Chapter 15: Training Tower (2)

As soon as I crossed the dimensional gate, I found myself standing not on solid ground, but on a cushion of fluffy clouds.

A short distance away, a white Ma Tower loomed, its structure stretching towards the heavens like a skyscraper.

In front of the tower stood a lone old monk, leaning on his staff.

I slowly approached him.

The monk remained motionless, his gaze fixed on me from beneath his long, Bodhidharma-like eyebrows.

“It’s an honor to meet you, Ilcheon Dangsa,” I said, offering a greeting as I reached the monk.

Though he was a non-player character (NPC) who appeared regularly in the dungeon, he was still an autonomous being with his own free will.

There was no need to be arrogant and dismissive from the start.

”…”

But even after I greeted him, Ilcheon Dangsa remained silent, staring at me intently.

Was a simple greeting not enough?

I had anticipated this.

Fumbling through the backpack I had brought, I pulled out a small glass bottle.

“It’s so hot out. How about you drink one of these?”

”…What is this?”

Only then did Ilcheon Dangsa finally speak. His voice was thick and raspy, like he was clearing his throat.

“It’s a tonic.”

A fatigue-relieving drink every Korean has heard of at least once:

Bakhasu F.

The old monk’s gaze turned peculiar.

I worried he might dismiss my attempt to win him over with such a trivial offering.

Swish.

He accepted the vial and tucked it securely into the broad sleeves of his robe. His movements were so swift it was difficult to follow the motion of his sleeves with the naked eye.

This old codger has clearly done this more than once or twice.

“Even with this, don’t think I intend to make things easy for a lowly creature like you.”

“I understand. It was merely a small token of respect to my teacher before undergoing trials.”

“Teacher?”

“I’ve learned that anyone who subjects me to trials for growth deserves to be revered as a teacher, regardless of who they are.”

Of course, I’d never received such a lesson from anyone. I was simply skillfully applying the silver tongue I’d honed through years of social maneuvering.

But Master Ilcheon Dangsa slammed his great staff against the ground and declared,

“You’re quick with your glib tongue. Enough of this empty talk. Tell me the trial you desire.”

“Yes. I wish to increase my mana.”

“Mana…”

Master Ilcheon’s eyes narrowed.

“Are you truly prepared for this mental ordeal?”

I understood why the old monk warned me. Unlike the physical trials I had endured, a trial involving mana would push my mental fortitude and concentration to their absolute limits. It wasn’t the kind of challenge one could clear by blindly gritting their teeth and pushing their body alone.

Yet I nodded.

“I am ready for your trial, Master.”

“Hmph, you still cling to that absurd honorific, even now.”

Bang!

Ilcheon Dangsa’s great staff crashed against the floor once more.

Gu-gu-gu-gung!

Simultaneously, a deafening roar echoed as the iron gate of the Ma Tower behind the old monk swung open.

“Enter.”

I stepped inside the Ma Tower.

Unlike its skyscraper-like exterior, the interior revealed no stairs whatsoever. Instead, four circular stone slabs with carved grooves came into view, each adorned with activated dimensional portals.

“Remove what you carry on your back and approach the jade-hued dimensional gate.”

After setting down my backpack, I moved toward the jade-colored portal.

And then, in an instant—

Whoosh.

A cold gust of wind brushed against my cheek.

I found myself in a space almost impossible to describe in words.

It could have been a tightly sealed chamber, or perhaps an endless plain.

Perhaps I stood at the edge of a cliff, a thousand-mile abyss just a few steps behind me.

The uncertainty stemmed from the fact that the surroundings were completely filled with impenetrable darkness.

Ugh… Taejun, I… I have claustrophobia…

If it weren’t for Management Mi’s chat window, I wouldn’t have been able to tell if it was truly dark or if I had gone blind.

Suddenly, Ilcheon Dangsa’s voice pierced my ears from somewhere.

The Hall of Great Illusion.

“How long must I devote myself to cultivation?”

“Twenty days. Here, you won’t feel hunger, thirst, or drowsiness, nor will you need to attend to such needs separately.”

Twenty days?

In some ways, it seemed a short time.

Of course, I knew better.

Originally, I wouldn’t have lasted even two days, let alone twenty.

So, in a firm voice, I replied:

“I’m ready, Master.”

“Let’s see how long that vigor lasts,” Ilcheon Dangsa said with a scoff, immediately after which—

Thud!

My mind went blank.

It felt as if a pristine white sheet had been laid over the part of my brain that controlled perception.

“So, this is it.”

The infamous “Great Illusion Loss” trial was known throughout the world as a mysterious, No-Self space of unknown origin.

Within it, one had to endure for the duration specified by Ilcheon Dangsa.

“That’s what it looks like?”

But in reality…

Even before the tower’s overall difficulty sharply increased, this trial was already the most notorious.

It’s a trial that grinds a person’s mental fortitude to its absolute limit.

Those who entered the Hall of Great Illusion fell under an enchantment that completely shattered their sense of time.

As a result, they soon became unable to determine how long they had been trapped inside.

Whether it had been a minute, an hour, or an entire day since they first entered.

You reach a point where you can’t tell if it’s been a month or a year.

Eventually, your mind becomes consumed by countless doubts, anxieties, and suspicions.

