I Conquered the Tower with the EX-Class Character That I Raised - Chapter 25

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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 25
“So?”
“That’s all.”
Tap. Tap.
The Guild Master made no effort to conceal his displeasure.
With each tap of his fingers against the table, Kim Min-seok felt the back of his neck prickle with dread.
This sensation… unmistakable.
Like a child plucking petals from a flower.
Should I. Or shouldn’t I.
The Guild Master was deliberating to that very rhythm.
Whether to kill Kim Min-seok.
Or let him live.
“I don’t quite understand.”
“Yes!”
“Would you report again?”
“Yes, the situation is….”
“Ah.”
Just as Kim Min-seok was about to unleash the information swirling in his mind.
The Guild Master raised his hand.
“If there’s anything different from your last report, I’ll kill you.”
“Understood! The report is….”
“By the way, that’s already twice.”
Kim Min-seok closed his mouth instead of asking “What?”
“The first time you started with ‘I will report to you,’ right? But do you know what you started with just now?”
“I don’t know.”
“The second time was ‘the situation is,’ and the third time was ‘the report is.’ Aha. Amusing.”
“…Master. That’s enough.”
The Observer materialized beside Kim Min-seok, whose face had drained to a deathly pallor.
“Why? I’m having fun.”
“His report deserves reconsideration. Stop tormenting him and listen properly.”
“Tsk.”
“Master.”
“Fine. Go ahead and report—I’ll hear you out.”
The Observer tapped Kim Min-seok’s rigid shoulder lightly.
Only then did the breath trapped in Kim Min-seok’s chest burst free.
“Gasp! Gasp…!”
Kim Min-seok breathed in ragged, desperate gasps like a man starved of oxygen.
The Observer waited patiently for him to compose himself, then spoke softly.
“Easy now. Don’t be nervous. Just the crucial parts, precisely.”
Kim Min-seok steadied his breathing with effort and opened his mouth with a trembling voice.
“Scathach appeared, and Han Seol-ah stood against her.”
“That’s what’s remarkable.”
“Indeed.”
The Guild Master’s eyes sparkled with intrigue.
“I anticipated she wouldn’t crumble.”
“Right. But the question is—how did she stand against her? According to our ‘calculations,’ Han Seol-ah shouldn’t have survived even a single strike from Scathach.”
“…According to Min-seok’s report, Scathach appeared to be ‘toying with her.'”
“Why would Scathach display such a ‘pattern’? Is there something we’re unaware of?”
“….”
The Observer could not answer.
“Answer me, Observer. Is that even possible?”
“…Before hearing this report, I would have answered ‘impossible.’ But now I must revise my answer.”
“What is it?”
“I don’t know.”
The Observer removed the sunglasses he wore.
Beneath them, his eyes were pure white—completely devoid of irises.
It was as if his pupils didn’t exist at all.
“From what I have ‘observed,’ Scathach possesses no such pattern. He is… a cruel and merciless being.”
“Hmm.”
The Guild Master fell silent for a moment, his expression growing grave as he pondered something intently.
“I’ve no idea. Let’s drop it.”
His face brightened again as he spoke dismissively.
“Report the next matter.”
“They sensed something extraordinarily dangerous from a distance and evacuated immediately.”
The Guild Master turned to face the Observer.
“What could it be?”
“Suck is an outstanding tank straddling the boundary between A-rank and S-rank. Particularly, his crisis-detection ability is exceptional. For someone like Suck to deem it necessary to flee without a backward glance suggests, at minimum, a grand-scale spell.”
“A grand-scale spell, then?”
The Observer pointed behind Kim Min-seok instead of answering.
More precisely, at the Guild Master’s ‘shadow thorns’ concealed within Kim Min-seok’s shadow.
“Kim Min-seok. Tell me yourself. What does it feel like having this shadow beside you?”
Kim Min-seok’s shoulders flinched and tensed.
He glanced down at his own shadow.
Terror. Revulsion. And murderous intent.
To be asked to evaluate that abominable shadow that held his life and death in its grasp.
A flicker of disgust he didn’t wish to voice crossed his expression.
But to remain silent was to invite death.
Kim Min-seok forced his lips to part.
“…Unsettling.”
“Unsettling?”
“Yes. It’s like… hearing the sound of fingernails scraping against a chalkboard… a chill runs down my spine, as if a blade were pressed against the nape of my neck.”
“What? Really? That’s all? Puhaha!”
The Guild Master laughed for a long while.
Then, abruptly.
The laughter ceased.
“Ah, it’s back. That was enjoyable after so long.”
The light drained from the Guild Master’s eyes.
