Chapter 39: The Tower of Trial

"So… this is it?" Thorne asked, arms crossed, looking up at the towering spire that stabbed the sky like a very confident middle finger. "Bit more phallic than I expected."

"It's a tower," Renna replied dryly, twirling a lollipop in her mouth. "They tend to be… tower-shaped."

Alaric, eyes squinting against the sun, tilted his head so far back he almost tipped over. "I dunno, I thought it'd have more skulls. Or like… ominous fire. This looks like someone hired a minimalist architect who got halfway through and gave up."

Cael stood beside them, face blank, already calculating every possible death scenario. "This is fine. It's perfectly fine. It's only called the Tower of Trial, what could possibly go wrong?"

"Oh, oh, I know!" Lys chirped, flipping through a book labeled "Trial Towers and You: A Mildly Useful Guide". "According to this, we may face physical tests, mental challenges, illusions, monsters, regrets, guilt, moral dilemmas, existential dread—"

"Okay, we get it, Lys," Renna cut in. "It's gonna suck."

"I for one," Thorne said, cracking his neck, "am looking forward to punching the concept of fear in the face."

"...That's not how fear works," Cael muttered.

"Well maybe not for you, Mr. I-Overthink-My-Soup."

"Fear is a construct!" Alaric declared dramatically, striking a pose. "And I am an architect of bad decisions!"

The group paused.

"...Did that even make sense?" Renna asked.

"Nope," said Lys, "but it had good delivery."

They stood for a moment longer at the base of the tower, its stone doors sealed shut, vines crawling up its sides like lazy, enchanted ivy. A breeze blew past, and with it, a low, grinding groan came from the entrance.

The tower was listening.

It was ready.

"Alright," Cael sighed, adjusting his coat like someone about to walk into a therapy session they didn't sign up for. "Let's get this over with before Thorne starts challenging the wind to a duel."

"You say that like I haven't done it before."

With a collective, chaotic energy and absolutely no coordinated plan, the heroes stepped forward—toward a tower that had broken warriors, kings, and legends alike.

It was not prepared for them.

And honestly?

Neither were they.

As the creaking doors of the Tower of Trial groaned open with a drama that would make a stage actor weep, the group took their first step into the gloomy interior—and were immediately greeted by a dank smell and faint squelching sounds.

Cael exhaled deeply and adjusted his gloves like someone trying very hard not to spiral into a rant. "Just so we're clear," he said, voice echoing against the stone walls, "if we complete this tower—if—we skip all the nonsense and go straight to Platinum Adventurer rank. No trials, no paperwork, no 'please prove you're not going to die on the first goblin.' Straight. Up."

"Oh, that's neat," Lys said, distractedly eyeing a glowing puddle. "So what's the catch?"

Just then, one of the puddles blinked.

And then it hopped.

And then it exploded.

BOOM.

The group scattered as a chain of slimes nearby detonated like gelatinous fireworks.

"Catch identified!" Alaric shouted, diving behind a nearby pillar. "It's boom jelly! They explode on proximity! Who designed this—WHO HURT THEM?"

Renna leapt gracefully over a sizzling slime, her skirt fluttering. "Explosive slimes? Seriously? Is this the kind of thing they just let happen in dungeons now?!"

Thorne was laughing. Laughing. "I LOVE THIS PLACE!" he yelled, kicking a slime like it was a soccer ball and watching it go off mid-air like an overly dramatic piñata.

"DON'T KICK THEM!" Cael barked. "WHAT KIND OF REACTION IS THAT?!"

"I dunno, man! It just felt right!"

Lys summoned a wind shield just in time to block a nearby kaboom, her hair now slightly singed. "Why are these slimes so angry?!"

"They're probably just misunderstood!" Alaric yelled from under a pile of rubble. "This is why you don't bottle your emotions, kids!"

The room echoed with slime burbles and chaos. Slime bits stuck to everything—walls, clothes, dignity. Cael, eyes twitching, pressed two fingers to his temple and muttered, "We're going to die. Not even dramatically. Just—embarrassingly."

Just then, a final explosion burst behind them, showering them in a hot mist of slime-goo.

The floor fell silent.

Renna wiped some ooze off her face. "So… that was floor one."

Alaric emerged, somehow holding a single intact teacup. "On the plus side, I found this."

"Why?!" Cael exploded, hands raised to the heavens.

Floor 2: The Mirror Labyrinth of Self-Loathing

Slimes here didn't attack with explosions. No, they reflected your worst inner thoughts in gelatinous form.

