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Chapter 1:
The Tower’s Invitation
As you go through life, there are moments when you think, “Thank God for that.”
Like when you oversleep and miss a bus that later gets into a traffic accident.
Or when you’re depressed because you failed every early admission application you were sure you’d pass, only to later score the highest marks of your life on the college entrance exam.
According to the news, no one died in that bus accident, but several people ended up critically injured. And if I’d gotten accepted through early admission, I never would’ve made it into a better university than the ones I’d applied to.
That’s right.
I’ve always considered myself lucky.
At least, I did until just moments ago.
This morning, after reporting my discharge from the military and watching my company head off for field training behind me, I celebrated my birthday at Dong Seoul Terminal.
Back then, I was convinced I was one of the lucky ones.
But now… I was starting to wonder whether the luck I’d relied on my whole life had finally run out.
Because at this moment, I had been kidnapped into a completely white, empty space.
Just moments ago, I’d been standing in Dong Seoul Terminal, enjoying the freshest, most liberating birthday morning of my entire life — past and future included.
And now this.
“So this is the Tower’s Invitation.”
About ten years ago, when I was in fifth grade, the world changed.
Phenomena known as “Gates,” “Dungeons,” “Monster Holes,” and “Portals to Another World” began appearing all over the globe. Alongside them came towers so tall they seemed to pierce the heavens, yet could never actually be reached.
It was the kind of thing you’d normally only see in comics or novels.
If a Gate was left unattended for too long, it would trigger something called an “Outbreak” or “Monster Break.”
An Outbreak occurred when the inside of a Gate ruptured, causing monsters to flood into our world before the Gate itself collapsed.
Did these Outbreaks throw the world into chaos?
Well… not exactly.
There’s an old saying: when it comes to exorcising demons, firepower is king. And if firepower isn’t enough, you just use even more firepower.
Monsters weren’t immune to bullets. And even if their thick hides could shrug off rifle rounds, artillery shells usually worked just fine.
There were significant casualties at first, but within a few months the military had things largely under control. Researchers also discovered methods to eliminate Gates before they could trigger an Outbreak.
In Korea’s case, things stabilized especially quickly thanks to the country’s small territory and its constant state of military readiness due to the ongoing division with North Korea.
Compared to other nations, Korea handled the crisis well.
From what I’d seen on the news, countries with reduced militaries or vast territories were still struggling even ten years later.
Of course, even in relatively stable Korea, neither the government nor the military could solve everything alone.
If an Outbreak happened in a downtown area, you couldn’t exactly bomb the city. And smaller Gates were too tiny to deploy self-propelled artillery or towed cannons into, so they had to be dealt with using portable weapons.
Mortars or anti-tank weapons like the Panzerfaust 3 could technically be carried into Gates, but ammunition was heavy and difficult to transport in large quantities.
Vehicles couldn’t enter Gates, after all.
As a result, all sorts of problems arose.
The people who ultimately solved those problems fell into three categories.
The first were the “Natural Awakeners.”
These were the rare individuals who naturally developed supernatural powers around the same time the Gates and Towers appeared. Thanks to their abilities, they could hunt monsters that ordinary firearms struggled against — and do so with minimal collateral damage.
Online, people jokingly compared them to the “Hunters” from novels and comics. Eventually the nickname stuck, and everyone simply called them Hunters.
The second group was the agents of the international organization jointly established by governments worldwide:
The World Protection Treaty Organization, or WPTO for short.
The WPTO was known for coordinating with nations to detect where Gates would appear, measure their lifespans, and manage the Hunters responsible for clearing them.
Naturally, the internet dubbed them the “World Hunter Association.”
Conspiracy theorists claimed the founders of the WPTO were doomsday believers who called themselves “The Enlightened Ones.”
According to them, the Gates and Towers were proof of the apocalypse.
Some even argued that a prophet among the doomsday cultists allowed the WPTO to form so quickly.
To be fair, the WPTO had been established less than a year after the Gates first appeared.
But even if they really did have a prophet, what did that have to do with the end of the world?
Then again, prophecies and apocalypses had always gone hand in hand — Nostradamus, the Mayan calendar, and all that.
The final group were the so-called “Tower Returnees.”
At some point, people began appearing who claimed they had entered the unreachable towers floating in the sky and returned alive.
Every single one of them had awakened at least one supernatural ability.
Unlike Natural Awakeners, Tower Returnees often possessed multiple powers. In addition to innate abilities, they brought back learnable systems such as “Magic” and “Martial Arts.”
Even people who hadn’t awakened powers could become stronger and use supernatural abilities through these disciplines.
Magic hadn’t yet become publicly widespread, though there were rumors specialized schools would open soon.
Martial arts, meanwhile, had already become commercialized with dojos and academies everywhere.
The most famous examples were the Gagaga Swordsmanship dojo founded by Japanese S-Rank Hunter and Tower Returnee Tanaka Sanmei, and the Robert Julius Gun Kata academy established by American S-Rank Hunter Robert Julius.
No one knew how or why the Gates and Towers had appeared.
Maybe the governments or the WPTO knew.
But if they did, the public certainly wasn’t being told.
Still, over the past ten years, humanity had uncovered a great deal about both Gates and Towers.
The internet was overflowing with stories from Tower Returnees. Their experiences had become such common material that documentaries and variety shows featuring their tales had long since become cliché.
Whether those stories were true or not was another matter entirely.
Recently, I’d even heard that schools had begun teaching students how to respond if they were invited to the Tower — like some kind of emergency first aid training.
