Climbing the Tower with Multidimensional Avatars - Chapter 3

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Chapter 3. The Tower – Tutorial (2)

Tower Floor 3.
Fortunately, the black sword held by my clone hadn’t disappeared.
That’s a relief. I nearly died again.
And after my clone was reabsorbed into my main body and reformed, the blood that had clung uncomfortably to my clothes vanished, leaving me clean.
“Not bad at all. If I find showering troublesome, I could just create a new clone instead.”
I was satisfied with the ability, except for one thing—the clone always manifested in combat fatigues.
When I arrived at Tower Floor 3, a message appeared on the crystal that hadn’t shown when I first created my clone.

[Hunt one goblin.]

It seemed that ascending The Tower would grant a Quest to proceed to the next floor.
No goblin was visible yet, but the moment I released the crystal, a section of wall slid open and a single goblin began walking slowly toward me.
I’d been ambushed on Floor 2, but it appeared that ascending from Tower Floor 1 to Floor 2 wasn’t the normal progression—the starting position was actually safe.
Unlike the Horned Rabbit, this green dwarf wielding a crude hand axe prompted me to quickly purchase a shield from the shop window.
My inventory was linked to my main body, but the shield weighed at least three kilograms and couldn’t fit inside.
Still, receiving 1 shop point from hunting the Horned Rabbit wasn’t a total loss.
“Or was it actually a huge loss?”
1 point equaled one high-grade recovery potion.
That would sell for at least 50 million won outside The Tower, yet this wooden shield cost the same?!
But I couldn’t keep dying just because of that.
Even if it was a clone, pain was still pain.
“Kerrrgh.”
The goblin made a phlegmy sound and glared at me menacingly.
I fastened the shield to my left arm using the leather straps attached to it, raised it defensively, and tensed.
In our standoff, the goblin charged first.
“Kergh!”
The elementary school-sized goblin swung its battered hand axe with all its might, and I thrust my shield into the obvious trajectory.
Crack!
I expected the axe to bounce off the shield, but the blade lodged itself in the wood grain instead.
The shield was sturdy enough that it didn’t break or shatter.
Before the goblin could wrench the axe free, I twisted the shield and swung my sword.
The weak goblin couldn’t let go of the axe, losing its balance, and the sword technique I’d gained from the ability stone traced a clean arc, severing the goblin’s neck.
My strength wasn’t particularly impressive, so the head didn’t fly clean off, but with its carotid artery cut, the goblin clutched its throat and collapsed.
“Ugh.”
My only experience killing anything before was mosquitoes and cockroaches, so taking down something that sprayed blood like this felt strange.
The fact that it was bipedal only made the sensation stranger.
At least the goblin’s blood shimmers with a blue hue, which makes it feel less real than the rabbit’s—a small mercy.
Does the rabbit bother me?
I’m not mad enough to feel pity for a creature that tried to kill me.
Animals that harm humans deserve to die.
Still, seeing blue blood makes me wonder—does copper flow through their veins instead of iron?
Hemocyanin instead of hemoglobin carries oxygen less efficiently and shouldn’t suit vertebrates, yet here it is.
Could this goblin be a species that evolved in cold climates?
Hemocyanin maintains activity in freezing temperatures unlike hemoglobin, so if they evolved in harsh, frozen regions, they might have adapted to use copper instead of iron.
“Then again, in a world where superpowers are commonplace, why should a blue-blooded monster seem strange?”
Now that I think about it, the monsters in those internet photos had blood in all sorts of colors.
Were those actually their real colors, not just censored images?
Lost in such thoughts, I extracted the magic stone from the goblin’s chest.
This time I wasn’t lucky enough to find a power stone, but I did obtain the goblin’s axe.
Unlike the one-handed sword, it lacked a sheath, though it would serve well as a throwing weapon.
I gripped the sword in my left hand and the axe in my right.
Then I placed my hand on the crystal and ascended to Tower Floor 4.

* * *

Tower Floor 4’s environment differed little from Floors 2 and 3.
The ruins-like setting was illuminated by torches lining the walls.

[Hunt three goblins.]

A Quest notification appeared in my mind for advancing to the next floor.
It was exactly as Tower returnees had discussed on the internet and broadcasts.
While the monsters that appeared differed by country, generally before Floor 10, creatures with the physical abilities of elementary school children emerged, though from Floor 4 onward, multiple monsters appeared, so caution was advised.
Of course, they said that with supernatural abilities, defeating them wouldn’t be difficult, but my ability wasn’t that kind of powerful variety, which made me anxious.
Never underestimate elementary school level.
An elementary school child possessed stamina that surpassed most lazy adult men.
Just as on Tower Floor 3, the wall trembled and an entrance formed, from which three goblins burst forth.
I threw my hand axe before the goblins could react.
“First strike wins!”
The hand axe flew swiftly and embedded itself in the belly of the goblin standing on the left.
“Kyieeeek!”
The struck goblin shrieked and collapsed.
Though the axe was deeply lodged, it didn’t appear fatal immediately.
“Ah, my mistake.”
I had originally aimed for the middle one’s head, but I’d missed badly.
Fortunately, the goblins had been standing in a line, so the adjacent one took the hit—otherwise I would have simply gifted my weapon to the enemy.
The foolish goblin struck by the axe made a stupid decision, perhaps from the pain of the wound.
It pulled the axe from its belly.
I understood the impulse—when something hurt and felt foreign, you instinctively wanted to remove it.
I found myself empathizing with the goblin because of my experience with the Horned Rabbit boring a hole through my chest with its horn.
The goblin’s foolish choice caused the belly wound to tear open, and blood gushed forth.
“Ugh, grotesque.”
Seeing the blood, the goblins became frenzied and rushed at me wielding the hand axe and a worn dagger.
While I couldn’t handle three-on-one, I could manage two-on-one somehow.
Clang!
I tried to switch the one-handed sword from my left hand to my right, but I accidentally dropped it to the ground.
I hastily bent down and gripped the sword again.
At that moment, the goblin with the axe tried to bring it down on my head.
I had to block—no, I had to evade!
Panicked, I rolled to the side.
But this was the wrong choice.
There were two enemies.
The goblin with the dagger brought its reversed dagger down at my throat.
“Ugh!”
I hastily raised my shield to block.
The dagger, weighted with force, was powerful enough to pierce a small hole in the wooden shield.
With trembling hands in this life-threatening moment, I swung my sword.
Despite the panic, my ability kept the sword’s trajectory clean.
The instant my one-handed sword deeply slashed the goblin’s abdomen, a sharp impact struck my head and something warm flowed down.
My blood.
The goblin wielding the axe struck my head from behind with its blade.
Damn this green scrap of filth!
My consciousness returned to my main body.

