because she was dating Victor.
Nobody said it out loud, but everyone knew.
Ren didn’t even really blame her.
It wasn’t her fault Victor was an idiot about keeping guild business and personal life separate.
It just made things messy.
Ren shifted in his saddle, patting the heavy bags crammed full of reagents, base ingredients, and emergency supplies strapped to his Kodo.
He wasn’t here for politics.
He wasn’t here for drama.
He was here to get to the crafting ritual, brew up a survival kit so good they’d actually win, clear the dungeon, and build himself a castle made entirely of imported cheeses.
‘Survive. Brew. Cheese,’ Ren reminded himself resolutely, watching the faint silhouette of the dungeon grow larger through the Emberfall mist.
The others rode ahead, silent and focused.
Ren hung back a little, letting his Kodo plod along comfortably.
Because one thing was certain:
They might make it. They might wipe. But Ren? Ren was damn well going to survive in comfort.
***
CHAPTER 4
When Prosperous Guild finally reached the dungeon gates, the place was packed.
Hundreds of players loitered around, setting up campfires, sharpening weapons, checking gear, or just trash-talking each other. Guild banners flapped overhead, and the mist swirling out from the dungeon entrance gave everything an ominous, end-of-the-world vibe.
A level 50 dungeon with the First Clear still on the line?
Yeah, no major guild was going to sit that one out.
But if there was one guild guaranteed to get the stink eye from everyone else, it was Prosperous Guild.
And it wasn’t even close.
Prosperous had tried their usual stunt—stationing thousands of their members outside the dungeon days before, claiming it was “theirs” because they “found it.”
Problem was, everybody knew the truth.
Starfire Guild had actually discovered the dungeon three days earlier.
Unlike Prosperous, Starfire had opened the find to the community—letting anyone who wandered by enter it freely, no gatekeeping, no politics.
Prosperous didn’t care about that.
They never did.
They’d bullied their way in anyway, set up blockade lines, and declared the dungeon “Prosperous Property” like they were really medieval lords handing out decrees.
It hadn’t gone over well.
Not even a little.
Now, as Ren’s five-person team rolled up toward the gates, the boos and jeering started immediately.
“Look who finally showed up!” someone from Ashen Bloom yelled, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Took you long enough to remember how doors work!”
“Don’t die again in the mist, Prosperous babies!” a rogue from Silver Phoenix shouted, laughing.
From the camp of Obsidian Serpents, someone muttered just loud enough for it to carry, “Guess bribing half the server didn’t buy them enough skill.”
Even Stormborne Vanguard, normally the uptight stoic types, weren’t immune to the temptation.
One of their shield bearers called out with a smirk, “Better set up your tent right here. At your speed, you’ll still be clearing the lobby when we’re looting the boss.”
Ren shifted in his saddle, tugging his hood down a little farther over his face.
‘Fantastic,’ he thought. ‘Public humiliation before we even get wiped. Great start.’
Lil, to her credit, just winked at a few hecklers and blew a sarcastic kiss.
Cassien offered an exaggerated bow so deep it was almost a faceplant.
Moss didn’t react at all—dead silent, dead still. Probably plotting how to snipe someone later.
Gareth just grunted like he wanted to break someone’s jaw with his shield.
Victor walked in front of them like he didn’t hear anything.
Pretending Prosperous Guild wasn’t a giant target of public hatred was a valuable skill for all their members.
Ren admired the delusion, honestly.
‘Survive. Brew. Cheese,’ he reminded himself, patting the Kodo’s scaly side for luck.
Because once those dungeon doors opened, it wasn’t going to matter who hated who.
Only one guild was walking out with the First Clear.
And he had no intention of dying first just so Prosperous could save face.
***
Ren slouched lower in his saddle, pretending to check his potion satchels while trying not to make eye contact with anyone ready to throw a punch.
Internally, he started mentally ranking the odds of who was going to stab Prosperous Guild first.
Top 5 groups most likely to shank us before we even hit the loading screen, Ren’s List:
#1. Crimson Thorns —
Zero impulse control. Already suplexing each other in their own camp. Would absolutely stab for fun. Probably already taking bets on who would throw the first punch.
