Tower Of God: Life As Hoaqin

About eight years ago, it happened without warning.

There was no sign, no prelude.

At some point—without even realizing when—I became aware that I, a "seed," had been expelled from my host's body.

No matter how desperately I tried to return, it was impossible.

What happened?

Why was I cast out?

There was no time to complain or question it further.

A seed that receives no nourishment cannot last long.

I had to find a new host—quickly.

Someone as similar as possible to the previous one.

....

"Ah… seriously. Finding out where my room is was nice and all, but… what do I do now?"

"Hey, what are you doing there? Aren't you attending class?"

"..."

"Vicente?"

"…? You know me? Well, come along. Today's lesson is over there."

"H-huh? Uh…?"

"What's your name? You seem to know me, but I don't know you."

"I'm Hoaquin. Thanks for guiding me, Vicente."

"No problem."

...!

Similar blood.

Similar desire.

Found it.

A new host.

Inferior to the previous one—but it would have to do.

....

Top Floor of the Floating Castle – Administrator's Office

Arie Rom Dickel, ruler of the Floating Castle, did not look particularly at ease.

And Vicente, having just heard what would happen today, wore an equally displeased expression.

"Why me? No—Hoaquin is already climbing the Tower. Why a duel now?"

"Hng… I'm troubled myself. I clearly stated that we were withdrawing from the power struggle for the time being, yet they insist on challenging us. There are even rumors that this is the Family Head's will… hmm."

Even if it was just a rumor, once the Family Head might be involved, refusing outright was impossible.

That was why Dickel had chosen Vicente, the most outstanding prospect in the Floating Castle after Hoaquin, to represent them in a promising-duel match.

"Winning would be ideal, of course, but even if you lose, there won't be much damage. Don't burden yourself too much. We've already stepped away from the front lines of power competition anyway."

Dickel smiled calmly, trying to ease Vicente's pressure.

"When will they arrive?"

"Probably tomorrow."

"Haa… understood. I'll prepare."

He never expected to take up his sword again like this.

Vicente bowed lightly and left the office.

Outside, Albelda and Anna were waiting for him.

Seeing the look on his face, Albelda approached cautiously.

"What happened…?"

Vicente glanced at the two of them, then forced a relaxed expression.

"It's nothing. Tomorrow, I'll just be doing what Hoaquin used to do as a matter of course."

"What? We're supposed to climb the Tower in a week—why would they make you do that?"

"It can't be helped. It's not that big a deal, so don't worry. I'll go now—I need to get my hands used to the sword again."

"…Okay. Fighting!"

Vicente waved lightly and passed them by.

His destination was the private training room he and Hoaquin had once shared.

Even if he lacked motivation, going into a duel after not touching a sword for a full month felt wrong.

Vicente opened his storage locker.

Inside lay his sword, Silver Moray, carefully preserved.

A blade bestowed upon him by his father to uphold the honor of the family—

though his father likely didn't even remember doing so.

"..."

After hesitating for a moment, Vicente finally grasped Silver Moray.

Perhaps because it had been left untouched for a month, the blade reflected no light at all under the training room's ceiling lamps.

He stared at it for a while, then swung the sword.

He assumed a stance and slashed aggressively through the air again and again.

But eventually—

he let the sword slip from his hand.

"…Empty."

There was no feeling. No response.

The grand, impossible goal of surpassing his father.

The misery that came no matter how hard he tried.

After abandoning that goal—after letting everything go—

the sword he wielded felt unbearably dull.

So… should he choose a new goal?

No. That would be meaningless too.

He would only end up miserable again, standing before an insurmountable wall.

At least my sense should be back by now.

Vicente didn't pick up the sword again.

He returned to his room and lay down on the bed.

Sleeping to recover his condition seemed far better than swinging an empty blade.

Of course, that would mean it would come again…

Vicente closed his eyes and fell asleep.

Lately, he'd been sleeping far too much—but he didn't pay it much mind.

....

Darkness.

A space where nothing could be seen.

"…You again."

—Take my hand before it's too late.

"..."

—How far do you think you can go on your own?

"..."

—You feel empty, don't you? Like there's a hole in your chest?

At those words, Vicente stiffened slightly.

Even at first glance, the unknown existence before him felt deeply blasphemous.

When had it begun?

Yes—about four years ago, it had started appearing faintly.

Whenever he agonized, it would appear in his dreams and offer advice.

Each time, Vicente rejected it—but it clung to him relentlessly.

And then, the night he met his father—

that night, he finally stopped avoiding it and faced it directly.

He used to feel as though someone was always watching him, so he avoided that gaze.

But at some point, the sense of being watched disappeared—

and only then did he truly meet its eyes.

He acknowledged its existence.

Four years passed.

Its form remained hazy, like mist, yet the frequency of its appearances steadily increased.

—I can resolve that sensation. That emptiness. Take my hand.

The words spoken by this embodiment of ominousness were sweet—like fully ripened fruit.

