I placed a thick oak log, secured to the stone ground, in the empty space right in front of me. I had carved a few marks on it—to define the target. People started looking at me more. My movements, my energy, my state of preparation… it all signaled that something was about to begin.

  I took a deep breath. Then I picked up the first knife.

  I spun it once, flipped it over the back of my hand. It gleamed under the sun. Then I threw it in an instant.

  “THWACK!”

  The knife sank dead center into the target. The sound of metal tearing through wood—short but sharp—ripped through the air like a firm slap.

  “What—? Look at that!”

  The first glances turned toward me. A few people passing through the street slowed their steps. Some stopped completely. All eyes were on me.

  I picked up the second knife. This time I threw it with an arcing motion, almost like it was gliding.

  “CHAAK!”

  It landed just to the right of the first one. Now the target looked like a sharp wolf’s fang.

  “Whoa… what was that second throw?”

  The audience wasn’t silent anymore. Voices began to rise. Some looked on in admiration, others with skeptical curiosity, but they were all focused.

  I raised the third knife. This time, I stepped slightly back. Adjusted my stance. The air grew quiet. I tossed the last blade skyward—

  And it came down at a sharp angle, sinking into the top of the target, like a crown.

  “TINK!”

  It stuck so cleanly, the vibration echoed through the wood.

  “No way! Are these knives enchanted? They’re way sharper than anything in the shops!”

  The crowd started to grow. A young adventurer stepped forward, followed by a group of scouts. One of them crouched down, inspecting the depth the knives had sunk into the wood.

  “These… aren’t ordinary throwing knives. The balance is perfect. The sharpness isn’t just piercing—it’s ripping. It feels… like a wolf.”

  Exactly what I wanted.

  I slowly lowered myself to the ground, sat by the cloth I had laid out, and without bowing my head, I spoke to the crowd:

  “Yes. These blades were forged from the fang of a Steel Fang Wolf. All handmade. The motifs on them aren’t just decoration—these knives are as fast, as sharp, and as loyal as a wolf.”

  People began to step closer. Now they weren’t just looking at the knives, but at the entire display. One of them picked up a piece of armor—Alpha Wolf’s Pelt – Stealth Armor—and as their fingers brushed the fabric, their eyes widened.

  “This… this thing is nearly weightless. But the texture—so strong... Did you really make this?”

  I nodded.

  “It’s lined with Alpha Wolf fur. Cold-resistant, and silent in motion at night. Perfect for the upper floors of the Tower.”

  Another one pointed to the Alpha Wolf’s Claw – Poison Dagger.

  “Is this really poisonous?”

  “When it hits the bloodstream, it blurs vision. Disorients the enemy. The effect builds over time—it’s not instant, but it’s lasting.”

  A female mage squinted and pulled out her gold pouch.

  “Exactly what I needed. How much?”

  “10,500.”

  “Wrap it up.”

  And the selling began.

  Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

  People started lining up. My cloth wasn’t just a “temporary stall” anymore—it was becoming the most interesting sales spot in the Tower. I had stepped out from the shadows of the big shops and drawn all eyes on me—through craft alone.

  And a single thought passed through my mind:

  “Advertising… isn’t always about shouting. Sometimes, a single good throw is enough.”

  Once the sales began, I lost all track of time. The crowd in front of my cloth kept growing; each customer either asked a question or pulled out their gold pouch right away to buy something.

  But most of the ones coming… they were different.

  The craftsmanship in their clothes, the wear marks on their armor, the magical seals they carried… These weren’t just average merchants or rookie adventurers from the lower floors. They were the ones who had spent time in the Tower, climbed its upper levels, and survived. Some of the lines under their eyes weren’t just from sleepless nights—but from brushing against death again and again.

  One of them approached. The arm of his armor had been torn off, replaced with a strapped-on piece of leather. His left arm trembled slightly, but his eyes were still razor sharp.

  He pointed at the Alpha Wolf’s Fang.

  “This... is it really made from an Alpha Wolf?”

  I nodded slightly.

  “Yes. The fang comes directly from the wolves I hunted myself. Each one reinforced with steel crafted through magic.”

  The man chuckled softly, then drew his own sword from its sheath. The tip was cracked, and the hilt had a large dent.