#2. Obsidian Serpents —
Professional backstabbers. If they could kill you in-game, loot your corpse, and convince your guild to thank them for it, they would.
#3. Starfire Guild —
Normally peaceful. But after Prosperous tried to steal their dungeon?
Yeah. Grudges run deep.
Ren could practically feel the passive-aggressive judgment radiating off them like solar flares.
#4. Silver Phoenix —
Wouldn’t stab them right away.
No, Silver Phoenix would smile, make friends, let you walk into the boss room first, and then stab you when your health hit half.
#5. Twilight Covenant —
Technically might not stab them at all.
Might just quietly curse them, summon a demon, or open a portal to hell under their tent.
Ren gave the whole situation about a 30% chance they even made it through the front door without someone throwing a fireball.
‘Survive. Brew. Cheese,’ he reminded himself again.
In that order.
***
As they approached the dungeon entrance, Ren realized he was going to have to park his Kodo.
There was no way mounts were allowed inside.
And that meant hoping no one would steal it. In Towerbound there was no way to “store” mounts. That meant always treating them as living beings.
It was marked prominently as his property—Prosperous Guild tags, ownership tracers, even his personal guild seal—but that didn’t mean much around here.
Not with thieves lurking everywhere.
Especially not with how hated Prosperous Guild was.
There were thieves with plenty of talents, after all.
And a Kodo loaded down with luxury items, clearly belonging to one of the most hated guilds around?
That was a very tempting target.
Ren did his best to make it untempting.
He scattered a long-lasting and debilitating poison over the saddlebags, the saddle itself, and every tempting bit of gear that was hanging off the Kodo’s sides.
It was odorless, colorless, and best of all—custom-made.
Anyone who stole the Kodo would also get poisoned and infected almost immediately.
And as a top alchemist, it wasn’t going to be some standard poison, either.
Detoxification potions only worked for basic poisons.
Ren had spent a lot of his time making sure his brews weren’t basic.
Anyone unlucky enough to mess with his Kodo was in for a rough time—violent hallucinations, muscle seizures, and probably explosive diarrhea just to round out the experience.
He gave his Kodo a final pat on its scaly side.
‘Good luck, buddy,’ Ren thought, sighing.
As he turned to jog back toward the others, he muttered under his breath,
“Hope you like a month of explosive diarrhea, suckers.”
***
CHAPTER 5
The first four levels of the dungeon had already been conquered by Prosperous Guild with various teams. Sure, Towerbound threw in changes to dungeon layouts just to keep things interesting—but enough of their guild had run it that they had a solid 90% chance of knowing what was coming.
Ren, despite being a mediocre cleric, had still been busy the whole way down.
His job was simple: keep everyone alive, especially Gareth, their main tank.
The first level had been a gnoll warren, filled with screeching, flea-bitten beasts who were more annoying than dangerous.
The second was a trap field, with boulders, spike pits, and collapsing floors that punished every wrong step.
The third was an underwater maze, packed with mermen, swamp eels, and a giant crustacean that nearly took Moss’s leg off. Seriously, who designed underwater mazes? They combined the two least favorite mechanics in all of gaming—underwater sections and mazes—into one sadistic package.
Because they had cleared those areas before, this time it was just a fighting march through familiar territory.
Ren shuffled along on foot with the others, still grumbling internally about how much he missed Parkinson (his Kodo), and how much walking sucked.
Every few minutes, he threw out basic healing spells, refreshed buffs, and kept Gareth from getting overwhelmed by stray gnoll attacks.
It wasn’t glamorous, but it was necessary.
And Ren was just good enough to do what was needed.
The fifth level, though—that was where it changed.
As soon as they stepped through the stone arch into the cavern, a system notification flashed across their vision:
SYSTEM NOTICE:
From here onward, no premade potions/buffs can be used.
You have 24 hours to craft new supplies for the final boss.
At the same time, every buff they had—healing fields, resistance wards, armor boosts—blinked out of existence.
Gone. Just like that.
Ren watched his status bar flicker, feeling naked without the layers of protections he was used to.
They had expected this.
Prosperous Guild had already tried to power through this section before.
They had dragged in every mid-tier alchemist they could find, flooded them with raw ingredients, and hoped sheer quantity would save them.
It hadn’t.