Back in the army, we’d been endlessly lectured on what to do if we were suddenly dragged into the Tower so we wouldn’t later get charged with desertion.
“Well, the Tower’s Invitation isn’t exactly a bad thing.”
Ten years ago, when the Towers first appeared, being kidnapped into one was terrifying.
But these days, people treated a Tower Invitation like winning the lottery.
The reason was simple.
Anyone invited to the Tower would awaken at least one supernatural ability.
And according to all the military educational broadcasts I’d been forced to watch, climbers could leave the Tower anytime they wanted.
I approached the large crystal floating alone in the center of the white space.
“This really works, right?”
Despite my unease, I reached out and touched the crystal.
A tingling sensation ran through my fingertips, and a translucent window appeared before me.
[Registering Climber…]
A spinning circle rotated like a loading screen. Soon, the words [Registration Complete!] appeared, followed by a welcome message and my name.
[Welcome to the Tower, Climber Han Jiwoo.]
It was ridiculous how it phrased things as though I’d entered willingly.
Still, I waited for the next message.
[You have acquired the Tower Common Abilities: “Status Window,” “Tower Shop,” and “Inventory.”]
[You have acquired the Personal Ability: “Multidimensional Avatar.”]
As the notifications appeared, rough information about the abilities flowed into my mind.
The common ability “Status Window” was exactly what it sounded like — an ability that allowed me to view my own status.
And… that was all it did.
“Status Window.”
I didn’t actually need to say it aloud to activate it.
But come on — you had to appreciate the atmosphere.
[Name: Han Jiwoo / Age: 21]
[Strength: 8 / Agility: 11 / Vitality: 9 / Intelligence: 15 / Mana: 1]
[Condition: Normal, Hungry]
[Ability: Multidimensional Avatar Lv.1]
A pretty simple status screen.
Abilities had levels, but I myself didn’t.
That’s right — climbing the Tower wasn’t some level-up system, and since there were no character levels, there were naturally no bonus stat points either.
So how exactly were you supposed to get stronger?
No clue.
Even people who had climbed the Tower all testified that they didn’t understand the mechanism behind their growth.
They simply carried out missions the Tower assigned them, hunted monsters, and somehow became stronger over time.
The only thing people knew was that the numerical values of stats and ability levels represented roughly what floor you were capable of surviving on.
Apparently, the first ten floors were considered the tutorial area.
Did that mean my Strength was around the level of the eighth floor, while my Vitality was around the ninth?
I’d thought military life had made me healthier through regular routines, but apparently I still fell short by Tower standards.
“Hungry, huh… Well, I did skip breakfast.”
Rather than eat the awful military slop on the day of my discharge, I’d decided to leave on an empty stomach.
Next, I checked the Tower Shop.
A translucent shop window appeared.
There weren’t many items available.
Bread and water.
A one-handed sword and shield.
A bow and arrows.
And high-grade healing potions.
“This really is like a game.”
Food and weapons were one thing, but potions?
Actually, these potions were the biggest reason people compared Tower Invitations to lottery tickets.
The Tower Shop used a currency called Shop Points.
Everyone started with 10 points, and every item — bread, water, weapons, potions — cost exactly 1 point each.
High-grade healing potions were practically miracles in a bottle.
Outside the Tower, a single one sold for at least 50 million won.
And that was the minimum.
If you sold them at the right time, they could go for as much as 200 million won apiece.
If you spent all 10 starting points on potions, you could make anywhere from 500 million to 2 billion won.
It really was a lottery.
Prices had dropped somewhat over the past decade as more potions entered circulation, but back in the early days, they’d apparently sold for whatever price the seller demanded.
The Inventory ability allowed items to be stored based solely on weight, regardless of volume.
At Floor 1, however, the limit was only 500 grams.
As an experiment, I tried storing the commemorative cap I was wearing from my military discharge.
“Oh! It really works.”
The cap vanished into the Inventory.
When I focused on the Inventory again, the cap repeatedly appeared and disappeared from my hand.
Once the capacity increased, this would become incredibly convenient.
Thinking that, I placed my hand on the crystal once more.
More than anything else, there was one crucial thing I needed to confirm.
The moment I touched it, two choices appeared in the translucent window before me.
[Proceed to Tower Floor 2? You will never be able to return to Floor 1.]
[Leave the Tower? You will never be able to enter the Tower again, and all Common Abilities will be revoked.]
I removed my hand from the crystal and said, “Cancel.”
The window disappeared.
Thankfully, just like I’d heard countless times before, touching the crystal on each floor really did allow climbers to leave the Tower whenever they wanted.
Back during military orientation classes, they’d drilled one thing into us over and over:
If you entered the Tower, leave immediately and return to complete your military service.
Otherwise, you could be charged with desertion and have your service extended significantly.
“Should I consider myself lucky that I got kidnapped after finishing my service? Or unlucky because I just wanted to rest and ended up dragged into this place instead?”
For reference, personal abilities and purchased shop items could be taken outside the Tower.
However, as warned, the common ability “Inventory” would be revoked upon leaving, meaning you’d have to physically carry everything out yourself.
Because of that restriction, Tower Returnees constantly complained about the countless items they’d been forced to abandon inside the Tower.
Now that I’d confirmed I could leave anytime, it was time to examine my personal ability.
The first floor of the Tower — an endless white void — felt like it existed solely so climbers could freely experiment with their powers.
I checked my ability:
