Tower of Champions [LitRPG]

Scott stared at the lingering message, unable to peel his eyes away.

The Overseer forcefully closed the gate. But… how?

A chilling thought crept in.

Is the Overseer a god too?

The more he considered it, the more it made sense. Only a god could wield that level of omnipotence.

But… weren't the gods barred from interfering in the Endless Bridge?

And yet—the Overseer didn't just manage the trial grounds.

He owned them.

This doesn't add up. If the Overseer could intervene directly… Could other gods have trial grounds of their own?

Scott's gaze hardened.

The memory of that awakening god—the pressure, the laws, the voices—flooded back. Goosebumps raced across his skin. His heart stuttered.

But then—he smiled.

I might still be a speck in their eyes. But I'm not the speck I used to be. And that's enough… for now.

He drew a deep breath, steadied himself.

The surrounding wreckage—what was left of The Shed—stretched endlessly. The landscape was scorched and torn. Nothing remained. Just floors ripped apart by a force the world had barely survived.

"System. How much time do I have left in this place?"

A soft chime answered.

Scott snorted.

All that chaos. The destruction. The screams. The god.

Only twenty minutes had passed.

He turned his gaze back to the sky-high notification.

Scott chuckled. "I hope they don't send any more annoying bastards."

He sat down among the rubble.

No point in moving. He'd wait out the remaining time.

Thud!

A footstep echoed. Scott's head snapped up. Eyes narrowing.

"When did that get here?"

From the distance, a bipedal pig sauntered forward. It wore a pristine white butcher's apron. Two cleavers, each longer than its torso, hung across its back.

The system chime rang again—but this time, no message appeared before him.

Scott glanced upward instead.

Scott returned his gaze to the pig.

It didn't exude a hint of bloodlust. No hostility. No spiritual pressure. It just looked… like a pig. One awkwardly forced into uniform.

But Scott didn't trust appearances.

His war hammer flared to life. The white chains behind him rose like fanged serpents, half their links still soaked in dried blood.

The pig stopped.

Silence hung between them.

Then—

"You slaughtered the previous Head Butcher?" Its voice was refined. Polished. Surprisingly melodic.

Scott tilted his head. "So what? What are you gonna do about it?"

The pig smiled. "He was my brother."

It paused. "Thank you."

Scott blinked. He'd played out countless scenarios in his head. A challenge. A maddened lunge. A diatribe of curses.

He had not expected a thank you.

Then… realization dawned on him.

Of course. The Garden Servant's death had opened a promotion spot. Typical.

Scott let out a dry laugh. "You're not here for revenge, huh?"

The pig shook its head. "I'll offer him sacrifices later," it said, smiling. "I came to sincerely express my gratitude. If not for you, I wouldn't have been promoted."

Scott chuckled again, lowering his stance. The chains slithered back. The war hammer dimmed.

"You're welcome, I guess."

He raised a brow. "So what now? Stopping me from reaching the Final Zone's part of your job, isn't it?"

"It is," the pig admitted. "But I asked the Overseer to start my duties in forty minutes."

Scott couldn't help it. He laughed—hard.

The new Garden Servant laughed too.

"You've exceeded my expectations," Scott wheezed. "I was ready to kill you no matter your intentions, but… I've changed my mind. I like people who know how to read the room."

The pig bowed slightly. "You flatter me. And while retrieving the Primary Target is tempting… I value my life more."

Scott grinned. "Smart. Real smart."

He let his eyes linger on the creature, then muttered under his breath. "If only more enemies were like you…"

Scott wore a wry smile.

Compared to the Garden Servant, most of his enemies were cosmic rulers—beings infinitely more powerful. They had no reason to be reasonable, let alone fear someone like him.

I need to get stronger.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

He sighed quietly.

Only true power could make the unfathomable pause. He knew if he'd been weaker, this understanding pig would've butchered him without hesitation.

Lost in thought, the creature's voice pulled him back.

"Are there people I should take note of if they happen to come to The Shed?"

Scott looked up, his smirk returning.

Scheming little bastard...