Twenty-four hours wasn’t nearly enough time for real brewing.
A basic healing potion, the kind that restored a sliver of health, still needed a few minutes if you were a bad alchemist.
And basic potions weren’t going to help here.
They needed top-end alchemy: full-health restorations, instant mana refills, antidotes strong enough to purge curses and poisons mid-fight.
They had failed.
Over and over again.
Eventually, they had given up and gone crawling to the last person they wanted to ask.
Ren.
Ren, who hated raids.
Ren, who hated dungeons.
Ren, who hated anything that involved walking somewhere he couldn’t teleport to with a hot meal waiting.
But Ren was also the best alchemist they had.
Possibly the best alchemist the game had ever seen.
He sighed and shifted the reagent bags on his shoulders, feeling the weight of the job ahead of him.
‘Twenty-four hours to save everybody’s asses,’ he thought with annoyance.
Sure, some people might think of him as whiny, lazy, and cowardly. And they’d be right—about most of it. He was cowardly. He was whiny. But lazy? That part wasn’t quite fair. Ren was a potion-crafting machine. Set him up in his alchemy lab and he could go non-stop—hour after hour—sometimes even skipping his beloved cheese and tea breaks if he really got into a rhythm.
He just hated everything that didn’t involve alchemy.
Some people blamed him for that. “It’s just a game,” they’d say. “Yeah, it sucks getting hurt, but it’s all in your head. It doesn’t really count.”
To which Ren would always respond: “Cool. Let me stab you in the face before you finish that thought.”
***
One of the biggest advantages of Ren’s massive alchemy level was the fact that he could multitask.
A Tier 1 alchemist could only brew one potion at a time.
At his level, he could brew four at once—if they were all simple, Tier 1 potions.
It was one of the few things that made this whole insane operation even remotely possible.
They had already planned out what they would need for the 24-hour crafting window.
This wasn’t their first trip down here.
They had made a list, organized by importance:
Required, Hopeful, and Wishful.
The required list was obvious.
Full-health potions. Emergency mana restorers. Focus potions. Instant-revive potions if they could manage it.
The hopeful list included things like armor buffs, resistance amplifiers, and anti-paralysis brews.
Wishful thinking was all the luxury stuff they probably wouldn’t have time for—flame resistance potions, frost shields, anti-curse salves, the kind of things that hurt when the boss started throwing out every nasty trick in the book.
Ren had grumbled at the list but hadn’t fought it.
He wasn’t the one making the battle plans.
Besides, he hadn’t even been there when they first explored the fifth level.
He had no idea what the boss’s attack patterns were like.
Well, he hadn’t—
Not until he was forced to sit through a two-hour “mandatory strategy meeting” about it.
Two.
Agonizing.
Hours.
Exactly what he hated about being part of a guild.
Exactly why he hated dungeon missions.
Two hours he could have spent doing literally anything else.
Two hours that could have been spent running side-by-side tests on the molecular differences between dragonweed and dragonleaf, and their impact on basic healing potion formulations.
Instead, he had been trapped in a meeting with a bunch of sweaty raid captains arguing about whether the boss’s third phase required more flame resistance or just better dodging.
Ren still wasn’t sure which was worse—the upcoming boss or the planning meeting.
***
24 hours might have seemed like a long time to a lot of people, and for Ren, it would have been a long time to sit in his tent and wait.
But because Ren himself was the one in charge of alchemy, he didn’t even notice the time passing.
If there was one thing that could suck up his attention and make hours fly by, it was alchemy.
If there was a second thing, it would have been a really good TV series.
But hey, once he got through this mission, it would be cheese castles, hanging out, and more potion crafting.
He worked through the required list as fast as he could.
And at his level, it was fast.
Multitasking, he had four separate cauldrons running at once, each bubbling and brewing perfectly under his control.
The guild team watching him realized just how badass he was compared to the mediocre alchemists they had brought before.
Most adventurers knew how potions were made, they understood the basics, but they had no idea about the huge difference between a good alchemist and a great alchemist.
Ren was a great alchemist.
Because they had wiped several times before, they knew exactly what needed to be on their required list.
And they had really hoped Ren would work through their hopeful list as well.
Before the 24 hours were even up, Ren had finished all of the required potions.
