100x Rebate Sharing System: Retired Incubus Wants to Marry & Have Kids-Chapter 307- A Credit Restriction

"Probably." The old man’s lips twisted into something approximating a smile. "But I’ve got nothing better to do. And if there’s treasure, I’d like to see it before I croak."

Tikon shrugged. "Fine. Don’t slow us down."

Next came the thugs.

Two of them. Brothers, maybe, or just partners in crime. They had that look—dead eyes, scarred knuckles, the kind of casual violence that came from years of doing bad things to worse people.

The taller one spoke first. "We’re in."

"What can you do?" Tikon asked.

"Kill things."

"Good enough."

Gareth watched them carefully. These two were the type to wait until everyone was injured, then slit throats and take everything. He’d seen their kind a hundred times.

Which meant they were also the type Gareth understood.

"Welcome aboard," Gareth said warmly, as if greeting old friends. "I’m sure your... skills... will prove invaluable."

The shorter thug’s eyes slid toward him. Cold. Assessing.

Yeah, Gareth thought. You’re thinking about killing me too. Get in line, asshole.

More people trickled in.

An old woman with a small sword and a nasty scar across her throat. She didn’t speak—just nodded once and joined the group.

A younger man, maybe twenty, with archer’s calluses and a bow so worn the string looked ready to snap.

A heavyset guy with a warhammer that probably weighed more than Gareth.

And a few others. Faces Gareth didn’t bother memorizing because half of them would be dead within a week anyway.

By the time the sun started setting, Tikon’s "team" numbered twelve.

Twelve greedy, desperate, or stupid people willing to march toward a dragon and a mysterious Tower.

Perfect.

---

"What the hell... is this the Tower?"

Tikon’s voice came out smaller than he’d intended.

He stood at the front of the group, staring up at the massive structure that dominated the landscape like a god’s tombstone. The Tower loomed above them—impossibly tall, impossibly dark, pulsing with swirling purple and pink lights that seemed to breathe.

Behind him, eleven other people had gone completely silent.

They’d traveled thirty kilometers. Through forests, across rivers, past abandoned farmland. The closer they got, the heavier the air became. Like walking through water. Like the atmosphere itself was trying to push them back.

And now they were here.

Standing before enormous black doors—twenty meters high, carved with intricate patterns that hurt to look at directly. Symbols that seemed to shift and writhe when you weren’t focusing on them.

The pressure was suffocating.

Tikon felt his whole body trembling. Not from fear—he told himself it wasn’t fear—but from the raw ’power’ radiating from the structure. His teeth chattered. His hands shook.

This wasn’t like the dungeons he’d explored before. Those had felt dangerous. This felt ’wrong’. Like standing before something that shouldn’t exist in this world.

"Yes," Gareth said quietly from behind him, his voice barely above a whisper. "That’s the Tower."

One of the thugs—the shorter one with dead eyes—took a step backward. "Fuck this."

"Where are you going?" his brother hissed.

"Away from that thing." He pointed at the Tower with a shaking hand. "Look at it. Just ’look’ at it. That’s not natural. That’s not—we can’t—"

"Coward," Tikon spat, though his own voice cracked. "We came this far and you’re leaving?"

"Damn right I’m leaving." The thug turned fully. "I don’t care about treasure. I don’t care about glory. That thing will kill us."

Several others were nodding. Murmuring. Shifting their weight toward retreat.

The old mage leaned heavily on his staff, his wrinkled face pale. "The boy might have a point, Tikon. The magical density here is... unprecedented. I’ve never felt anything like this. Not even in the Capital’s grand dungeons."

"So what?" Tikon’s voice rose, desperation bleeding through. "We just turn around? After coming all this way? After I ’promised’ I’d shove this in those Intelligence Guild bastards’ faces?"

"Better to lose face than lose our lives," the old woman with the throat scar rasped. Her hand was on her sword hilt, knuckles white.

The group was fracturing. Tikon could feel it. Fear was contagious, spreading through them like plague.

’No,’ he thought frantically. ’No, no, no. I can’t go back empty-handed. I spent everything on this expedition. If I return now, I’m ruined. Worse than ruined—I’m a laughingstock.’

"Trust me!" Tikon shouted, spinning to face the group. His eyes were wild. "All of you, just ’trust me’ and follow my lead! We’re going to conquer this Tower! We’re going to get rich! And I’m going to slap the faces of those Intelligence Skill bastards who stole my information and my money!"

Silence.

The young archer shifted nervously. "How do you know we can even get inside?"

"Because..." Tikon’s mind raced. "Because dungeons always have entrances! That’s how they work! We just have to—"

He turned back toward the massive doors.

The others weren’t moving. Still hesitant. Still afraid.

But their hesitation didn’t matter to Tikon anymore. He’d made his choice.

Pride or survival. Glory or safety.

He’d chosen glory.

’Fuck it,’ Tikon thought. ’If I’m going down, I’m going down swinging.’

He strode forward, boots crunching on the stone path leading to the entrance. Each step felt heavier than the last. The pressure increased with proximity—like walking into a waterfall, like the Tower itself was testing him.

Ten meters from the door.

Five meters.

His vision started to blur. His ears rang.

Two meters.

One.

Tikon reached out with a trembling hand and placed his palm flat against the cold black surface of the door.

The moment his skin made contact, everything changed.

’WHOOOM.’

Light exploded across the door’s surface—brilliant golden script appearing like fire spreading across oil. The symbols burned themselves into existence, forming words, sentences, entire paragraphs of glowing text that hung in the air.

Tikon stumbled backward with a yelp, falling on his ass.

The others behind him gasped. Someone screamed.

But the text remained, hovering at eye level, pulsing with soft golden light.

’’[ACCESS DENIED]’’

’’[INSUFFICIENT CREDITS DETECTED]’’

’’[CURRENT BALANCE: 0 CREDITS]’’

’’[MINIMUM REQUIRED: 100 CREDITS]’’

’’[TO EARN CREDITS, ASSIST THE MILLBROOK VILLAGERS WITH THEIR NEEDS]’’

’’[CREDITS ARE EARNED THROUGH CONTRIBUTION TO THE COMMUNITY]’’

’’[RETURN WHEN QUALIFIED]’’

For a long moment, nobody moved.

Nobody breathed.

They just stared at the impossible text floating in front of an impossible door attached to an impossible Tower.

Then someone finally broke the silence.

"HEEEHHHH?!"

The sound came from the heavyset man with the warhammer. His mouth hung open so wide his jaw looked dislocated.

"C-Credits?!" the young archer stammered. "What the hell are ’credits’?!"

"Is this some kind of joke?" one of the thugs demanded, his voice pitching higher. "Did someone cast an illusion? Is this—"

"It’s not an illusion," the old mage interrupted. His eyes were fixed on the text, wide with something between awe and terror. "That’s... that’s Authority- magic. Or something beyond even that. I can feel it. The fundamental laws of reality have been... rewritten around this structure."

"What does that ’mean’?!" Tikon scrambled to his feet, staring at the glowing words. "What the fuck does any of this mean?!"

Gareth stepped forward slowly, his expression carefully neutral as he clarified.

"Um... I think, we all need to help the Millbrook Village people to Enter this place."

Just like a déjà vu, again came the same voice, but this time from all of them.

"HHHHHHAAAH!!!?"