“So, in the end, you’re left waving your hands in the darkness, begging to be let out.”

The chat window beside me lit up brightly.

“Management Mi, you know how to read Chinese characters?”

“That’s insane.”

1,203,650 languages? Isn’t that more than all the languages on Earth?

Besides, it sounds like complete bull.

Anyway.

“Exactly. That’s why it’s called the Great Illusion Loss.”

Losing something great to an illusion.

In this distorted state of time and perception, anxiety leads to delusion, and delusion breeds more anxiety.

In the end, they succumb to their delusions, abandon the trial, and lose everything.

It’s common for someone to emerge from what feels like a decade of confinement, only to find that less than thirty minutes have passed in the dungeon itself.

The only solution was to bring something like a fluorescent pen and mark the floor with a grid every second.

If only there were a means to continuously track time accurately…

The enchantments of the Great Illusion Loss could be broken.

But acquiring such a means is virtually impossible.

Even bringing something clock-like results in the old monk refusing to initiate the trial at all.

Moreover, the fluorescent pen trick has become increasingly difficult.

Since his mental deterioration, Ilcheon Dangsa has banned all items except Stamina recovery potions.

The difficulty had just increased again.

How long had it been since I sat here, motionless?

The chat window above started to stir.

“How long do you think it’s been?”

A confused Management Mi appeared, her eyes swirling in an emoticon.

I felt the same way.

It felt like it had already been about two days.

That’s why.

“Maybe it’s time to investigate this?”

I decided to use the basic function of my Current Status Window.

A translucent holographic clock window materialized before me.

I glanced at the Status Window and smirked.

The Status Window.

This wasn’t an item, nor was it a workaround Ilcheon Dangsa could perceive.

In other words, my Current Status Window’s “clock” function was the unique solution to bypass the Great Illusion Loss’s trial.

Let’s see… I entered the dungeon at 10:00 AM.

Even subtracting the time spent talking to Ilcheon Dangsa, only about five minutes had passed.

Yet those five minutes had felt like forty-eight hours.

The Great Illusion Loss’s trial was truly terrifying.

Of course, it proved powerless against the basic functions of my Current Status Window.

I set the timer on my watch and whistled.

According to known information, one Mana point was supposed to be gained for every hour spent in this room.

The previous record holder was Lee Hansung, an A-rank hunter from the Shinwa Guild. He was the first to use the “fluorescent pen trick.”

He managed to endure for exactly two days—forty-eight hours—before missing the timing marks and falling into a hallucination, thereby acquiring 48 Mana.

“Excellent. Then I’ll stay the full twenty days.”

Twenty days would yield 480 Mana. That would be enough for nine Archmage’s Fireballs. Or even if I charged it to 90% at once and fired, I’d still have a substantial amount of Mana left over.

Coincidentally, the rank advancement assessment application period starts in three weeks.

“What’s that?”

“So.”

Well, he’s not wrong.

I’ve essentially been thrown into an empty room with nothing but my bare hands.

An ordinary hunter would struggle to survive even a few days, let alone twenty.

But I’m no ordinary hunter.

Tapping an app on my Status Window, I grinned.

Immediately, a list of bizarre items and artifacts cascaded down the screen, complete with “transaction reviews” brimming with puns and quirky expressions.

“Who says there’s nothing here? Look at all this entertainment I can enjoy while lying down.”

No-Self virtual shopping—free from hunger, sleepiness, or bodily urges—this was an incredibly rare opportunity.

Twenty days might not be enough.

“From the start, the madness in his eyes was extraordinary.”

At the summit of the Training Tower, Tower Master Ilcheon Dangsa muttered in bewildered astonishment:

“So he truly was insane all along.”

Within the baoyu (treasure orb) before him, the figure of Lee Taejun was clearly visible.

Though by all appearances, he looked less like someone undergoing trials and more like someone indulging in unrestrained revelry.

Heh heh heh. This “Used-Crock Breaker” guy is hilarious. Why did he add such a bizarre epilogue?

”…”

Even now, observe him.

Locked in his pitch-black room, he sat alone, tapping at the empty air with his fingers, chuckling maniacally.

Wasn’t he behaving no differently from someone who had swallowed a forbidden hwandan (elixir pill) and lost all reason?

”…But he couldn’t have resorted to such trickery.”

If Lee Taejun had tried to endure the trials through improper means, Ilcheon Dangsa would have detected it instantly.

“What on earth is he so pleased about?”

It had been ten days since Taejun began his trial.

If one were bewitched by the Great Illusion Loss, time would distort, making each minute feel like a day, ten days, a hundred days, or even a year. Thus, ten days in reality were indistinguishable from a century within the Hall of Great Illusion.

Yet here was Taejun—confined to this empty space for a hundred years, and still maintaining that absurdly joyous demeanor.

“Has he overcome the bewitchment? But he hasn’t shown the slightest sign of trying to break free on his own.”

Since the trial began, Taejun had done only two things:

Lie on the floor, drumming his fingers against the empty air.

And occasionally mumble to himself, as if someone were beside him.

“He must be utterly mad. There’s no other explanation.”

There was no way Ilcheon Dangsa could willingly surrender the pure spiritual energy of the Ma Tower to such a madman.

Thus, the grand master resolved to intensify the trial.