He finished the hopeful list too.
And the wishful thinking list, the one nobody had actually expected him to touch?
Yeah, he finished that too.
***
CHAPTER 6
They walked through the final archway into a massive cavern—and there it was.
The boss.
It was absurdly large.
Some kind of giant, horned monstrosity stitched together out of scales, fire, and every horrible creature Ren would’ve preferred stayed in bad dreams.
The air was filled with heat, smoke, and the low thud of the boss’s footsteps shaking the cavern walls.
The fight was brutal from the start.
Ren was swearing almost immediately.
“This is why I don’t do dungeon fights!” he yelled, diving out of the way as a wave of molten rock exploded across the floor.
He was hopping, rolling, half-crawling around broken stone, desperately throwing buffs and emergency heals while the others attacked.
“I make potions, you lunatics! Potions!” Ren shouted, barely dodging a swipe that would’ve turned him into paste.
“This is exactly why I stay in my damn lab!”
It was pandemonium.
But this time, they had the potions.
Real potions.
His potions.
The kind that made the impossible survivable.
Gareth soaked the damage.
Lil slashed and darted through openings.
Moss picked off weak points with brutal precision.
Cassien hammered away, relentless.
And Ren—grumbling, cursing, panicking—kept them all alive. Barely. To be honest, a Level 10 Battle Cleric had no business being anywhere near a Level 50 dungeon, and his actual job had already been done the moment he finished brewing the potions. Still, surviving by hiding and tossing out poorly timed heals from behind a rock? That was Ren’s signature battle tactic.
Little by little, they chipped the boss down.
This time, with Ren’s ultra-powered potions pumping through their veins like liquid godmode, they chewed through the boss. No stalling, no panicking, just clean, brutal efficiency. When the berserk phase hit—when the floor shook, the boss tripled in size, and half the party started screaming—those potions kept them upright.
Not just alive.
Unstoppable.
Burn resistance, stagger immunity, instant-cast healing, and that nasty little critical surge brew Ren had slipped them just in case? Yeah. That hit hard.
The tank face-tanked four slams in a row.
The assassin ignored the fire pools and stood still.
The ranger kept laughing.
And then—BOOM. The final burst landed. The boss staggered, let out a tremendous death roar, and collapsed into loot and particle effects.
They had done it.
Not because they were the best fighters.
But because they had Ren.
And Ren had brought war in a bottle.
Everyone exhaled.
There were whoops, backslaps, cheers.
And then—
DUNGEON BOSS DEFEATED.
TIME FOR YOUR SACRIFICE.
CHOOSE WHO TO SACRIFICE.
All five names popped up at once.
Ren stared at the list, stomach sinking.
‘Sacrifice?’ he thought. ‘The hell is this?’
Before he could even react, a second notification appeared:
FOUR TEAM MEMBERS HAVE SELECTED: REN VARROW
“What the hell?!” Ren shouted out loud.
The others turned and blinked at him innocently.
“What’s wrong, Ren?” Lil asked, flashing a too-sweet smile.
“According to this prompt. I have to sacrifice my entire character! And suffer a one month cool down! Not just die and respawn!” he snapped.
Cassien shrugged, looking completely unconcerned.
“Come on, man. It’s for the guild.”
Moss didn’t even bother to look up.
“Yeah, suck it up. It’s not like you’re DPS.”
Even Gareth, the walking brick wall, rumbled, “Better you than us.”
Ren gaped at them.
These assholes weren’t even pretending to be sorry.
Another system prompt flashed:
SACRIFICED MEMBER’S LEVELS AND SKILLS WILL BE TRANSFERRED TO THE TEAM POOL.
THE TEAM MAY REASSIGN THEM TO OTHER MEMBERS.
The second that appeared, whatever sad expressions they had completely vanished.
“Oh, that’s not bad at all!” Lil chirped.
“Think about it! You’re not really dying—you’re contributing!”
“Guild family, man,” Cassien added, clapping him on the back hard enough to almost knock him over.
Ren clenched his teeth so hard it hurt.
“This is bullshit,” he muttered.
“Come on,” said Moss lazily.
“Take one for the team. It’s tradition.”
It wasn’t only the raid leader pushing for it anymore—it was Cassien, the cheerful off-tank.
