The inhuman guardian looked to be twice his size, at least, boredly sitting with its head resting on its own fist, looking in his direction with its eerie, golden eyes.

It was an unfortunate part of the Tower of Yggdrasil he encountered in that moment: the floor guardians, required to be beaten so that the next floor may be opened, will revive every so often. A cruel part of the even crueler structure.

To his dismay, he wasn’t alone in stumbling upon the intimidating domain–there was another adventurer: a young man in scarlet armor on his knees, quivering as he held his broadsword in one hand, pointed towards the guardian, and holding his unconscious, bleeding companion in his other arm.

The freshly mauled corpses of others likely belonged to the same group; an unkind reality of the Tower.

‘More adventurers?...Looks like they bit off more than they could chew,’ he observed.

Still, it seemed as if the malignant entity had yet to notice him as he kept himself completely still in his breathless, unseen state. It didn’t stop his body from being overcome with goosebumps as his hairs stood up, being enveloped in the suffocating presence of the tenth guardian.

He could see it–right beside the throne of roots: massive set of marble doors, opened with the upward staircase within it. It looked like a light of salvation, beckoning for him, with only the demonic figure between him and his freedom.

It wasn’t a rare thing that adventurers met their end in the Tower; it was more common than surviving, in fact. He told himself that, believing that he was essentially letting nature run its course if he ignored the cornered adventurers.

“--” He remained silent, doing his best to compose himself while devoid of breath.

The sight of skulls and discarded bones that were littered around the natural throne was a disturbing sight; the bored guardian held a femur in his hand, gnawing on it while sitting there like a king.

‘...I just need to get past it. That’s all. Just fifteen, maybe twenty steps,’ he reminded himself.

As he attempted to walk forward, a wall stood between him and the next step, not able to plant his foot down as he froze. An unseen barrier; one not forged of physical material, but his own fear.

It wasn’t fear of the impossible foe ahead, but of repeating a mistake. A fault that could not happen again; one that he had not yet forgotten, nor forgiven himself for.

“Stay away…!” The wounded man in scarlet armor begged, holding his blade up as his feminine companion bled from her head.

Looking at that desperate adventurer, whose tears streamed plentifully down his cheeks and eyes that ached with agonizing sorrow, surrounded by a scenery of death, unpleasant memories surfaced to Bastian’s mind.

Before he secluded himself to his lonely excursions into the Tower, before he solely chose to work for money, abandoning his passion, before he lost everyone–

[“...Bastian!”] The shriek of a girl he once cared for played in his head.

[“Run, Bas! I’ll hold them off–so get Annaliese out of here!”] The desperate words of a reliable friend repeated, remembering the sight of the fully-armored shielder standing in front of him.

[“I don’t want to die. Bas…Is this really it? After all this, will we really not reach the top? We promised–we promised to reach it together.”]

He was frozen by these unwelcome memories, feeling his heart ache within his chest, resonating with emotions he had long since buried.

‘Dammit all…Why now of all times?’ He asked himself.

All the while, the demonic figure laughed, continuing to chew on his bone, beginning to raise one of his hands in an ominous fashion.

The hidden adventurer saw the opening ahead, yet found himself unable to continue onward. The cries of the desperate figure behind him anchored him from stepping away.

‘What am I doing? I got this far because of my good sense of caution–avoiding danger is how I survived this long. Lately I’ve been reckless…Why? I want to live right, so the right choice would be to turn back…It might be the longer route, but it’s safer, isn’t it?’ He questioned.

Placing his hand over his own chest, the thumping of his heart resonated against his palm. Though it was irrational and lacked logic to him, everything told him to take the risk; he knew why he was so driven to push himself.

‘But when I see that guy desperately waving his sword around, crying…I can’t help but see myself from that day. I didn’t want to be saved then. I wanted to die. I lost everything–I had no reason to stand back up. No reason to keep fighting. He still has someone though…More than anything in the world, you want to protect them, don’t you?’ He thought.

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It felt as if he turned his back on the path ahead of him, he’d abandon that fire that was lit in his heart; he’d be forced to return to his stagnate life of living on the lower floors, never growing, never encountering excitement. Even death sounded more pleasant than a life like that, to him.

‘Screw it all–I’d never sneak past it anyway. There’s no point in surviving if I’m just going to regret it for the rest of my life,’ he thought.

With a stressed smile, he pulled the cowl from his face, unveiling his presence as he was able to breathe once more. As he appeared visibly in the middle of the chamber of scarlet trees, there was no change in the four-armed fiend’s expression.

‘So, it knew I was here the entire time–I was right. Scary,’ he thought.

“Huh…? Who…?” The wounded adventurer gasped out.

