Rest was always important, but priorities came first. My doll needed repairs, especially after the brutal fight against Shen. Without it functioning at its best, I’d be walking into the next match half-prepared—a mistake I couldn’t afford to make.

I turned to Selena for assistance. “Can you introduce me to the surfboard guy?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Harper? What for?”

“I need his attribute,” I replied, my tone brisk.

A few minutes later, I was face-to-face with Harper. He was a bald man with a distinctive barcode tattoo right on his forehead, giving him an oddly utilitarian vibe. He seemed cautious but curious, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied me.

“So, we just need to shake hands? And then you’ll consult me with some questions?” Harper asked, his voice skeptical but steady.

I nodded. “Yes.”

Harper shrugged, his expression relaxing. “Sounds easy enough.”

We shook hands, and I felt the faint hum of his attribute transferring over to me. Aerodynamics. It was subtle, but already, I could sense the potential.

“Alright,” I said, releasing his hand. “Let’s get to work.”

I led Harper to my room, where the tools and scraps I’d collected for the doll repair were scattered across the floor and desk. He raised an eyebrow at the mess but didn’t comment. Instead, he rolled up his sleeves and dove right in.

It wasn’t long before my hands were smeared with grease, sweat beading on my forehead as I tinkered with the doll’s internals. Harper scolded me at least three times for mishandling materials or overlooking basic principles of engineering.

“Careful with that joint! You’re about to throw the whole balance off,” he muttered, grabbing the tool from my hand. “Seriously, how’d you make it this far without blowing something up?”

“Talent,” I deadpanned, wiping my hands on a rag.

It was a lie… I am a talentless fool when it came to the Maker-state.

Despite the reprimands, I was learning a lot. Harper had a knack for explaining things in simple terms, and with his attribute lending me insight, the pieces started coming together.

Partway through the process, I discovered something remarkable: the vending machines connected to the World Path were more flexible than I’d realized. They weren’t limited to food or basic supplies; as long as I had the money, I could order virtually any material I needed.

I tested it by ordering a specific alloy Harper recommended for the doll’s frame. Moments later, a small, neatly packaged bar of the material appeared in the dispenser with a soft ping.

“Convenient,” Harper remarked, inspecting the alloy. “That’s good stuff. This tower really does have everything.”

As we continued, Harper examined the doll with a critical eye. “You call it yours,” he said slowly. “But this… it’s not, is it?”

I hesitated for a moment before answering. “Yeah, I stole it.”

Harper snorted. “Figures. You and that lady—what’s her name? Selena?—you’re two peas in a pod, huh? Girlfriend?”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Who? Selena? No, she’s not my girlfriend. I’ve got a wife already.”

Harper looked genuinely surprised. “Oh, my bad, man. I didn’t know. Me too, actually.” His tone softened. “I miss them a bunch, you know. Just had my youngest before all this.”

That caught my attention. “You’ve got kids?”

“Two of ’em,” Harper said, a wistful smile tugging at his lips. “Oldest just started school. The youngest… barely a few months old. This tower thing’s got me wishing I could be home, but you know how it is. Gotta provide.”

I nodded, a flicker of understanding passing between us. For all the chaos and competition in the tower, it was easy to forget that everyone here had lives and loved ones waiting outside.

As we worked late into the night, that thought stayed with me. Repairing the doll was important, but so was surviving—making it through this and returning to the people who mattered most.

Harper sat beside me, answering my endless stream of questions about airflow, resistance, and energy efficiency. His scientific knowledge was surprisingly comprehensive, and I could see why he’d made it this far in the tournament.

“Why are you so invested in this doll, anyway?” Harper asked as he leaned back, watching me tinker.

I didn’t look up from my work. “The next match is going to be a tough one—and important for me. This doll is more than just a tool; it’s a part of my combat style. It needs to be perfect.”

Harper chuckled. “You’re a bit of a perfectionist, aren’t you?”

“Not perfection,” I corrected, tightening a joint in the doll’s arm. “Preparedness.”

The hours passed in a focused blur. With Harper’s input and the enhancements I made using his attribute, the doll felt lighter and more agile, and its movements were more fluid. I gave it a final test, controlling it with a burst of my aura. It darted across the room, weaving through obstacles like a falcon on the hunt.

Satisfied, I set it down gently. “Thanks, Harper. This might just make the difference.”

Harper gave a lopsided grin. “No problem. Just don’t use it against me… because that will suck.”

Despite Harper’s expertise, I couldn’t add flight capabilities to my doll. It was disappointing but not unexpected. What I managed to do instead was improve its speed, which was just as crucial for the upcoming battles. Speed could make all the difference between victory and defeat.

As we wrapped up our work, Harper leaned back and wiped his hands on a rag. “So,” he said, “you paying in cash or with a favor?”

I tilted my head. “What do you prefer?”

He smirked. “A favor. You seem like the type to keep your word.”

I raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “What kind of favor are we talking about?”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Nothing specific right now. I’ll cash it in when I need it.”

I considered his words for a moment before nodding. My reputation for owing and repaying favors must have spread, and I didn’t mind. Favors were as much about building connections as they were about settling debts. Sometimes, they could even prove more valuable than money.