Cassien was already rallying everyone, spinning it like it was Ren’s duty.
“Look,” Cassien said, “we don’t even know if this is the end of the dungeon. Maybe there’s another stage. Maybe we still need the heavy hitters.”
“We don’t!” Ren snapped. “This kind of notification always happens at the end of the dungeon!”
Cassien just smiled that infuriating, careless smile.
“Yeah, maybe. But you’re just a Level 10 cleric. If there’s another fight, honestly? We don’t really need you.”
Lil nodded along without missing a beat.
“Especially now that we’ve got enough potions. If the dungeon clears or not, we’re golden.”
Ren stared at them, stunned.
He had left his comfortable alchemy lab, abandoned his room filled with cheeses and herbs, dragged himself into hell for them—
And they were throwing him into the fire without a second thought. The worst part was, he didn’t even care that much about his Level 10 as a battle cleric. What really terrified him was the thought of losing his professional tiers. Would the Prosperous Guild still keep him? Probably. He still had the memory of how to craft every potion they needed. But would they treat him like the rare, radiant alchemical treasure he was supposed to be? Definitely not—not if he got knocked down to a Level 1 scrub.
SACRIFICE FINALIZING IN 30 SECONDS
Cassien smiled.
Lil winked.
Moss tightened his bowstring without a care.
Even Gareth, cold and impassive, didn’t say a word.
Ren’s hands curled into fists.
‘This is how they repay me,’ he thought bitterly.
‘Leave my comfy castle…and get sacrificed like a disposable item.’
And worst of all?
He didn’t even have Parkinson here to trample them.
The crazy thing about the 30-second timer was that another screen appeared, but it only appeared in front of Ren’s face.
SECOND CHANCE AVAILABLE.
Answer the following questions about alchemy (your profession) to earn it.
YES / NO
Ren frantically smashed YES with his mind.
Instantly, the 30-second sacrifice countdown froze.
Everything around him paused.
Another screen popped up.
Begin Alchemy Knowledge Assessment.
Without warning, questions started flooding in.
What is the primary neutralizing reagent for dragonleaf toxicity?
If mixing phoenix ash with liquid mana, what stabilizer prevents explosion?
How do you distinguish goldenblossom from bloodpetal at a glance?
What potion base is required for simultaneous health and mana regeneration?
Identify three ingredients that must never be combined without an Arcane Cooler.
The questions were fast, detailed, and brutal.
Fantasy alchemy trivia that would have left any normal player screaming.
But not Ren.
He answered them all—firing off the answers so fast the system barely kept up.
Finally, the last question faded.
SECOND CHANCE OFFERED.
DO YOU ACCEPT?
Yes, he mentally slammed.
‘Hell yes.’
Another notification appeared immediately.
If you choose YES, you will experience the flash forward.
“YES!” Ren shouted mentally, hammering the button.
He didn’t even hesitate.
‘Anything for a second chance. Anything to claw his way out of this betrayal.’
The world around him blurred.
Colors ran together.
Sounds twisted and folded back on themselves.
And then he watched.
Watched as the flash forward began.
The scene unfolded perfectly:
The others were cheering.
Celebrating.
High-fiving like a bunch of giddy idiots.
“We fucking cleared it!” Lil shouted, throwing her arms up.
There were backslaps, laughing, and smiling faces everywhere.
For a brief moment, Ren smiled too.
Even though he was an introvert, even though he hated raids, he had still liked being part of the Prosperous Guild.
He liked being useful.
Wanted.
But that moment didn’t last.
Because then he heard them.
Real words.
Unfiltered.
Words they hadn’t meant for him to hear.
“I can’t believe Victor’s plan worked out,” Cassien said, laughing.
“I know, right?” Moss said, grinning.
“What do you mean his plan worked out?” Gareth asked.
“Well,” Lil said casually, “based on the dungeon text, we knew someone would have to be sacrificed. And who better than Ren? Someone we could dump without hurting the guild.”
“So that’s why Adhir wasn’t on this final try team.”
They all laughed.
Laughed.
Ren felt the bottom drop out of his gut.
“Especially since the guild knew there was a high chance the sacrifice would let us transfer their levels,” Moss added.