Alaric's slime kept whispering, "You peaked in high school."

Cael's whispered, "You're just Googling magic and pretending it's genius."

Thorne's kept growing more muscular every time he looked away.

Renna's whispered "You still don't know how to wink properly."

Lys's slime just pointed at her and said, "Nerd."

Alaric tried to punch his, but it just sobbed and said, "You're emotionally unavailable."

Floor 3: Spicy Slimes

They didn't explode. They didn't attack. They just made you really spicy food and watched you eat it.

"Why are they wearing chef hats?" Lys whimpered, eyes watering from a slime-made pepper curry.

"I—I don't know but they folded the napkins into swans," Cael muttered between hiccups.

Floor 4: Bureaucratic Slimes

Each adventurer had to fill out a 17-page form just to progress.

"I didn't come here to do paperwork!" Cael cried.

"Look at this one!" Alaric laughed, holding up a paper. "It says, 'Please describe the emotional trauma of fighting slimes in under 300 words.'"

Thorne submitted a drawing of a muscular stick figure punching a slime into the sun. He passed.

Floor 5: Gossip Slimes

They didn't fight. They just whispered secrets.

"Ohhh, Renna likes Alaric~"

"Cael thinks the old priest was cooler than any of you~"

"Thorne still sleeps with a teddy bear named 'Punchy'~"

Chaos. Screaming. Blushing. Murderous glares. Lys tried to interview them for "data." She got six slime marriage proposals.

Floor 6: Baby Slimes

They all imprinted on Thorne.

"Why are they following me?!"

"You're the dumbest-looking one," Cael said.

"HEY—fair."

Floor 7: Mime Slimes

They trapped the team in invisible boxes. Literally.

Renna mimed slapping one and somehow actually did damage.

Lys tried reasoning with them in mime language and accidentally challenged their leader to a duel.

They won by clapping politely and bowing.

Floor 8: Musical Slimes

They only moved in rhythm. The group had to dance to progress.

Alaric played a lute he absolutely could not play.

Renna shined. Cael looked like he was having a full-body allergic reaction to rhythm.

Thorne just flexed to the beat. It somehow worked.

Floor 9: Reverse Slimes

Everything they did to these slimes—hit, blast, shout—happened to them instead.

Renna kicked one and was launched into a wall.

Cael casted a shadow bind spell and bound himself.

Alaric screamed, "You guys suck!" and immediately fell to his knees, clutching his chest.

"Why did that hurt more than it should?!"

Lys finally just complimented the slime. It exploded from joy. They passed.

Floor 10: Soap Slimes

They were just normal-looking slimes… that made everything insanely slippery.

No fighting. Just slip 'n slide mayhem.

"WHY IS THE FLOOR A BUBBLE BATH?!"

Thorne kept falling over like a tragic action figure.

Alaric did three accidental pirouettes.

Renna, on instinct, did an actual ballet performance.

Cael was just—gone.

They found him floating on a slime like it was a lounge chair, muttering, "I'm done. I live here now."

As they reached the door to the 11th floor, soaked in foam and regret, Thorne looked up and whispered, "If the next floor is sentient taxes, I'm defecting to the demon army."

Cael just groaned. "...There are forty more floors."

"Forty…?" Renna blinked.

"Slime god, take the wheel," Lys murmured.

The Tower loomed ahead, silent… and ominously squishy.

The group walked into what looked like a lecture hall. A chalkboard, several slime-sized desks, and at the front — a single, rotund slime with thick round glasses and a bowtie — stood behind a podium made of transparent jelly. It coughed politely.

"Welcome, adventurers," it burbled in a refined, scholarly tone. "To advance beyond this floor, you must pass the Basic Global Economic Literacy Examination™."

It adjusted imaginary glasses and tapped the board. The word "Tariffs" appeared in ooze handwriting.

Cael's eyes widened. "Nope. I'm out. I came here to fight demons, not write a thesis on medieval trade law."

Renna raised a hand, dead serious. "Do we get multiple choice?"

The slime blinked. "There is no choice. Only economics."

The exam began.

Question 1: How do import tariffs affect domestic production and consumer pricing?

Thorne whispered, "What's a tariff?"

Lys furiously scribbled down a 12-paragraph essay.

Alaric drew a very enthusiastic sword stabbing a graph. "Supply and demand," he muttered proudly.

Renna wrote: I am cute. Please let me pass.

The slime marked it correct.

Question 2: Country A imposes a 30% import tax on steel from Country B. How might this influence trade relations?