“Fair enough,” I said.

After hours of intense work, I finally kicked Harper out of my room. “Thanks for the help, but you’re overstaying your welcome.”

He chuckled on his way out. “Good luck, man. Don’t forget about that favor!”

The room felt quieter without his presence, but I welcomed the solitude. Now that the doll was upgraded, I turned my attention to my next project: the coin.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

The coin’s design was simple but ambitious. It would serve as my battery, a reservoir for aura that could hold ten times what the doll could manage. Even better, the aura stored in it wouldn’t dissipate easily, making it an invaluable asset in prolonged fights.

I sat at my desk, focusing my aura and infusing it into the coin. A faint, shimmering glow spread across its surface as the aura sank in, layer by layer. Each infusion required precision and patience. If I rushed, the structure of the coin might weaken, and the stored energy could leak or become unstable.

Hours passed, the air in the room thick with concentration and the faint hum of magic. I could feel the coin nearing completion. It hummed softly in my hand, an unassuming object brimming with potential.

I held it up, admiring the craftsmanship and the aura thrumming beneath the surface. This would be my trump card—my lifeline in the fights to come.

The artificial morning sun peeked through the windows as the semi-finals approached, the day heavy with anticipation. This match would be different. There would be no teleportation to exotic arenas or elaborate environments. Instead, an elevated platform had been raised in the heart of the open area, where hunters usually mingled or announcements were made. The simplicity of the setting only heightened the tension—it was raw, exposed, and all eyes were on us.

Chairman Bob, ever the eccentric, took his place as referee. His bald head gleamed under the overhead lights, his red cape as garish as ever. This time, however, he had swapped his usual trousers for a pair of shorts. The sight was almost enough to break the somber mood of the occasion, but I remained focused.

I stepped onto the platform, my shoes clicking against the metal floor. The air around me hummed with the quiet murmur of the gathered audience, a mix of spectators and hunters who had either advanced or been eliminated.

I waited.

The silence stretched. I glanced toward the entrance, half-expecting Sarah Maldave to emerge with her smug smile and deadly presence. But no one appeared.

Then came the announcement.

Chairman Bob raised his hand, his voice echoing across the open area. “Since Sarah Maldave has left the venue and forfeited the match, the victor of this semi-final is Reynard Bright!”

A wave of murmurs rippled through the crowd, their whispers carrying a mix of confusion, disappointment, and speculation.

“Did she really forfeit?”

“Why would she leave? She’s a semi-finalist, isn’t she?”

“Maybe Reynard scared her off?”

I stood still, letting their chatter wash over me. My gaze swept the crowd briefly before returning to Chairman Bob, who was already preparing for the next match announcement.

As I stepped off the arena, the noise of the crowd faded into the background. Selena stood nearby, her arms crossed, her posture casual but her eyes sharp as ever. I moved closer, taking hold of her arm to ensure what I said next was for her ears only.

I whispered, "I suspect ‘Dummy’ to be a member of the Elsewhere Cult. Be careful. He can disrupt probabilities, nullify auras, and bypass the Tower’s protection."

Her eyes narrowed, and the easy smirk she usually wore flattened into a grim line. "That’s a hell of a suspicion. What tipped you off?"

I answered plainly, “Just trust me on this one…”

The thoughts that had been gnawing at me all came together in a single and clear realization. Sarah’s absence. The ‘thing’ I showed her shook her faith, and there’s one person in the cult who wouldn’t let that stand. In the novel, he always wore a mask and held multiple titles: Head Inquisitor, Chief Warrior, True Fanatic, Chosen One... but most notably, he’s called the Hero. The Elsewhere Cult’s leadership was a trinity—the Saint, the Prophet, and the Hero.

If the ‘Hero’ was here, it would explain everything.

Selena let out a slow breath, her gaze scanning the mingling crowd as if she might spot him. “So, let me get this straight. This ‘Dummy’ can kill you and me, but we can’t kill him because the Tower’s protections favor him? That’s a real peach of a situation.”

I nodded grimly. "He’s capable of bypassing the safeguards the Tower provides. He’s not just dangerous—he’s a zealot, someone who wouldn’t hesitate to break all the rules if it meant fulfilling his mission. And right now, that mission likely includes taking me out."

Selena tilted her head, a contemplative glint in her eye. "So, what’s the play? Do you want me to keep him off you? Or..." She grinned, though it lacked her usual cheer. "Do you want me to end him before he gets to you? I don’t care if the Tower makes it impossible—if he can kill us, I’ll figure out a way to return the favor."

I leaned in close, keeping my voice low, my eyes scanning the crowd. “You can… kill him.”

Selena raised an eyebrow, her lips quirking into a skeptical smirk. “How? Come on, the chairman is staring at us… He might disqualify me, you know? Speak faster.”

My gaze flicked briefly to Chairman Bob, who was indeed watching us with a knowing grin, as if he were privy to our little conspiracy. I ignored him, focusing on Selena. “The Elsewhere Hero’s attributes would work against him. Because of the nature of his powers and techniques, the protection of the Tower doesn’t apply to him. If you go for the kill, he’ll die for real. No revival. Even his injuries won’t heal under the Tower’s safeguards. However, that will only work if he is also going for the kill. For all we knew, he might fight just with basic aura techniques.”