“Yeah,” Cassien said, chuckling.
“Now we can dump Ren’s skills into Victor’s girlfriend, get the bonus, and not have to worry about anything.”
“I know, it’s brilliant,” Lil said.
“Best solution for everyone—except Ren, I guess.”
“Do you think Ren would’ve taken this mission if he knew?” Gareth joked.
“Ha! Not a chance,” said Cassien.
“That’s why we didn’t tell him.”
“We’re gonna put him back in the guild, right?” Moss asked lazily.
The raid leader snorted.
“Are you kidding? Why would we take back a level 1 scrub? Sure, he might level fast, but the resources to get him back to fighting shape? Screw that.”
“And even if he does join another guild and wants revenge,” Lil added, “good luck with that.”
“Yeah,” Gareth agreed.
“Whatever crappy guild he joins, we’ll squash him like a bug.”
[System Announcement]
Congratulations to the Prosperous Guild.
The four of them were still riding the high, laughing, half-celebrating, half-collapsing from the dungeon clear. Their screens lit up with the Prosperous Guild Clearance Banner, and—like tradition—they were prompted to enter their IDs for the credits roll.
“Wanna announce your IDs?” one of them joked.
“Hell yeah,” another replied, already typing.
[Credit Log – Vault of the Frozen Kings Clear]
Each name popped up in golden letters, framed by ice-cracked designs and aurora flashes.
Then came the usual guild tagline, scrolling across like a streamer banner:
Join PROSPEROUS GUILD to be PROSPEROUS!
Apply now. Dungeon-ready, fast-track raiding, loot-share contracts available!
They barely had time to smirk before the system continued.
[System Announcement – Global Level Shift]
Real-world Dungeon Link Established.
Reality-Locked Mechanics are now Active.
[New Quest Chain Unlocked: Worldbound Ascension]
They stared at the screen. None of them were laughing now.
The Bad Winter Begins.
Warning: The Ebon Tower will now appear on Earth.
The screen flickered.
The raid ended.
And the four remaining party members just… sat there, blinking.
‘Bad winter?’
‘What’s bad winter?’
‘Real-life monsters?!’
No one spoke at first. Just shared the kind of panicked silence usually reserved for disasters or unpaid rent.
Then one of them opened their mouth and said what everyone was thinking.
“Wait. Real life? Like real real?”
They weren’t imagining things. A second announcement followed—unprompted and undeniably ominous.
[New Phenomenon Unlocked – Mythic Veil Fracture]
Ren then watched what felt like a fast-forwarded nightmare stitched into high definition—a montage of the Ebon Tower’s arrival on Earth.
It didn’t just appear.
It crashed through the sky like a god’s spear, impaling the world with obsidian and impossible geometry. Waves of corrupted mana tore through the land. Monsters poured out like blood from an open wound. Towerbound had never been just a game—it had always been training.
And Earth? Earth was never ready.
The brave rushed toward the tower, trying to fight back. Some made it past the first floors. Most didn’t even make it through the street outside their homes. Entire districts were flattened—District 4’s chrome skyline turned to ash, District 5’s neon lights extinguished by howling void beasts, District 7’s forests swallowed by wyrmspawn.
People weren’t just dying in-game.
They were dying for real.
And by the time the dust settled, Earth was no longer Earth. It was a shattered, scorched, desolate world crawling with things they used to joke about in player forums. Goblins, banshees, stone giants. Things that should have been lines of code were now clawing at the remains of civilization.
Then—
The vision ended.
Ren gasped, clutching his chest like he’d forgotten to breathe.
Just a memory. A flashback. A warning from the System.
But it felt too real.
Too vivid.
And somewhere deep inside him, he knew—
That future was coming.
Towerbound had always bragged about being immersive.
Realistic visuals.
Heart-thudding sound design.
AI-driven NPCs that cried, cursed, and begged for mercy.
But this?
This wasn’t immersive.
This was apocalyptic.
The Ebon Tower would now appear on Earth. A massive, frost-covered spire rumored to pierce the sky and connect the world of mortals with the realm of forgotten gods.
And now, if they didn’t clear the next level in time… monsters from legends—actual myths—would start pouring out. Into the world. Their world.
Not just an event.
Not just a game.
