Regression of the Tower's Final Survivor

Chapter 111: The Hunter’s Trail

The trail revealed itself on the fourth day. Dante found the markers exactly where his regression memories said they would be: subtle carvings in the crystal formations, symbols that looked like natural formations unless you knew what to look for. They were Sylvani pathfinding marks, ancient beyond measure, pointing toward a destination that hadn’t been accessed in centuries.

’Still here,’ he thought, tracing one of the symbols with his finger and feeling the deliberate nature of the carving. ’After all this time, still pointing the way.’

He followed the markers deeper into the wastes, leaving the main travel routes far behind. Here the crystal formations grew strange, twisted into shapes that suggested intelligence rather than nature, and the ground itself seemed different, older, marked by patterns that almost looked like writing. The dungeon was close, calling to the Ancient Core in his chest like primal energy resonating with something ancient and powerful waiting ahead.

’One more day. Maybe less.’

He increased his pace, moving deeper into the wastes until the other climber found him at midday. Dante was navigating a particularly dense cluster of formations when a voice cut through the crystal silence.

"Interesting route you’re taking."

He spun with his sword half-drawn and found a woman leaning against a formation twenty feet away. She wore armor that marked her as a serious climber, somewhere in the Floor 20-25 range by the quality, and her eyes held the flat assessment of someone who killed before and didn’t particularly care about doing it again.

"You’re in my way," he said.

"Your way?" She pushed off the formation, moving closer with the casual confidence of someone who didn’t consider him a threat. "Last I checked, the wastes don’t belong to anyone, especially not to Regulars climbing above their weight class."

He kept his hand on his sword. "Who says I’m a Regular?"

"Your armor. Your weapons. Your complete lack of Registry markings." She stopped a few feet away, studying him with open contempt. "Regulars shouldn’t be this deep alone. Floor 17 eats solo climbers for breakfast."

"And yet here I stand."

"Barely, from the look of you." Her eyes flicked to his bandaged arm. "Ran into Stalkers, did you? Most don’t survive their first pack encounter without a proper party."

He met her gaze without flinching. "I’m not most."

Something shifted in her expression, the contempt shading toward curiosity. "You’re heading for the hidden path. The one the markers point to."

’She knows about the markers.’ He filed that information away. ’Either she’s done research, or someone told her about this place.’

"What if I am?"

"Then you’re either stupid or connected to something I don’t understand." She took another step closer. "That path leads to a dungeon that hasn’t been cleared since before the Registry existed. Solo completion only. Success rate basically zero."

"I know, and I’m going anyway."

"You’re going to die in there." She shook her head, something like admiration flickering beneath the dismissal. "Whatever’s waiting at the end of that path, it wasn’t meant for Regulars to claim."

"Good thing I’m not a Regular."

The words came out with more edge than he intended, carrying weight he didn’t fully control. Something in his expression must have shifted too because the woman took a step back, her hand moving toward her own weapon.

"What are you, then?"

He could lie, could give her some story about special training or hidden sponsorship, or even play the part of an ambitious climber in over his head. But he was tired of pretending.

"I’m someone who knows things I shouldn’t know," he said. "Someone who’s survived things that should have killed me. Someone who’s coming back from that dungeon with power you can’t imagine."

"That’s not an answer."

"It’s the only one you’re getting."

They stood in silence for a long moment, locked in assessment and counter-assessment. She was calculating odds, weighing the value of potential dungeon loot against the risk of fighting someone who clearly wasn’t what he appeared to be.

"I could report you," she said finally. "Unauthorized solo climbing in restricted territory. The Registry takes that seriously."

"You could." He shrugged. "But by the time anyone arrived to investigate, I’d be long gone. And so would whatever’s in that dungeon."

"You’re confident for someone climbing above their supposed level."

"Confidence is earned. I’ve earned mine."

She studied him for another long moment, then stepped aside.

"Go, then. Chase your doom in the darkness." Her voice carried something that might have been respect, buried deep beneath the contempt. "But don’t expect anyone to come looking when you don’t come back."

"I’m not expecting anything." He walked past her, keeping his awareness on her position until he was well clear. "I haven’t expected anything from anyone in a long time."

"Sounds lonely."

"It is."

He kept walking, and after a moment he heard her footsteps moving away in a different direction. The encounter left him unsettled in ways he couldn’t quite articulate because she dismissed him as a Regular, as another ambitious nobody climbing above his abilities. She saw the surface and assumed she understood what lay beneath.

’Maybe she was right.’ He found another marker and adjusted his course. ’Maybe I am just an ambitious nobody. Maybe everything I think I know is wrong, and this dungeon is going to kill me like it’s killed everyone else.’

He couldn’t believe that, because if he did, then everything he sacrificed, everything he gave up, and everything he was risking by being here instead of with his team would all be for nothing.

’Eclipse.’ The name echoed in his thoughts like a promise. ’The blade that waits at the end. The weapon that can cut through anything, even cosmic-level threats. That’s why I’m here. That’s why the sacrifice is worth it.’

The markers led him onward, and the pull of the dungeon grew stronger with every step. He made camp that night within sight of the final marker, knowing that tomorrow brought the dungeon and the trials that waited within. It would be either power beyond measure or death in the darkness.

’I’m ready.’ He sat by his small fire and watched the crystalline stars emerge overhead. ’Whatever comes, I’m ready for it.’

Readiness was just another form of hope, and hope was fragile in a world that seemed designed to break it. He thought about Ravenna, about her quiet faith in him, about Astrid’s fierce loyalty and Ren’s steady dependability. He thought about all the people who believed he would come back from this place, who were counting on him to return with the power they needed.

’I won’t let them down,’ he swore as the fire burned low. The dungeon waited, and somewhere in the darkness, the weapon that would change everything stirred with ancient awareness, sensing the approach of a worthy wielder. Or perhaps it was just another fool about to die in pursuit of power that was never meant for human hands. Time would tell.