Its words were always right.

His own will was always wrong.

Yet there was one reason—only one—why Vicente still refused its outstretched hand.

A vague but overwhelming sense of dread.

An irrational fear telling him he must not accept it.

"…Not yet. Not yet. Soon—surely…"

—Do you really think it will be resolved?

"…As I climb the Tower, it will. For those who live in the Tower, time is on our side."

—Foolish. That is not your nature. I am your true nature—and your true power. The reason you feel empty and miserable is because you are denying yourself!

"..."

—Accept me before it's too late. Accept the real you.

Each time it spoke, a sweet, dreamlike sensation wrapped around him.

Was it telling the truth?

Was it truly his nature—his real power?

If he accepted it… would his emptiness and sorrow finally be filled?

—In any case, you'll know once tomorrow passes…

Shuaaa—

While he hesitated, it vanished back into the darkness.

Left alone in the pitch-black space, Vicente sat down where he stood and closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, morning would come.

With that thought, he kept his eyes shut for a while—then opened them.

Sunlight poured brightly across his face.

"…Morning already."

The night had passed in a blink.

Vicente rose from the bed.

Even when he slept, it never felt like rest.

Physical and mental fatigue faded, yes—but he was awake in dreams and awake in reality.

He never truly slept.

"Haa…"

Letting out a light sigh, Vicente picked up Silver Moray, which lay discarded on the training room floor, and fastened it at his waist.

He no longer even understood why he should wield a sword.

And who were these people, suddenly challenging their Floating Castle to a duel?

Step… step…

He arrived at the special dueling arena on the upper levels of the Floating Castle.

Dickel was already there—along with two outsiders, likely from another branch.

When they noticed Vicente, the older of the two approached and offered a handshake.

Vicente accepted it politely—but his gaze was fixed on the boy standing beside the man.

About his own age.

So that's my opponent.

Dickel, glaring at the outsiders with clear displeasure, finally spoke.

"I clearly stated that our 99th-floor branch had withdrawn from the front lines of power. You stand to gain little from this—so why insist on troubling us?"

At Dickel's sharp question, the man who had shaken Vicente's hand responded smoothly.

"Haha. Coming from you, Administrator—who once took a boy named Hoaquin and used him to stir up the other Arie branches' children quite thoroughly—I didn't expect such words."

"..."

Dickel fell silent, as if struck.

It was true—he had reaped many benefits by letting Hoaquin rampage through other branches.

He had no rebuttal.

Perhaps this was retribution for that.

"Haa… so now you intend to inherit that position?"

"We merely waited for the time to ripen. There were also orders from above."

Dickel waved his hand as if he no longer wished to hear any more.

"Do as you please. If you're so eager to go around breaking dojos, then so be it. Vicente, I'll leave it to you."

There was nothing about this situation that he liked, but at Dickel's words, Vicente stepped forward into the dueling arena.

At the same time, from the opposite side, an Arie boy stepped forward toward Vicente.

Arie Pungyeon.

Eyes that looked as though he had little interest in things like this—similar to Vicente's current state, yet carrying a different emotion altogether.

From his appearance alone, Vicente could easily guess who he was.

Hoaquin had told him before.

"Aside from Hoaquin, the strongest Arie of a similar age."

"I'm Arie Pungyeon."

"I'm Arie Vicente."

Pungyeon was one of the Arie clan's finest prospects, the second strongest among their age group.

Could someone like him someday surpass Father?

Impossible.

For some reason, Vicente felt a flicker of defiance.

Even that impressive-looking boy—no matter how he honed his sword for his entire life—would never be able to defeat the Family Head, the Ten Family Leader who was both Pungyeon's father and Vicente's.

Then what about me?

Can I do it?

The goal he had once abandoned began to resurface little by little.

This was his first time fighting an Arie from another branch.

For Vicente, who had been little more than a frog in a well, this opponent might show him the world beyond it.

Whether he even had the right to challenge his father—he could find out now.

With that thought, Vicente drew his sword, Silver Moray.

Pungyeon likewise placed his hand on his own sword.

For some reason, Vicente felt the emptiness inside him slowly being filled.

If he defeated this boy, would it prove that his sword was worthy of pointing at his father's throat?

Could he reclaim the goal he had once given up?

Boom—boom—boom—

Before long, the drum signaling the start of the duel sounded, and Vicente immediately rushed toward Pungyeon.

Pungyeon remained where he stood.

His hand rested on the scabbard.

"So you're not it either."

In an instant, his sword was drawn.

An Arie quick-draw technique taught in a specific branch.

The moment Pungyeon's attack surged toward him—

Bang!

"…!"

Vicente's sword couldn't withstand the power behind the quick-draw and was blown far away.

Spinning through the air, it stabbed uselessly into the ground.

"It's your loss. You're weak. You're nothing like Hoaqin—that monster who overwhelms everything."

Before he realized it, Pungyeon's blade was already pointed at Vicente's throat.

"..."