  “I’ve lost the floor boss fight on the 15th floor twice with this blade. The monsters there disappear into one shadow and strike from another. Will this dagger... adapt to that?”

  “How did you make it back without clearing the floor?”

  “Return stones. You’ll learn more as you ascend. But know this—it's not a cheap method.”

  That kind of information... It reminded me that talking about the Tower inside the Tower was allowed, and it was one of the best ways to gather intel. I had also learned about the colder floors above just by eavesdropping on conversations. That helped me better pitch my gear.

  I looked him confidently in the eyes.

  “Yes, I’m certain this is the best you can get on this floor. It will tear through those enemies.”

  Without hesitation, he took out his coin pouch and began stacking gold with trembling fingers.

  “No need to drag it out, then. I’ll take it.”

  I handed over the dagger. At that moment, our eyes met.

  “Stay alive.”

  “Maybe this time... I really will. Thanks to you.”

  In the following hours, three more Alpha Wolf’s Claw – Poison Daggers were sold. Again, the buyers were all from the higher floors. Some had lost comrades. Others didn’t want to lose more.

  My armor, my blades... they were no longer just products. They were lifelines.

  At one point, I looked up. I scanned the faces around me. People admired my gear, yes—but there was pain in their eyes.

  This wasn’t a marketplace... it was a war for survival.

  “How much for that Reinforced Light Armor?”

  A young woman asked. Her skin bore burn scars, and fire danced in her eyes—clearly a mage.

  “Four thousand.”

  She paid without hesitation. And not just for one—she bought two.

  “One’s for my brother. We’re heading for the 10th floor together. Maybe this time... we’ll make it.”

  My eyes drifted into the distance, memories of my early days in the Tower flashing back. Back then, I didn’t even have a decent blade.

  Now I held weapons in my hands. But more importantly, I held a craft that touched the lives of others.

  And yet, a weight settled inside me. These prices...

  When I really thought about it, only those from the upper floors could afford these things. The locals... merchants, common adventurers—they had almost no access to such weapons or armor. And still, the shops, the markets, everything was overpriced.

  It felt like the Tower crushed us not only with its challenges but with its economy too.

  I remembered how much gold I got from the Alpha Wolf hunting quest—it would take months of nonstop missions to afford a weapon like this.

  Thankfully, food, drink, shelter, and basic clothes weren’t expensive. It was as if the Tower wanted us to survive down here... but never rise.

  By the end of the day, my cloth was empty.

  The weapons I had carefully arranged, the gleaming blades, the sturdy armor—every last piece was gone. Amid the rush and chaos of the Tower’s square, they changed hands one by one. Each became part of another warrior’s story.

  I sat quietly at my stall. My shadow stretched longer in the light of the setting sun. The breeze tugged gently at the now-bare cloth.

  I felt strangely light.

  When my last customer walked away, I opened my system to check how much gold I had.

  93,000 Tower Coins.

  Each piece, each trade... carried the weight of deep effort.

  Every night spent hammering steel, stitching fur, battling alone in silence—it was all there.

  Outside the Tower... this much gold would mean living like a king.

  A truly warm bed.

  Hot meals every day.

  Clean clothes.

  And most importantly... my mother.

  I narrowed my eyes gently. My mind drifted to that woman whose face I missed so much.

  I could build her a home.

  Simple, but safe, with a window facing east to catch the morning sun.

  A bed with soft pillows and warm blankets.

  A table full of food every day.

  This wasn’t just money.

  This was the price of going beyond mere survival—of building a life.

  The Tower... it tried to make people forget that kind of life.

  As the floors rose, leaving your humanity behind became almost a necessity.

  Prices. Injustice. Endless battle.

  It’s as if this Tower was designed not to teach people how to live...

  but how to die.

  But me?

  I turned every strike, every drop of sweat into a cornerstone.

  Even in the darkness, I carved a path forward.

  And now... I had enough light to walk that path.

  I took a deep breath.

  This time, I didn’t look to the sky—I looked ahead.

  “This is only the beginning. But now, I no longer walk alone.”

  I stood up.

  Rolled up the cloth.

  And walked away from the square with heavy but certain steps.

  When I looked back, there was only an empty patch of stone where I had stood.

  But inside me, there was a hope overflowing.