Harvesting the Chaos

The brawl ended quickly with the victorious team standing among bodies, their silhouettes lit by dim, flickering light of a nearby lantern. Their movements were sluggish; their stance showed exhaustion, however, their gear gleamed with promise of better loot—something Jaehyun's group desperately needed. "Now," Jaehyun whispered , signaling for his team to fan out. Minho crouched low, his dagger poised, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. The blood-stained cobblestones told a familiar story, one he'd read countless times before. Each life taken was another step forward, another rung climbed. He wasn't weighed down by guilt or regret, because sacrifice was simply Tower's price of admission—and he intended to pay it in full. The group moved with practiced efficiency; their steps muffled as they descended upon unsuspecting prey. Yuri took her position above, her crossbow aimed at leader of the opposing team. Jiwoo and Seungho flanked left and right, while Minho stayed close to Jaehyun , his keen eyes scanning for openings. "You know drill," Jaehyun murmured. "No survivors."

Minho didn't reply (he just tightened his grip on the blade)—not out of hesitation, but more like anticipation. The first bolt flew it buried itself in the leader's shoulder. He staggered with a guttural cry. Before his comrades could react, Jiwoo was upon them: her katana sliced through air with deadly precision. Seungho followed, his warhammer crushing another opponent with a sickening crunch. Minho didn't rush in, however. He watched his eyes were cold and calculating, waiting for chaos to create opportunities. The opposing team was outmatched and exhausted. Their movements were frantic and their strength was waning. One of them—a boy barely out of teens—stumbled away, clutching deep wound at his side. This moment felt heavy, because air itself had thickened with tension.

Perfect.

Minho stalked him silently (like a shadow), closing distance with predatory ease. The boy didn't notice him until it was too late and that was his mistake. Minho grabbed him from behind, pressing his blade to boy's throat. "P-please," the boy stammered, voice trembling. "I-I'm just trying to survive." Minho tilted his head with a cold gaze, expression void of sympathy. "So am I." The boy's terror didn't faze him. If anything, it amused him because fear was a weakness. Weakness had no place in Tower. Without hesitation, Minho slit his throat and let body fall unceremoniously to ground. The blood pooling around his boots didn't bother him. It was nothing more than another transaction, another sacrifice to Tower's insatiable hunger. When he rejoined group, battle was already over. Bodies lay strewn across the cobblestones and Yuri was busy stripping leader of his valuables. "Good haul," she said, tossing pouch of coins to Jaehyun. "Weapons aren't bad either." Jaehyun nodded with a slight frown, glancing at Minho. "Everything handled?"

Minho shrugged. "Clean."

Yuri gave him a sidelong glance (her sharp eyes assessing him). "You're awfully quiet after a fight." "I prefer to get stronger, not waste time talking," Minho replied evenly his tone almost dismissive. Yuri raised an eyebrow, but didn't push further. "Fair enough." "Let's move," Jaehyun said: cutting the conversation short. "We don't want anyone else stumbling onto this." They made their way deeper into the city, the streets growing darker and narrower. Distant sounds of battle faded, replaced by eerie, oppressive silence. Minho walked with his usual detachment, his focus already shifting to next fight the next opportunity to grow stronger. The group eventually reached an abandoned cathedral, its towering spires clawing at night sky. Jaehyun gestured for them to enter the heavy wooden doors groaning as they pushed them open. Inside, air was thick with dust and faint smell of decay clung to shadows. "We'll rest here for night," Jaehyun announced. "Yuri, you take first watch. Jiwoo, you're next. Minho and Seungho, you're after her." However, the tension hung in the air, because they all knew danger lurked just outside.

Everyone scattered to claim a corner of cathedral. Minho found spot near the altar, cold stone against his back a familiar comfort. He unsheathed his dagger, running a finger along its edge before sharpening it with deliberate strokes. Each scrape of metal against stone reminded him of his purpose. "You're something else," Seungho said as he sat down beside him. However, Minho didn't respond. He was lost in thought, thinking about what would come next. This was important after all, but the weight of his task felt heavy. Although the atmosphere was tense, there was also a strange calmness in air.

Minho glanced at him but said nothing.

"I mean it," Seungho continued. "You don't flinch, you don't hesitate. It's like none of this even touches you." Minho smirked faintly. "It doesn't. Hesitation's a waste of time and guilt's just another way to slow yourself down." Seungho frowned. "You ever think about the lives we take? What they could've been?" "No," Minho replied bluntly. "The only life I care about is mine." The bluntness of his words silenced Seungho, who eventually sighed and leaned back against a pillar. Minho didn't care if his perspective bothered the others because survival wasn't a group effort; it was an individual fight. As the others drifted to sleep, Minho stayed awake: his thoughts sharp and focused. The boy's face didn't haunt him—it was merely another statistic, another stepping stone. The Tower demanded sacrifices and Minho had no intention of being one of them. Every life he took, every drop of blood spilled, brought him closer to his goal. If the others couldn't see that, it wasn't his problem however. The Tower wasn't a place for weak but Minho intended to rise to its peak, no matter how much blood it took.