A heavy, rhythmic thud echoed from the grand staircase. In the suffocating silence, Bermude, the Tower Master, descended. His gray hair fell to his shoulders, framing a face dominated by a long, dark beard and thick eyebrows that hinted at a stubborn, unyielding nature. He wore an ivory-colored robe and held a magic staff, carrying the unmistakable air of a man who commanded a city-state.

’He really doesn’t look like Serne,’ Simon thought. It was only natural, given that he was her adoptive father, but if Simon had to find one similarity...

A unique, crushing pressure emanated from him—an unapproachable charisma. However, he did not seem to be in the best condition; his complexion was pale, and he walked with a slight limp.

"Tower Master," Daniela said, approaching and bowing his head. "I have a report. After attacking our guests, Gildon fled into the Tower of Time. We must halt the festival at once and send troops to apprehend him."

"Daniela." A monotone voice flowed from the Tower Master’s dry lips. "You never change, do you? Especially not your rigid ways."

Daniela remained silent, his head still bowed as he awaited a response. Leaning on his staff, the Tower Master descended the final steps into the banquet hall and surveyed the assembly.

"Esteemed guests, I welcome you to the Ivory Tower," he announced. "The festival will proceed as planned. We will take full responsibility for capturing Gildon, so please, rest assured."

A wave of sound washed over the hall—a mixture of bewildered murmurs and joyful gasps at the sudden promise of entering the Tower of Time. In stark contrast, Daniela’s face turned deathly pale.

"But, Tower Master! A criminal suspected of mass murder has entered the Tower! He nearly killed those students. ’Students’! We must at least wait until Gildon is captured..."

"I have already heard the report, Daniela." The Tower Master swung his staff. A blue energy, born not of Jet-Black but of pure mana, radiated throughout the hall.

The ruined banquet hall began to restore itself at an astonishing speed. Broken plates flew back together, shattered table legs righted themselves, and fragments swarmed like flesh to mend crumbled pillars. The rebar and pipes Gildon had thrown were levitated and sent sailing out the window.

Simon’s eyes widened. It was as if time itself were rewinding; the hall was flawlessly restored to its state before Gildon had laid waste to it.

"I have a declaration." The Tower Master struck the floor with his staff with a thump. "The Festival of Time will continue. The tower’s soldiers will find and arrest the fugitive Gildon. You will not be attacked by him. If, by some remote chance, any harm befalls our guests because of Gildon..." He slowly placed a hand over his heart. "I, Bermude, the Tower Master of the Ivory Tower, will take full responsibility."

A wealthy-looking guest stood with a skeptical tilt to his posture. "Responsibility? How, exactly, do you intend to take responsibility?"

"I will step down from my position as Tower Master."

A shocked murmur swept through the crowd. The impact of his words was immense. Even the most uncertain guests began to nod, thinking, ’If the Tower Master is willing to go that far...’

Only Daniela’s expression soured further.

"Tower Master! This is a matter of our guests’ safety!"

"Are you suggesting that the seat of Tower Master is not enough?"

"That is not what I meant—"

"If you insist, then we shall let the guests decide for themselves." The Tower Master turned to the crowd. "Our Ivory Tower will guarantee the safety of our esteemed guests. However, if you find you cannot trust us, you are free to forgo this opportunity and return home."

With a flick of his staff, the great doors leading outside swung open with a clank.

"Of course, once you leave, you may not return. What is your decision?"

A heavy atmosphere descended as the crowd broke into hushed conversations. Ten minutes passed. Of the more than one hundred people present, not a single one left. Watching, even Daniela looked flustered.

"Do you see, Daniela?" The corners of the Tower Master’s mouth lifted into a smirk. "No one wishes for this festival to be stopped. Not even...the very victims of Gildon’s attack."

A bitter taste filled Simon’s mouth.

’I feel for Daniela... but my hands are tied.’ This dispatch evaluation was pass-or-fail. He had to complete the mission to return to Kizen. It was for this very reason that Kizen had granted them investigative and command authority—to handle any variables that arose on-site. Kizen was an inflexible institution. Given that a criminal was involved, there might be some room for leniency if he was prepared for the lowest possible score, but Simon had his orders from headquarters. He could not back down.

"Then I will assume no one is leaving." The Tower Master gestured with his staff, and the exit doors swung shut. Then, the doors leading to the Tower of Time, through which Gildon had fled, opened wide.

"I hope you have a pleasant journey."

---

After the Tower Master and Daniela departed, a contingent of armed Ivory Tower soldiers entered the Tower of Time to track and capture Gildon. The guests would have to wait two hours for their turn. When the announcement came, the hall erupted in cheers.

Simon smiled bitterly.

’Gildon or not, they were only ever thinking about getting inside.’

The Festival of Time was held only once every five years. Everyone dreamed of attending, but becoming one of the hundred guests permitted to enter was like plucking a star from the sky. It required a consistent stream of payments, whether in funds or favors, to even make the list. Furthermore, each guest had to be a necromancer skilled enough to defend themselves. No matter how safe the lower floors were said to be, a dungeon was still a dungeon. Combat was always a possibility.

"We will now depart!"

At last, the guests passed through the doors and made their way into the inner tower.

"The Tower of Time is, in the truest sense, our Ivory Tower’s ’hometown’," an impassioned guide announced as he led them.

"It is a place we must one day reclaim." He launched into a grand oration, praising the Ivory Tower’s long and glorious history.

"We had a duty to record our two-thousand-year history for future generations! A tragedy such as the loss of magical technology or forgotten history must never be allowed to happen again. We engraved our magic, our formulas, and our history into the very walls of this tower. However, simply recording them in books or letters carried too great a risk of loss."