A threat.
Ren’s heart pounded in his chest. That future was brutal and scary. He was angry at the guild. He was angry at himself for accepting this new mission. And he was panicking in his head about the fact that all of a sudden a mythological tower was going to actually appear on Earth.
He listened numbly when they had plotted his erasure—like he was an annoying tool they were throwing away after use.
Towerbound’s ID system wouldn’t save him either.
When a player was created, their genetic signature was locked to their ID.
Even if Ren restarted, even if he rebuilt,
he would always be Ren Varrow.
Always the same.
Always traceable.
There was no hiding.
No starting fresh.
They had planned everything.
They had sold him out.
Ren stared at the frozen vision of his so-called teammates, feeling something inside him break.
‘Fuck you,’ he thought viciously.
‘Fuck every single one of you.’
He could feel it building inside him, white-hot and furious.
‘I hope the second chance thing I just triggered actually is true,’ he thought.
‘Because if it is—’
A notification appeared in front of his eyes, interrupting his thoughts and glowing brighter than anything else:
SECOND CHANCE CONFIRMED.
SYSTEM REBOOTING.
PREPARE FOR TRANSFER.
The worst thing was, even though he was angry as hell—furious at Prosperous, at the System, at the whole damned Tower—he was now the only person who knew what the future would actually look like if nobody prepared.
And it wasn’t a maybe. It wasn’t a bad ending in a video game. It was real.
If he didn’t do something, Earth would fall. Again.
So no, he couldn’t just rage quit and scream “fuck it” into the void.
He couldn’t bail and vanish into the Creambelt with a wheel of cheese and a middle finger.
He had to stay.
He had to work.
He had to win.
Because if he didn’t, the Tower wouldn’t just ruin his life—it would end it. Along with everyone else’s.
Yes, he had to save the world. That part wasn’t optional.
But let Prosperous off the hook while doing it?
Hell. No.
‘You’re all going to pay,’ Ren promised, smiling—just a little—as the world shattered around him.
If he was going to fight for survival, then Prosperous was going to choke on every coin they’d stolen from him first.
***
CHAPTER 7
Ren found himself waking up in a bed—but not the clean, District 10 bed he remembered.
No.
This was a crappy bunk in a multi-room bachelor dormitory, stuffed with ten other guys, creaky floors, cracked windows, and the faint lingering smell of instant noodles and cigarette smoke.
It hit him like a punch to the gut.
He knew exactly where he was.
He’d been here before.
Before the game.
Before Towerbound.
Before everything had gone right—and then so very, very wrong.
Ren Varrow had grown up an orphan.
Not the way people liked to imagine it—not tragically abandoned with no parents at all.
No, his parents were still alive.
Very much alive.
But they had decided early on they didn’t want the burden.
They handed him over to the Infinite Hopes Orphanage, claiming they were giving him a “better life.”
Too young, too poor, too religious, too something—they always had a reason.
But it didn’t change what it felt like to be handed off like a package no one wanted to deal with.
Still, Ren the orphan, had done okay.
The Infinite Hopes Orphanage had done their best. They weren’t some storybook nightmare, all moldy gruel and sadistic caretakers leeching off government checks. No, they had systems. Schedules. Real effort. The kind that came from people who genuinely cared—even if the funding didn’t.
Ren remembered the cracked tiles, the bunk beds that creaked like they were mourning every night’s weight, and the group hugs after someone got adopted and left behind their favorite blanket. It wasn’t glamorous. It wasn’t easy. But it was decent.
He appreciated it. Truly.
But still… if he ever had a second chance?
He’d trade all of it—the patched-together community, the shared birthdays, the kind but tired smiles—for something else. Something simpler. Two loving parents. A home that didn’t come with shared chore rotations and secondhand everything.
Not because Infinite Hopes failed.
Because no one should have to grow up grateful just for not being abandoned.
He got through school with decent marks.
Not genius level, not dumb.
Good enough.
But good enough didn’t buy you much.
He hadn’t qualified for any scholarships.
Maybe it was his background.
Maybe it was because he hadn’t been able to pad his application with time consuming extracurriculars.
It didn’t matter.
The result was the same.
When he aged out, he was given the usual speech.
Three months to move out.
Nothing personal.