Cael answered, "They'll probably slap back with a 40% cheese tariff and now we're in an economic arms race that ends in world war."

The slime paused. "...Surprisingly valid."

Thorne turned in a paper with "I punch tax" written on it. The slime gave him partial credit.

Question 3: Explain how tariffs can protect emerging industries.

Alaric jokingly said, "By making imported stuff more expensive, so locals buy local. But like—why not just get better stuff locally?"

"That's literally the point. Well done."

Alaric got surprised, "Wait, seriously? I thought I was being sarcastic."

Lys stood up mid-exam and launched into a 10-minute TED Talk. The slime was so moved it began to cry data sheets.

"Your understanding of supply-side policy is... beautiful," it sobbed.

Eventually, the slime clapped (somehow?) and declared, "You have passed. With mostly acceptable economic understanding… and alarming amounts of sass."

The group sighed in relief.

As the floor door opened, the slime called out, "Be warned! Floor 12 is Macroeconomics!"

Cael screamed into the void.

Renna patted his shoulder. "Hey. Could be worse."

"How?" Cael glared.

"If the next slime made you do taxes."

From somewhere above, a low, sinister gurgle echoed… and a whisper.

"Auditor Slime awaits."

Everyone frozen.

Thorne said,"...We should have just fought dragons."

Alaric exhaled, "At least dragons don't ask for receipts."

Lys said "...Do they?"

Cael stare at Lys, "Lys, no."

The door slammed shut behind them.

The room was dim, lit only by flickering torches that cast shadows over an enormous slime in a three-piece suit, seated behind a conference table the size of a small kingdom's debt. Its surface wobbled with academic menace. Charts floated mid-air behind it — GDP graphs, inflation curves, mysterious numbers labeled M1, M2, and M...WTF.

The slime adjusted its monocle. "Welcome to Floor 12. I am Sir Gelatinous V. Globeson, Keeper of Macroeconomic Policy and Monetary Aggregates."

Renna blinked. "...What's an M1? A fantasy rifle?"

Sir Gelatinous burbled disapprovingly. "No. It's the money supply, dear child. M1 includes physical currency and demand deposits. Honestly, do none of you adventurers read Fiscal Fantasies Quarterly?"

Alaric raised his hand like a student who knew he was in the wrong class. "Uhh, what happens if we fail this one?"

"Hyperinflation," Sir Gelatinous replied gravely.

Thorne tilted his head. "Is that the one where money explodes?"

"No," said the slime.

Cael leaned forward, eyes twitching. "Can we just pay you to let us through?"

Sir Gelatinous gasped. "BRIBERY? In the sacred realm of macroeconomic enlightenment?"

Sir Gelatinous glided to a chalkboard and began scribbling equations that shouldn't legally exist in a fantasy setting.

"Let us begin with the circular flow of income. Households provide factors of production—"

Renna leaned into Alaric. "He's making it up."

"No," Alaric muttered. "That's actually how it works. I had an economics elective. Hated it."

"—while governments engage in fiscal policy to control aggregate demand..."

Thorne stared blankly. "What's an aggregate?"

"Something you throw at the enemy when you don't understand the assignment," Cael said.

Lys, calm as ever, pulled out a scroll titled 'An Alchemist's Guide to Gross Domestic Product.'

"I got this," she said.

Sir Gelatinous gave her a nod of profound respect.

Sir Gelatinous turned dramatically. "To proceed to Floor 13, you must answer one question."

He pointed at Cael. "You. Suppose a recession strikes due to a sudden drop in consumer confidence. What tool should the central bank use to stabilize the economy?"

Cael blinked.

Renna whispered, "Make something up. Use words that sound smart."

Cael inhaled. "Um. Lower the interest rate to encourage borrowing and increase investment...?"

Sir Gelatinous went silent.

Then he burst into applause. "That... is correct."

Everyone stared at Cael.

"I literally guessed."

Sir Gelatinous with hope about the future of the economy said, "And thus, the invisible hand of the market smiles upon you. Proceed!"

The door to Floor 13 creaked open.

Thorne, dragging his feet "Please. Just let it be something we can stab."

Renna asked with fear on her face, "What if it's taxes?"

Lys asked with knowledge in her mind, "What if it's… budgeting?"

Cael, haunted "What if it's... slime capitalism?"

They all shuddered.

As they ascended, Sir Gelatinous bowed once more. "May your liquidity stay fluid, and your inflation stay modest."

Renna whispered into her own knife, "I hate this tower."