Anyone else might've mistaken it for curiosity. Scott saw the real intent—prey selection. If he gave up any names, the pig would carve them up in tribute.

"Actually… yes," Scott replied, casually.

The pig perked up. "Do you mind telling me how I'd identify them?"

Scott shook his head with a grin. "They're shapeshifters. Could look like anyone by now."

"Oh, is that so?" the pig said, unconvinced.

Scott continued. "But you're in luck. We use a secret code to recognize each other."

"Would you mind sharing it?"

"Of course." Scott nodded, voice light. "Ask them which god they serve."

"If they name one, they're my allies. The others? Do what you like."

The pig nodded silently.

Scott said no more. He could already imagine the welcome awaiting future champions.

"Can I ask you a question?" Scott suddenly said.

The pig gestured for him to continue.

"How much can you tell me about your lord?"

"Nothing," the pig said flatly. "No details of our lord will be shared with unbelievers."

Just for a second, a ripple of bloodlust rolled off its body. Fleeting, but enough.

Scott chuckled.

I expected that answer, but its reaction was a bit unexpected.

"Then what can you tell me?"

A pause lingered between the two. Then the pig answered.

"If I'd officially assumed my role, I couldn't say anything. But… Right now, the Overseer is furious. Several Garden Servants have gathered at the Final Zone."

It said nothing more.

Scott frowned.

"System, how many champions have reached the Final Zone?" he asked mentally.

It went up again. Still no deaths. Why? What was going on there?

Then a thought struck him as he posed another question, "Is your lord the same as the Overseer?"

The pig shook its head.

"Oh?" Scott nodded.

So—Thirixis wasn't the Overseer.

The possibility that the pig lied crossed his mind, but he felt the Garden Servant would have outrightly refused to answer the question if Thirixis was indeed the Overseer.

Scott leaned in slightly. "Is Thirixis—"

"Do not sully the name of our lord!" The pig's voice boomed with fury. A wave of bloodlust surged across the wreckage.

Scott stared at the beast calmly. Well, that's confirmation enough.

He didn't press further. No need to poke the butcher.

They fell into silence. Minutes ticked by.

Then—the notification appeared.

A swirl of green and orange distorted the air ahead of them, slowly forming a glowing portal.

"Finally." Scott smiled and stepped toward it.

"Good luck in the Final Zone," the pig called. "This round's almost over. I expect you'll survive."

"Anything you can tell me?"

"No," the pig retorted immediately.

Scott nodded. He hadn't expected more. The swirling portal crackled with energy, just like the one that led into The Shed.

He could sense intense concealment. Whatever lay ahead—they didn't want anyone seeing it in advance.

With several Garden Servants gathering over there, it shouldn't be easy. Hopefully, it's not another survival-based trial.

With a calm breath and spring-loaded step, Scott launched himself into the light—disappearing into the next unknown.

In an unknown region, a portal tore open—spewing Scott's body into the air before vanishing as quickly as it came.

Scott didn't move. The system's chime echoed first.

Scott barely glanced at it. His eyes were locked on the strange new world.

This isn't what I expected.

He stood in a long, lonely corridor—ceilings over thirty feet high. The only light came from massive, flame-fueled torches embedded into the stone walls. Their fire danced, casting shadows that wavered with every lick of heat.

He turned slowly. The corridor stretched endlessly, both forward and behind.

And then he saw them—statues. Each towering into the ceiling. Too many to count. Each depicted a different form of horror—twisted, grotesque, unknowable.

Until… Scott froze.

A Skull Harvester?

He stepped forward slowly, stopping just short of the monstrous statue. There was no inscription. No plaque. But a strange symbol hovered in front of it—an asterisk with curved edges, wrapped in a glowing halo.

Scott tilted his head. What is that?

This Skull Harvester was massive. Far larger than any he'd fought before.

Could this be the Garden Servant in charge of the Harvesters? He didn't doubt it.

It gave off no aura. No pressure. But even as stone, Scott could sense it: the real thing would be a nightmare.