They needed the bed for the next kid coming in.
The Infinite Hopes Orphanage wasn’t cruel.
They were doing the best they could with what they had.
District 1—better known as the slums—was never kind. Not to adults trying to scrape by, not to orphans scrounging for scraps, and definitely not to anyone foolish enough to believe a good life was waiting just around the corner.
They gave him a list of cheap rentals, handed over a packet of advice, a few warm hugs.
But no cash.
No credits.
No miracles.
He had watched other orphans age out before him, some did well, some didn’t.
But most came back to visit, to share news, to drop off little presents when they could.
Because Infinite Hopes had always been a real family.
Their director, Mrs. Ellara Greaves, had made sure of it.
Strict but kind.
Firm but fair.
She treated every kid who walked through those battered front doors like they mattered.
And that was why, when Ren woke up on the sagging mattress of his tiny rental bunk, he knew exactly where he was.
Exactly when he was.
This was his new beginning.
The brutal one.
The reminder that not everyone was family, not everyone cared, and sometimes, you really were on your own.
At the orphanage, even when kids fought, they remembered.
They were all in it together.
All from the same broken beginnings.
But here?
Here in the bachelor dorms, it was survival of the fittest.
Harassment.
Bullying.
Or at best—complete, cold indifference.
Ren sat up slowly, staring around at the cracked walls, the shared bathroom down the hall, the taped-up window with a broken lock.
His heart ached.
Not just from the crappy bed or the cold room, but from the brutal slap of memory.
He knew exactly where this led.
Exactly what this place was.
And this time, he wasn’t going to let it play out the same way.
Not after what they had done to him.
Not after the Prosperous Guild had betrayed him.
Used him.
Sacrificed him.
‘This time,’ Ren thought grimly, clenching the thin blanket in his fists,
‘I’m going to be the one laughing at the end.’
***
Since he had this whole second chance thing, Ren did the obvious thing first.
He ran a tally.
“Status,” he muttered automatically.
Nothing appeared.
No glowing system window.
No character sheet.
No list of stats and abilities.
So yeah, he definitely wasn’t in-game anymore—no hovering status screen to pull up all his info—and no, he hadn’t gone nuts. This whole second-chance thing had actually dumped him right back to the real world, before the game had even launched.
Just the peeling ceiling above him and the sound of some guy two bunks over snoring like a dying chainsaw.
“Fuck,” Ren thought grimly.
“I’m not in the game yet.”
He slumped back against the mattress, staring up at the ceiling, letting the realization sink in.
After being released Towerbound had gotten so big, so real, that hardcore players—especially those who lived in the game more than they lived outside them—had started developing what psychologists called VR Dissociative Identity.
A fancy way of saying: they had trouble telling the difference between what was real and what was virtual.
It wasn’t classified as a disease, or a disorder.
It was just… how things were now.
Towerbound was far more than gaming.
It was school.
It was work.
It was training.
People graduated from virtual academies with degrees that were recognized around the world, sometimes more respected than real-world universities.
You could attend entire classes in Towerbound, run experiments, build projects, and never once have to deal with a real human breathing down your neck.
If those options had existed when Ren was aging out of Infinite Hopes Orphanage, he would have been fine.
He would’ve had a shot at something better.
But time didn’t stop for anybody.
And back then?
They had offered him a hug, a pamphlet full of depressing rental listings, and a shove out the door.
Ren sat up again, rubbing his face.
‘Okay,’ he thought.
‘Focus.’
He was alive.
Back before the betrayal.
Back before Towerbound launched.
He checked the shitty digital calendar duct-taped to the wall.
He remembered exactly where he was now.
He had five days.
Five days before Towerbound opened.
Five days before everything changed.
Ren’s fingers clenched into fists.
This time, he wasn’t going to wander into it blindly.
This time, he wasn’t going to hand over his future to smiling assholes who talked about “family” right before stabbing him in the back.
This time, he was going to take full advantage of what he knew.
Five days.
Plenty of time to flip the board, break the rules, and stack every advantage he could get his hands on.
‘This time,’ Ren thought, ‘I’m not playing fair.’
He smiled, cold and sharp.
He was going to be ready.
And when Towerbound opened?
It was going to be his world.
***
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