The playful expression of moments before vanished without a trace, leaving only a cold, inorganic face like that of a doll.
“Tsk. In any case, you’re quite capable. To withstand my killing intent head-on and call it merely ‘unsettling’—you’ve exceeded my expectations.”
The Guild Master nodded.
“So it’s a spell powerful enough to make someone like you flee without looking back? Is that why it’s called grand magic…?”
“Yes.”
“That’s enough. You may go now.”
The moment the Guild Master’s permission fell.
Crack!
Kim Min-seok bolted from the room like lightning, forgoing even a bow.
His retreating figure was as desperate as a deer escaping the jaws of a monster.
After waiting for Kim Min-seok to distance himself sufficiently, The Observer spoke.
“What are your thoughts?”
“…My suspicions are certain.”
The Guild Master stripped away all the playfulness he had displayed in Kim Min-seok’s presence.
“…Could it be ‘First’?”
“What? That’s impossible. It can’t be that. First wasn’t a mage. Perhaps…”
“…”
The Guild Master fell into contemplation.
The Observer waited silently for the Guild Master’s words.
Presently.
The Guild Master spoke.
“…I’ll need to observe further. At least until the next trial.”
“Very well.”
“What did you call it? Something… Rezoral?”
“Resonar.”
“Right, that one. What kind of monster is it?”
“A terrifying… boss monster.”
The Observer shook his head slowly.
“We won’t be able to stop it this time.”
* * *
After confirming the Codex’s abilities, my head burned with intensity.
Too many thoughts crashed down upon me at once.
“At times like this, I need to clear my mind.”
Overthinking is fatal to brain health.
The most perfect way to empty your mind.
Mindless grinding.
“I should check the strategy guide while I’m at it and hunt down some Resonar.”
I logged into the Interdimensional Gate and began killing Resonar endlessly.
…Several hours later.
Zero drops. Nothing to show for it.
“This garbage mob!”
Tedious to catch, annoying, and its patterns are sloppy.
And the drop item table is absolute garbage too.
It wasn’t for nothing that players treated it as a trash mob.
Sigh.
If I don’t give the developer who created this J.O.A.T mob a piece of my mind, this irritation won’t fade.
‘…The developer, huh.’
Lost Honor is the miraculous game that awakened me.
The developer who created such a game certainly isn’t an ordinary person.
Looking back, Lost Honor was an abnormal game in many ways.
I just didn’t think deeply about it because it helped me survive, turning a blind eye.
‘What exactly is its true nature?’
I thought about this game and the developer who created it.
The day after the Tower appeared.
When I regained consciousness in this tiny room…
Lost Honor was already installed on my computer.
And the entire monitor flashed with dazzling effects, as if warning me that I’d regret it if I didn’t create a character right now.
And…
‘…What happened after that again?’
I don’t remember much of what came next.
What I vaguely recall is that I created a character and played the game frantically.
Back then, I was in a critical state from the reality of being unable to awaken, so my mind was elsewhere—it’s only natural my memory is hazy.
“Hmm.”
The point is.
Lost Honor was mysterious from the start.
And it still is.
“So what am I supposed to do about it?”
Lost Honor gave me life.
It even awakened me.
What does it matter if there are many mysteries?
As long as it helps me, that’s all that matters.
I don’t need to know anything beyond that.
And there’s no way to find out anyway.
“…My head’s spinning. I need to mess with the developer.”
I opened the auction house tab with practiced ease.
Whenever stress accumulated, I’d relieved it by tormenting the developer.
For a full ten years!
If there’s one person on Earth who excels at “annoying the developer,” it’s me.
A being who could torment a single individual for ten years and feel genuine joy every single time.
That’s me.
I opened my inventory.
“You’ve given me such a headache, developer. Your debt is immense.”
The items I’d “stored away” in my inventory were special.
Despite having ninety-nine personal warehouses, these were worth carrying in my inventory.
For the moment when South Korea would collapse tomorrow and I’d face death.
In other words, the highest-tier items I’d been hoarding to sell only when even planting the final apple tree became impossible.
That’s what Nebula’s inventory contained.
From there, I retrieved another primordial-tier item.
I pulled out ‘無名’.
This item, bearing an absurdly cool name, was literally nameless—just like its designation suggested.
It sounds ridiculous, but it’s true.
Squirm, squirm.
The ‘無名’ grasped in my cursor writhed violently.
This item took the form of a blood-clot slime.
But this wasn’t its true nature.
This 無名 could become anything.
That’s why it had no name until one was bestowed upon it.
In the old masters’ parlance: the Philosopher’s Stone, the magical lamp from which blue fairies emerge, the wish-granting orb, the Dragon Balls you must gather seven of—these were all echoes of the original.