So, they created time magic. In an era before mana recorders or memorial crystals, they devised a method of recording using a complex, large-scale magic circle. It began as a primitive technology called a ’Time Artifact’, similar to a phonograph, but mages gradually refined their efforts to capture and fix time itself. The entire Ivory Tower embarked on the project, and just as their fervor reached its peak...

"A dungeon gate opened."

Perhaps humanity’s obsession and arrogance had summoned it. The dungeon devoured all of the Ivory Tower’s magic and materials, growing ever larger.

"The dungeon’s power grew uncontrollable! The continent was plunged into crisis, but thanks to the sacrifice of the Tower Master at the time, the Ice-White Mage, and his disciples, we saved the continent from a hell of time!"

Listening to the grand explanation, Simon scratched his head.

’So, they just cleaned up their own mess and called it a heroic sacrifice?’

Just then, a participant raised his hand.

"Can’t you just eliminate the dungeon master and the dungeon with the Ivory Tower’s current power?"

"This dungeon has existed on the continent for too long," the guide explained. "Scholars warn that if it were to suddenly disappear, space-time could distort, causing immense problems."

This, in fact, was one of the key arguments the Ivory Tower used to assert its necessity to the continent—that they were the gatekeepers of space-time itself.

"Even now, our Ivory Tower keeps that terrifying monster of time contained! The tower continues to absorb and record the continent’s time! To honor the will of the noble Ice-White Mage and his disciples, we must maintain this place forever!"

As he was half-listening, they finally arrived inside the tower proper. Once the headquarters of the Ivory Tower, the Tower of Time consisted of one hundred floors. The closer one got to the top floor, where the gate had opened, the stronger the dungeon’s influence became. The first twenty floors were set up like an ordinary museum, where one would be hard-pressed to encounter monsters or anomalies. From the twentieth floor, anomalies occurred two or three times a day, and the thirtieth floor was known as the perfect spot for observation. At the very top, on the hundredth floor, the infamous dungeon master known as the ’Frozen Clock’ was said to reside. Outsiders were strictly forbidden from the ninetieth floor and above.

"We have confirmed that Gildon has passed the seventieth floor and is currently on the eightieth," an official announced. "Floors seventy through eighty-nine have been sealed. Ascending to those floors is prohibited until he is captured."

"Aww, seriously?"

"The seventieth floor is where the real show is!" a few necromancers, confident in their skills, grumbled in disappointment.

"Does that mean the ninetieth floor is open?" asked an elderly necromancer in a deep robe.

The official shook his head. "I apologize. Even for our VIPs, access to the floors beyond the ninetieth is impossible."

"Looks like it’ll be a boring year." The guests scattered, seemingly accustomed to the restrictions.

"Hey! I’ll be your guide!" A student from the Ivory Tower’s academy, Mird, bounced over to Simon and Merida.

"First time in the Tower of Time, right? Follow me!"

The two weren’t guests but dispatch students, there to assist the Ivory Tower. Their destination was the fiftieth floor. Following Mird, they came to a section of the tower with a seemingly endless spiral staircase. This was the only way to travel between floors, but with a hundred stories to traverse, the Ivory Tower operated an elevator powered by magic circles. Simon’s group and the other guests stepped onto the platform.

’Hmm.’

Simon carefully observed the others. Some disembarked on the second floor, likely to tour the museum first. The younger-looking novices got off at the twentieth. The thirtieth and fortieth floors also seemed popular, with a sizable number of people exiting. From the fiftieth floor onward, the crowd thinned by more than half. Simon, Merida, and Mird stepped off here.

"You must only use the designated lodging," Mird explained breathlessly as she led them. "Unless you want to be pounced on by a monster in your sleep. Oh, and don’t even think about entering another room without permission. If you find any Ivory Tower artifacts, report them for a reward. You know it’s theft if you just take them, right? And I assume you’ve all memorized the rules."

Near the elevator was a room that served as their lodging—a safe zone. Any further in was dungeon territory, where monsters could appear.

"This is your room. If anything happens, contact me with this." She handed them a communication crystal.

"Got it? Well then, I have an afternoon class, so I should get going..."

"Mird."

Merida spoke up. Mird, who had been turning toward the elevator, looked back with a questioning expression.

"Thanks for the tour." Merida extended her hand.

"Oh," Mird said with a smile, stepping closer.

"Don’t mention it."

The moment their hands clasped, a faint ringing filled Mird’s ears. An overwhelming drowsiness washed over her.

’Huh? Wha—’ Her vision spun. A torrent of Merida’s curses flooded her senses, and Mird collapsed, fast asleep.

---

How much time had passed?

’Gasp!’

Mird shot awake, her body drenched in sweat.

’Hah! Hah!’

Her pupils darted around the room, her heart hammering against her ribs. What had just happened? She couldn’t remember clearly, but it felt like she’d been trapped in a horrific nightmare. Her muscles ached, and her mouth tasted of metal.

’What’s going on?’

She was lying flat on the floor. A short distance away, Simon was scratching the side of his head with a troubled expression. Directly in front of her stood a blank-faced Merida.

"You! What do you think you’re doing?! Do you want to die?!"

"At the banquet," Merida said, her voice flat. "You deliberately lured Gildon to us, didn’t you? By constantly repeating ’Kizen’ so he would hear."

"Fuck you! Release this curse, now! You crazy Kizen bastards—!"

The words barely left her lips before her head drooped, her body going limp. The curse had taken hold once more. As if trapped in some unspeakable nightmare, Mird’s joints creaked like a puppet’s as she thrashed violently.

Merida snapped her fingers, and Mird’s eyes flew open again.

"You lured Gildon to us on purpose, didn’t you?"

"W-Wai—!" Mird gasped, her eyes bloodshot.

"Wait! Let’s just talk!"

"Answer me," Merida said, already preparing another curse.

"Who ordered you?"