* * *

I clutched my head, throbbing with pain.
I knew it was phantom pain, but it took about ten seconds to process the vivid impact.
“Phew.”
The pain never became familiar, but something felt strange about this second death.
“What is this? Why am I not afraid?”
It was odd.
I hadn’t noticed it during my first death, but this was unmistakably strange.
I wasn’t afraid.
The pain terrified me, but death itself held no fear.
It felt like watching a character I controlled in a game die.
It’s not real death but the death of an avatar, so isn’t that natural?
That can’t be right. An ordinary person trembles so badly standing on a bungee platform that they can’t move at all.
Just moments ago, I got excited in the fight and accidentally dropped my sword, failed to use my shield properly.
If I kept using this ability, I’d eventually grow accustomed to my avatar dying.
Bungee jumping is difficult the first or second time, but humans can jump as easily as they want once they’re used to it.
Humans are creatures of adaptation, after all.
“Should I view this positively or negatively?”
If I look at it positively, it could mean the [Multidimensional Avatar] ability has an undocumented mental protection function.
If I look at it negatively, could this be a penalty for dying?
Fear of death is a survival instinct.
The numbing of this instinct would be a serious demerit.
There was no guarantee that numbing the survival instinct wouldn’t affect other senses or emotions.
For now, the former seemed more likely than the latter.
I’d only died twice, so it seemed unlikely that a demerit would manifest so quickly.
I opened my status window and discreetly checked my condition.

[Status: Normal, Tense, Famished]

No abnormalities appeared in the status window.
If I doubted my abilities, I couldn’t help but question whether I could fundamentally trust this status window itself.
I took a deep breath and released the tension.
It wasn’t easy, but once I felt somewhat stabilized, the ‘tension’ disappeared from the status window.
As the tension eased, I examined my condition once more.
“Does the fear of death only disappear in my clone state, or does it affect me directly?”
I concentrated, recalling my death, and imagined death approaching me now.
A chill ran through me, and the status window changed.

[Status: Normal, Fear, Hunger]

“Huff! Huff! Huff!”
Because it was a death I had actually experienced, the sensation was vivid—cold sweat drenched my entire body, and I trembled uncontrollably.
“Ah, it seems… the fear itself doesn’t actually disappear.”
Perhaps from concentrating too hard, the fear didn’t subside easily.
But while concentrating, I felt something like a protective barrier settling in my mind.
It might just be my imagination, but as I focused on that barrier, the fear began to fade rapidly.

[Status: Normal, Hunger]

“So there really is something in my mind.”
I was the type to doubt things, so I couldn’t view this purely positively.
Normally, when such doubts arose, the sensible thing would be to leave The Tower.
But could I experience something this fascinating outside The Tower?
“Not a chance.”
Then wasn’t enjoying this moment the best course of action?
Well, even if things go wrong, what’s the worst that could happen—death?
I decided to overcome death and create a new clone to return to Tower Floor 4.
“Huh?”
The ability window’s slot was grayed out.

[Avatar Slot 1: Tower Floor 4 / Time 00:12:30]
[Avatar Slot 1: Tower Floor 4 / Time 00:12:31]
[Avatar Slot 1: Tower Floor 4 / Time 00:12:32]

And time was passing. After about ten seconds had elapsed, it stopped.

[Avatar Slot 1: Tower Floor 4 / Time 00:12:40]

As time froze, the slot that had been shrouded in gray light reclaimed its original azure glow.
I instinctively understood this was a penalty for my avatar’s death.
Dying didn’t simply consume Avatar Points—there was more to it.
Upon death, I couldn’t immediately return to that avatar’s body; instead, a period of time would pass while I remained in a dead state.
During that interval, there was nothing I could do.
Likely, this same penalty had existed during my first death as well.
But that duration had been so brief I could barely perceive it.
From the second death onward, I found myself unable to use my abilities for several minutes while I gathered my thoughts.
The saving grace, however, was that while I spent those minutes contemplating, only about ten seconds had elapsed for my avatar.
“But if I keep dying like this, I won’t be able to climb The Tower.”

[Avatar Regeneration Points Required: 2]

The Avatar Points consumed upon death had increased. Did it rise by 1 with each death?
No, that wasn’t it.
I could sense it instinctively. The cost was doubling each time.
It seemed trivial now, but with each successive death, the Avatar Points required would grow exponentially.
To put it another way, the points were like slipping a bribe to the dimension where my avatar was created.
It was my way of asking that dimension to turn a blind eye to my death.
But ultimately, deaths would accumulate.
Infinite coins and infinite retries were impossible.

(To be continued in the next chapter)

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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