The prototype of all wish-granting artifacts was this very 無名.
“Heh heh.”
I took this item as-is.
Click.
And posted it to the auction house.
Ding!
Instantly, a bid price appeared.
[Offered Price: 5 Billion Points]
The moment I pressed register, an alert popped up in less than 0.1 seconds.
A response speed as if they’d been waiting.
‘As expected. It’s definitely them.’
This is why I’m certain the other party is the developer.
Lost Honor’s auction house system is meticulous.
When you post an item, it normally takes three days for appraisal and bid submission.
Even selling a single iron sword means waiting three days.
But this one is different.
Only when I list items like Genesis-grade or Mythic-grade—ones that shatter the system’s balance.
It reacts ‘immediately,’ as if it had been waiting.
Authority to bypass the system’s processes and intervene in real-time.
In this game, only one entity possesses such authority.
The administrator—the developer.
‘Last time I did this, it was 4 billion. They bumped it up by another billion?’
Click.
I cancelled the auction.
Nameless vanished from the auction house.
I waited a moment.
Click.
Listed it again.
“Hehehehe.”
[Bid: 5.05 billion points]
It had jumped by 50 million points in an instant.
Not a chance.
Cancelled again.
“Tee-hee.”
Click. Click. Click. Click.
List. Cancel. List. Cancel.
I repeated this cycle.
How long?
Until I felt like stopping.
“5.1 billion, 5.2 billion, 5.5 billion…. Tee-hee. Getting desperate, aren’t we? You bastard?”
The developer must be losing their mind.
The server’s greatest item kept appearing and disappearing right before their eyes.
By now, they were probably gnawing their fingernails in front of the monitor, watching my every move.
“Nope, not selling~”
Click. Click.
After confirming the bid had climbed from 5 billion to 7 billion points,
I shut down the auction house.
“Feeling much better.”
Justice had been served.
My head had cooled down perfectly too.
‘Now, shall we get to the real business?’
To execute my plans ahead, I would need an enormous amount of points.
Truly, an enormous amount.
But I had no intention of selling Nameless.
If I handed over what they wanted most just because I was short a few coins, their hunger would vanish.
I must hold onto my advantageous cards until the very end.
And I should only reveal them at the moment when refusal becomes impossible.
‘But dumping Spirit Essence in bulk? That’s a fool’s strategy too.’
The Developer is exceptionally cunning.
If I flood the market, they’ll immediately think ‘Are you desperate for money?’ and try to slash the price.
Hmm…
‘Thinking is such a hassle!’
Deliberating over what to sell is the mindset of the weak.
I am absolute authority in this transaction.
‘Why should I even bother thinking?’
The ultimate merchant needs only a single word to seal a deal.
“Make an offer.”
I listed a single [Wooden Box] on the auction house.
Ding—
Contact comes through immediately, as expected.
‘This kid’s discipline is razor-sharp.’
By keeping the Developer anxious about the Nameless item like this, I can compress a process that would normally take three days into an extreme acceleration.
It’s a method of filling the Developer with hope—’What if they actually sell it this time?’—forcing them to monitor the auction house in real time.
I relieve stress, and I shorten the auction timeline.
Two birds with one stone.
The answer to my ‘Make an offer’ can be seen in the price attached to the wooden box.
[Offered Price: 99 Points]
Our cipher.
Listing the box means ‘How many warehouse slots do you want?’
99 points means they want access to Warehouse 99.
“Look at this bastard. Daring to covet Warehouse 99?”
Warehouse 99 contains legendary and unique-grade equipment items.
“Not a chance.”
Even if not quite at the level of my inventory reserves, they’re still formidable items.
By my judgment, they need to age a bit longer.
I delisted the box, then reposted it.
‘Rejected. Make another offer.’
That’s what it means.
Then this time ‘297 Points’ comes back.
“?”
The meaning of this number is crystal clear.
‘I’ll triple the offer for Warehouse 99.’
…This is the ‘negotiation method’ I’ve trained the Developer in over ten years of using the auction house.
But.
“Arrogant bastard.”
After ten years of dealing with me, you still don’t understand who I am.
“Negotiation doesn’t exist in my dictionary.”
I opened Warehouse 1, dragged out ‘Goblin Excrement’, and placed it on the auction block.
“You forgot my nature? Attention.”
Starting from this, I flooded the auction block with repulsive junk bearing names like ‘Rotten Apple’, ‘Food Waste’, and ‘Other World Excretion’.
Interspersing terror with Nameless was an essential technique to make the auction block impossible to look away from.
I repeated this.
For how long?
Until the developer surrendered.

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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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