Tower of Champions [LitRPG]

Scott hovered above the boiling lava, his thoughts drifting as he surveyed the scorched remains around him.

Whoever did this...

He didn't finish the thought. It didn't matter. If someone had the power to obliterate Garden Servants—and champions who likely wielded Authorities—they weren't a simple threat.

But Scott's resolve held.

If they come after me, I won't show mercy.

He turned from the wreckage, scanning for the entrance to the 7th Zone. All he saw was a sprawl of flames, ruin, and corpses.

Still, he searched—carefully and intently.

No matter how powerful that thing was, they couldn't have destroyed the path forward, he reasoned.

Then he saw it—far ahead, beyond a wash of whitish fire. The air bent unnaturally, and faint arcs of lightning danced across the area.

Scott narrowed his eyes. What is that?

He moved toward the anomaly. As he got closer, the lightning flared brighter. Thunder rumbled low, like something massive stirring beneath the storm.

Two hundred meters out, a familiar chime rang in his ears.

Scott smiled faintly. "So this is it."

The white flame mixed with the crimson flames acted like natural camouflage. Without the lightning, he would've missed it entirely.

He turned to glance at the devastation one last time.

"This is not how I expected it to end… but I'm not complaining."

His fingers hovered over the option. "Hopefully the 7th Zone isn't as cursed as this place."

He clicked [Yes].

A beam of light shot from the fire and engulfed him. But without burning his form.

Then—lightning struck.

Scott's body vanished in a burst of electrical fury.

In an unknown region, black and gray skies boiled overhead. Thunder bellowed like a caged beast. Bolts of lightning as wide as rivers cracked the heavens, crashing into a wild, endless sea.

The water writhed. Tsunamis rose and fell. Vortices spiraled across the ocean. Islands were nowhere in sight—except one.

One stood alone at the heart of the storm.

Lightning struck down on that island, tearing into the charred earth. Scott's body emerged from the bolt, hovering atop a crater of scorched stone.

Rain pounded his barrier. The forcefield shuddered under the deluge but held firm. Thunder screamed across the sky, lighting up distant waves like breaching leviathans.

Scott took one look around.

No way. Don't tell me…

His brow tightened.

Godfall Island?

The resemblance was uncanny. But then the system chimed again.

Scott's expression was hard to read. "That's it?"

He remembered the Curse Widow mentioning the name of the zone. He'd imagined different scenarios based on the name. But now?

Cross a stormy sea?

It felt underwhelming. Or worse—deceptive.

He stepped forward, studying the earth. Scorch marks everywhere. Footprints too.

But no people. No beasts. Nothing alive. Except for trees. Far off, more than a mile away, their branches barely visible through the curtain of rain.

That person should have arrived too.

Scott frowned. The one who advanced. The one who left that sea of flames and corpses behind.

He studied the ground closer.

Dozens of footprints. Some human. Some beastfolk. A few centaur-like. Others… unrecognizable.

Scott glanced at his own. No foot-shaped imprint—only the mark of a war hammer, glowing faintly from the gravitational field.

What do these prints mean?

He didn't know. But something told him they weren't just for show.

Then, a sound echoed from afar. A faint chime—high-pitched and rhythmic.

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Scott turned.

There, beneath a tree with massive canopy-like leaves, stood a group of ten. Different sizes. Each held a triangular silver bell, striking it with a matching silver rod.

The sound rang again.

Chime. Chime. Chime.

Scott narrowed his eyes. Who the hell are they? And what are they doing?

The system had confirmed it—only one trialist had entered the 7th Zone.

Which could only mean one thing. These people weren't trialists.

Scott studied the group in the distance. They were striking their silver bells harder now, clearly trying to get his attention.

But he didn't move closer. Not yet.

He observed them carefully. There were no signs of the parasitic worms used by Hive members. Nor did they move like puppets under external control.

And yet, there was something off about them.

Still, if they knew anything about the 7th Zone, they might be useful.

Scott began moving toward them, his pace unhurried.

Occasionally, he passed strange footprints. Most were unremarkable—until he saw one spot where flames danced in place of a print.

Scott stopped cold in his tracks. That person didn't touch the ground either.

Despite the rain, the flames didn't go out.

Scott's gaze swept the land. But there were no other trails. No other wreckage. No further signs of destruction.

Damn it, because of the rain I can't tell where they might have headed, Scott sighed.

The mystery would have to wait.

He turned back to the bellringers. He watched them more closely now. They were cloaked head to toe in waterproof garments and walked on oversized wooden soles. Strangely, they avoided the trees—never touching the trunks or even the hanging leaves.

Suspicion gnawed at him, but he continued moving.

"System, how many people are in the 7th Zone?" he asked mentally.

The system responded instantly.

Scott grimaced. Not what I asked.

He tried again.