Bastian stood between the frightened, likely inexperienced swordsman, giving him a thumbs-up, “I’ve got this. Get out of here.”

“But…that thing is strong! Unbelievably! M-my…my entire guild got wiped out–in seconds!” The scarlet-armored swordsman explained in a panic, clutching his wounded companion close to his body.

Bastian sighed, “I know that–I’m a big deal myself. “Dungeon Master”: heard of me?”

For a moment, the black-haired adventurer thought about it before seeming to realize, “Yeah…I’ve heard of you, but still…you don’t look in great shape yourself. Besides, you’re famous for clearing dungeons, not fighting–”

“Just get going already, would you?! I’m trying to help you out here!” Bastian snapped, “While you’re at it, you better call some backup here, A.S.A.P!”

The hesitant adventurer looked at the unexpected savior before nodding his head, scooping his friend into his arms before beginning to run the other way.

“Thank you! I’ll find help! Thank you…Dungeon Master!” The swordsman yelled as he rushed out of the chamber.

Bastian gave a simple thumbs up before turning his attention back to the demon, who remained seated in his wooden throne.

Flicking his wrist, the tusked guardian tossed the bone it gnawed on to the side as his sharp, golden eyes honed in on the lonesome, exhausted adventurer, “You took that silly relic off. I was wondering when you’d stop shaking in the shadows, little man.”

‘It talks? I’ve heard rumors…’ He thought.

Drawing his dagger from the sheathe on his belt, he squeezed the handle between his fingers, attempting to best compose his tired, aching body before replying, “You’re Bakasura, right? The chatter around town didn’t do you justice–you’re even uglier than I heard.”

The words of provocation left his lips, attempting to buy some meager amount of time as he retrieved something from his belt: the enchanted looking glass, bringing it up to his eye. Though it was hardly necessary to see what level it deemed the floor guardian, he wanted to know for himself.

[Bakasura] [Lv. 20]

‘Twenty…? Just seeing that number makes me wanna hurl. Guess what's done is done–I’m here, no changing that,’ he thought.

As he awaited the demonic force to lift from the throne with his dagger held up, all he witnessed was a single finger be raised. The onyx nail of the malevolent guardian pointed up before the digit was curled, tapping against the arm of the wooden throne.

‘What is it–?’ He wondered.

The tap echoed through the silent forest, bringing confusion before the sound of leaves rustling became audible from behind him.

“Hunh–?!”

He stepped to the left, carried by his sharpened reflexes just as something pierced towards him from above, having swooped in near his head. It scraped against his shoulder, cutting through his fabric and his skin at once.

“Ngh…!” He winced, rolling to the side as he looked up at what he failed to completely evade.

It was a crude spear of ivory, seeming too large to originate from anything human, having extended from the bed of branches above the chamber. The blood of the young man ran slick along its pointed edge.

He moved his hand to the gash on his shoulder in an attempt to console the scorching pain, though was interrupted by the sound of fingers snapping. It was the demonic entity again, forcing the adventurer to swing his gaze side-to-side in preparation of what was coming.

‘--Above!’ He realized just then.

His senses proved accurate as he shot his glance up, witnessing an ivory spike descend from the scarlet leaves. With the little strength left in his body, he rolled backward, still holding his bleeding shoulder as the spike pierced into the soil.

From the soil, curling in like the ribcage of a buried beast, lances of ivory curved towards the young man. All he could do was scramble to his feet, using his hands against the soil to balance himself as he almost tripped over.

A laugh bellowed from the one sitting on the throne, amused by the bewilderment and pain suffered by the lonely adventurer. The skin-crawling cackle of the four-armed fiend was inhuman in itself, distorted between high and low pitches.

‘He’s laughing at me?’ He thought.

The swarm of spiked bones stopped, with the four-armed figure still remaining seated with a grin. It gave him a moment to catch his breath before hacking up once again, coughing up crimson spit onto his hand.

He stared at his blood-stained glove, having an uneasy feeling swirling inside of him.

‘Am I going to die?’ He thought.

The foe before him had yet to even treat him as a threat; nothing more than a fly buzzing around.

‘No–I can at least stall it until help arrives. That’s why you gave me this gift, Uncle,’ he thought, wearing a determined expression once again.

“Do you believe yourself to be a hero, little man?” Bakasura asked with contempt, grinding his fingernails together, “When I am done with you, I will hunt down that whimpering coward and feast upon his friend in front of him. I’m sure once I begin snapping his fingers and eating them like crackers, he will curse you.”

“Sure, I can’t stop you if I die,” Bastian responded, “but I’ll make sure to stick around long enough that they’re long gone, underbite.”