"..."

"...…."

An ominous silence fell.

Some kept their mouths shut with indifferent expressions.

Some stared in shock.

Others watched in satisfaction.

A servant who had doubted his own eyes finally announced the result.

"V–Vicente has lost! Pungyeon is the victor!"

....

Several hours later.

Vicente's private room.

Vicente stood frozen, his sword planted in the floor before him.

"...…"

One exchange.

The duel had ended in a single exchange.

Skill, strength, tactics—he had been inferior in every respect.

Most humiliating of all was the realization that, to his opponent, Vicente was nothing at all.

You could tell just from Pungyeon's bored eyes.

Excuses like I hadn't touched a sword in a month or I chose the wrong tactics were meaningless.

What mattered was that there was an overwhelming gap between them.

The world outside the well was vast—too vast.

In the end, he was merely somewhat talented among the Arie direct line.

He had only ever been decent at defensive swordsmanship.

Now that he had switched to an offensive style, he was nothing more than half-baked.

Nothing at all.

Not special in the slightest.

And yet—what had he been aiming for all this time?

Surpassing his father?

He couldn't even beat a boy younger than himself.

Surpass whom, exactly?

It had been an overreaching goal from the start.

"...Why…"

Why was he so weak?

What could he ever achieve with such a pitiful sword?

Was this the price of daring to look at a wall he should never have faced?

Weak.

Loathsomely weak.

If only he were stronger—if only—

At that moment—

Shuaaa—

—Didn't I tell you?

"…!"

Darkness suddenly erupted from nowhere, engulfing his surroundings.

The crimson-black being revealed itself once more.

Why now?

He wasn't even asleep.

—What were you expecting? Did you think you actually had exceptional talent?

"…Shut up."

—Did you really believe that diligent effort alone would let you surpass your father? You are nothing on your own—pitiful, really.

Slash—!

He swung his sword wildly, but all it cut was mist.

The crimson-black entity appeared again before him.

—I'll say it one last time.

—Accept me.

"...…"

—On your own, you are weak. But with me, it's different. I am your true nature—your true power. Without me, you can achieve nothing.

—But if you take my hand—

—Everything can change.

—You can gain power. You can grow endlessly stronger.

—Let me give you a taste.

Fwoooosh—!

"Ghk—!"

The crimson-black thing suddenly plunged into his body.

Vicente tried desperately to push it away, but it paid him no heed and fully entered him.

Thud—

"…!"

What he felt then was power—immeasurable power.

Something beyond words.

So much power surged into him that he felt as though his very existence might fade.

His body felt like it would burst apart—yet it was so sweet that he nearly drowned in the ecstasy of it.

—That's enough.

Shooo—

As the crimson-black thing withdrew from his body, the overflowing power vanished in an instant.

But the pleasure it had brought—the temptation—was impossible to forget.

—This is the power you can have, the depth you can reach if you accept me.

Its temptation grew ever sweeter.

—How long will you keep denying yourself? I am you.

"...I…"

—At this rate, you'll achieve nothing. You'll accomplish nothing.

Its voice tightened its grip on his mind.

Unconsciously, Vicente recalled something Hoaquin had once said.

"No… I can't give up everything just for power…"

—Hahahahahaha! What a funny thing to say.

—Because you don't want to give up everything, you can't help but crave power.

"..."

—Didn't you want to break the Ten Family Heads, who defy the laws of nature? Are you going to give up now, when you have a means right here?

Vicente faced the crimson-black being.

He looked straight at it.

"…What are you?"

—Haha, only now do you ask?

Shuaaa—

The being's form began to solidify.

Mist became flesh.

Crimson light became eyes.

And the form that emerged was unmistakably—

—I am what you humans call a demon.

—And at the same time, I am your nature.

—Vicente.

Its body reeked of stench, sulfur dripping from its skin—an embodiment of blasphemy and ominousness itself.

Yet its words were as sweet as fully ripened fruit.

—If you are with me, you can achieve your goals. That is why I exist in the first place.

—I'll say it again. Accept me, Vicente.

—If you do, there is nothing we cannot achieve.

"I…"

Its temptation was overwhelming.

The power it had briefly shown him was intoxicating.

He didn't want to give up.

With that power, surely—

The last trace of instinctive resistance was completely unraveled by the demon's next words.

—Or will you spend your life chasing after your friend's shadow?

"…!"

—You wanted to stand beside him, didn't you? Always.

—Take my hand.

—Your ambition to surpass your father, and your wish to stand shoulder to shoulder with your friend—accept me, and you can achieve them all.

Vicente's pupils trembled.

The sulfur-flamed demon did not withdraw its outstretched hand.

It simply waited, watching him.

Because it knew.

The boy had already made his choice.

Crimson mist began to coil around Vicente.

His voice trembled.

The resolute, steadfast boy he once was could no longer be seen.

"…Can you really grant all of that?"

—Of course.

The crimson-black demon completely swallowed the white-haired boy.