"System, how many people that used to be trialists—and aren't members of the Hive—are currently in the 7th Zone?"

Scott stopped in his tracks.

Over seven hundred and fifty thousand?

His mind raced. How long have they been stuck here?

He'd always assumed failed trialists were expelled—or killed. But the sudden revelation changed everything.

He instinctively became more guarded.

If these cloaked figures were among the failed, then their minds… might not be whole anymore.

Still, he pressed forward.

By now, they'd stopped ringing their bells. They simply waited.

They are not even bothering to hide their greed, he realized. That was the emotion coming off them in waves.

Yet strangely, he felt no bloodlust. No malice. Only greed. Like addicts eyeing a fix.

At fifty meters, Scott stopped.

His voice was calm, but cold. "Who are you supposed to be?"

Thunder boomed. Lightning flashed.

One figure stepped forward. "I'll answer all your questions," the voice said—calm, almost reverent. "If you give me water."

Scott blinked. Water?

Rain poured from the sky in endless sheets. The air was wet with humidity. The earth was soaked.

Why would anyone here need water?

Is this a trap? Or some sort of trigger?

Or is this a joke?

He narrowed his eyes. "Why water?" he asked.

But no answer came.

They just stood there, heads tilted slightly. Watching.

Scott considered attacking them. Maybe beating the truth out of them would be easier than playing guessing games.

But before he could act—

Boom!

A deafening explosion tore through the air. Not thunder—he knew this sound.

That blast… it's the same as the one from the Final Zone.

The war hammer vibrated violently in his grip. Without hesitation, Scott shot upward, gravity fields coiling around his form.

He soared above the trees. Then—he saw it.

A sea of flame. Massive black plumes of smoke reached into the storm-dark skies. The harbor below was an inferno. Hundreds of wooden ships burned, shattered, or sank beneath boiling waves.

And away from it all—a lone vessel surged into the storm, launching crimson bursts like cannon fire that propelled it through the chaos.

Scott's face darkened. That bastard destroyed every ship.

He prepared to fly straight toward the harbor—but slammed into an invisible wall.

Then came a system notification.

"Fuck!" Scott growled.

No choice. He descended—fast—landing with a heavy thud near the waiting figures.

He faced them again, this time with urgency in his voice.

"Are there any other harbors?"

"Water," the figure repeated. "Give me—"

Scott's chains stirred, lashing silently through the air—cutting the sentence short.

He descended, hovering a few feet away from the cloaked figures, eyes narrowed.

"I don't have time for games," he said coldly. "Tell me what you know, or else…"

Bloodlust poured off him, a suffocating wave of intent sharp enough to slit throats.

But the figures didn't even flinch.

Scott's brow twitched.

They're not scared. Not even a little.

Something about them was off. Deeply off.

He considered giving them water—but shook his head. No, he shook his head.

He didn't trust what might happen if he did.

The chains coiled back into their dormant form, and Scott floated down to meet them at eye level.

They were tall, unnaturally taller than he expected. Still cloaked head to toe. Still impossible to read.

"System," he thought, "what happens if I attack these guys?"

No response.

"What about if I offer them water?"

Silence again.

Scott sighed. So the system's keeping secrets now…

He considered leaving them behind. He had memorized the harbor's location. He could sprint through the forest, maybe salvage what was left.

Or… I could wait for more champions to arrive.

Let the next champion test what happens when you give them water—or piss them off.

But he dismissed the thought quickly.

I don't have that luxury.

The unknown champion who destroyed the Final Zone was still out there, moving unchecked. Every second wasted might let them burn the next bridge ahead.

I need a boat. Fast.

Wordlessly, Scott moved forward. His gravitational field stirred the leaves and stones as he approached the forest.

The moment he crossed the boundary between the forest and scorched earth, a new notification manifested.

A glowing arrowhead appeared, pulsing beneath the system message.

But Scott wasn't looking at it. The cloaked group had suddenly stirred.

"He's the Primary Target!" one of them gasped, voice rising with manic joy.

"I told you it was him!" another cackled.

"We're saved!"

Their voices were no longer strange—they were relieved. Almost worshipful.

Scott's grip on his war hammer tightened.

What the hell are they talking about?

Then—the original speaker stepped forward, face still hidden.

"Primary Target… please move on ahead. Move as fast as you can. Please—hurry! Get off the island. Only you can save us."

Scott said nothing, eyes scanning their forms.

He didn't like this. Not one bit.

"Like I said earlier," he finally replied, "is there another harbor? Or a hidden dock? Somewhere with hidden ships?"

All of them shook their heads in eerie unison.

"No," the first speaker confirmed. "There are plenty of ships in the harbor just outside the—"

"Not anymore," Scott cut him off.

Their silence was instant.

He turned without another word, surging into the forest.

No more delays. Whatever game was being played on this island—he wasn't going to be the one getting caught in it.