He looked left and right—other statues. Stranger still. He didn't recognize them. Some were smaller, some sleeker, but none felt weaker.

This is a mausoleum. A hall of trophies. A shrine to the Garden Servants.

And then—a new chime.

No panel appeared. Instead, a beacon of flickering light burst into life, leading deeper into the corridor.

Scott turned, watching it hover—waiting.

He gave the statue one last look, then walked.

Step by step, shadows stretched behind him. As he passed, the statues revealed more familiar monsters: the transformed pig, a Thumper, a locust-ant hybrid.

He recognized the Thumper, Harvester, and pig. All of them. Every Servant he'd seen. Represented in unmoving stone.

And still, the statues continued. Unending. None repeated.

Scott's expression darkened. He recalled the pig's words.

Dozens of Garden Servants converging at the Final Zone.

If every single one wielded Authority… This place is going to be hell.

He exhaled, but his stride didn't break.

Minutes passed.

Then—light, natural but chilling in its luminescence, illuminated the path ahead.

It appeared as a veil. White, luminous, soft as mist.

Scott approached it cautiously, but the veil refused to yield. It gave off no sound, no movement, no presence.

No matter how much he tried, his gaze couldn't peer through the lights. But Scott could feel it. Behind that veil was the Final Zone. The other champions. The Servants.

He kept walking. One hundred steps away. Ninety. Eighty.

Then—

Boom!

The world shattered.

A thunderous detonation ruptured the corridor. The veil collapsed under the force. Debris roared forward—metal, stone, fire. A wave of lava and explosive heat swallowed everything. Statues disintegrated. Stone liquefied. The corridor became a hellscape in seconds.

In the place where Scott had stood—nothing remained but charred earth, lava bubbling through what was once solid ground.

Flames howled down the corridor like wolves on the hunt.

Then—a shadow flickered.

Scott stepped out from it, calm and untouched. The war hammer glinted in his grip. His coat remained immaculate.

He covered his nose, wincing. What the fuck was that?

That was an Authority attack. Swift. Precise. Meant to kill.

His mind raced. Was that from a Garden Servant or was it from another champion?

He didn't know.

The war hammer, which he pointed downward, conjured a gravitational shell around his body. Lava and toxic fumes warped away, unable to touch him.

And then, casually, he walked forward.

The veil blocking the exit was gone. He stepped through it and stopped cold.

What the fuck am I looking at right now?

Corpses. Thousands. Not just fallen—but obliterated. Disintegrated. Melted. Ripped apart.

Scorched bones. Burning fragments of armor. Ash that once was flesh. Ruined seats—thrones, maybe—burned in a ring of flames.

The very ground wept blood, still hot from the blast.

The creatures had died before they even knew it, each frozen in whatever shape they'd assumed the moment destruction struck.

Scott stepped forward.

His eyes moved between the gigantic, burning corpses and the molten ruin that bubbled beneath his feet. Heat distorted the air, shimmering like a mirage, but not enough to block his path.

On his twentieth step, he stopped.

There, engulfed in flames, was a massive body—half-blasted, half-burnt. The remains were thick and blackened, its armor of robust bamboo now charred and crumbling.

Scott narrowed his eyes. A Thumper.

He recognized the signature design of its body. One of the Garden Servants.

More corpses came into view. What was left of them, anyway.

Most weren't as intact. Scattered limbs, melted frames, cracked skulls. Garden Servants—some he'd seen, others he hadn't.

What the hell happened here? His thoughts were heavy.

Scott frowned. "System, how many champions are in the Final Zone?"

His face hardened.

Everyone… everything… is dead.

He scanned the burning wreckage. Champions. Servants. Incinerated. Erased.

Who did this? What did this?

The silence felt loud now. His heartbeat, slow but strong.

"System," he asked again, "how many champions have reached the 7th Zone?"

Scott stared at the screen in silence. Then back at the corpses. Then forward again.

Someone's alive.

But they didn't stay here. They moved up.

One champion… survived this—and advanced?

Scott clenched his fists, feeling the weight of what that implied.

A monster made it to the Seventh Zone.