Her smirk vanished, replaced by a sharp glint in her eyes. “Go on.”

“I suggest you play it safe,” I said carefully. “No need to provoke him and risk death. Inflict as much damage as you can, wear him down. If it looks too risky, leave him to me. I’ll handle the fallout—”

Selena cut me off with a snort. “Dream on. I’m not giving this bastard the chance to make a second move. If I have the opportunity, I’m ending him.”

Before I could respond, she leaped to the arena with a graceful bound, landing in a crouch that seemed to dare the Hero—Dummy—to approach.

The murmurs of the crowd swelled as she stood tall, her cloak catching the light and billowing faintly behind her. From the corner of my eye, I saw Dummy step forward, his figure unassuming but carrying an air of unsettling confidence.

Selena didn’t wait for an announcement or signal. Her aura flared around her. The fight had already begun in her mind. And if I knew Selena, she would stop at nothing to finish what she started.

All I could do now was watch—and trust her.

It wasn’t that I didn’t believe in her—it was impossible not to—but I knew the odds. This version of Selena, as skilled and determined as she was, had not yet reached the peak of her abilities. And Dummy... no, the Elsewhere Hero. He wasn’t just strong; he was the embodiment of half the military might of the Elsewhere Cult. Facing him wasn’t just a fight—it was an uphill battle against a storm.

Bob's voice boomed, cutting through the murmurs of the crowd like a blade. “On my left side is Selena Fair, who possesses strange techniques unlike any ever seen! And on my right side is the mysterious Dummy, who has never suffered a single injury throughout his matches! A fight between the bizarre and the enigmatic!”

The crowd roared. My stomach twisted.

Bob added, "Just to remind you... if you are out of bounds of the arena, it will be declared as your loss."

Dummy—no, Hero—stood calmly, exuding an aura of unshakable confidence. He wore a brown leather jacket over a plain shirt, paired with ripped jeans that gave him an unassuming appearance. His messy brown hair framed an almost carefree expression. But there was nothing careless about the way he moved as he slipped a pair of brass knuckles onto his hands, his footwork light and deliberate.

“Fight!” Bob’s declaration rang through the arena.

Selena wasted no time. Her invisibility cloak shimmered before rendering her unseen, and the stage erupted in chaos. The afterimages of Selena flitted across the platform, each armed with devastating weapons: submachine guns, rifles, grenades, and even an RPG. Explosions rocked the stage, tearing up the ground in a display that had the crowd on their feet, cheering wildly.

But then, amidst the noise, a low, condescending laugh rose.

The dust settled just enough to reveal a chilling sight. Dummy stood at the center of the chaos, untouched, his smirk as sharp as a dagger. Selena, visible once again, was caught mid-motion, her attack interrupted. Dummy’s fist drove mercilessly into her abdomen with the force of a sledgehammer.

Selena crumpled to her knees, her face contorted in pain as she gasped for air.

Bob stepped forward, his tone solemn. “Knockout! The winner is Dummy!”

The crowd erupted into a mix of cheers and gasps.

But then…

The thunderous bang echoed through the arena, silencing the crowd instantly.

Dummy’s body dropped to the floor, lifeless, as his head erupted in a spray of gore. Smoke curled lazily from the barrel of a shotgun, its wielder standing tall and unscathed: Selena.

The illusion she had crafted—a flawless simulation of her being knocked out—dissolved into nothingness.

Selena blew the remaining smoke from the shotgun’s muzzle with an air of casual defiance. “Take that back, Bob.”

Chairman Bob, who had been halfway through his declaration of Dummy’s victory, froze mid-sentence. His face turned sheepish as he scratched the back of his head. “Oh my, I am ashamed... It looks like I need remedial lessons on my Seeker State techniques.”

Selena raised an eyebrow. “Declare my victory.”

But Bob’s tone shifted, carrying a knowing weight. “Unfortunately, my Seeker techniques weren’t that terrible.”

The murmurs from the crowd escalated into shocked gasps as the seemingly lifeless body of Dummy began to move. The headless figure pushed itself upright, standing with an eerie grace. It stretched as if it were merely waking from a nap, and then, impossibly, the missing head began to regenerate. Bone, sinew, and flesh reconstructed themselves in moments until Dummy stood whole once again, his smirk firmly intact.

I felt a chill creep down my spine. Back when this was only a novel, I had dealt with him quickly by exiling him to the [End of the World]. But here? He had survived a point-blank shotgun blast to the skull. What the hell?

Dummy cracked his neck, the nonchalance in his voice setting me on edge. “That was a cheap shot, you know?” He rolled his shoulders as if loosening up. “So... wanna go another round?”

Selena’s grip tightened on her shotgun. I could see the frustration on her face, but beneath it, there was also resolve.

This fight wasn’t over, and now we knew: this wasn’t going to be a battle of strength alone—it was going to take something far more cunning to bring him down.