A Wimp's Strategy Guide to Conquer the Tower

Could a summoned entity lie to the summoner?

Why not?

If the conditions were met, it was possible.

Summoned Principles, Article Three.

A summoned entity must obey the summoner absolutely, but if the summoned entity judges the summoner’s life to be in danger, the summoned entity may break the absolute obedience principle.

A coup.

A military rebellion had broken out in the neighboring country.

If a military regime was established, it wouldn’t apologize for history—it would provoke at every turn.

And the anti-Korea protesters.

What? They dared to do something to the summoner?

War with the summoner’s country? Kill the people?

Mad Demon was furious.

Whether those words were sincere or just something they said didn’t matter.

They had reached his ears.

And they had scraped at the incurable wound that still sat in his chest like a brand.

Were there more summoners who died in the Tower?

Or more summoners who died outside the Tower?

The latter was overwhelmingly more.

That had been the case for Mad Demon’s former summoner too.

During the resummon cooldown, when he couldn’t come out—

The former summoner was killed in a coordinated attack by factions that envied and feared him.

Even with sufficient defensive ability in reality, the former summoner still got taken out.

The current summoner would have a moment when danger came, too.

The activation conditions for Article Three had been met.

A promise to use only one percent of his internal power.

A vow to hit only once and not kill.

If he wanted to, he could break all of it.

But he didn’t want to right now.

If he ignored the summoner’s request and started something, the trust he’d built with the summoner with such difficulty would collapse in an instant.

Fine. A promise was a promise.

First, hit them. Then see.

One percent of internal power.

Even so, it was about ten years of internal power.

With that, what martial arts could he use?

‘Six Harmonies Fist and Ghost Step will be enough.’

It had been a very long time since he’d used martial arts with proper form.

People who shit out of their mouths needed to have their teeth knocked out.

True to the name of the footwork, Mad Demon advanced like a ghost.

Sluuuide.

Without moving his legs or feet, he simply shifted as he was—

THUD! A strike to the lower face.

CRUNCH! A jawbone breaking.

RATTLE. Teeth falling.

THUD! THUD! THUD!

If he hit too hard, they’d die.

Just enough that they’d only be able to swallow water and porridge for a few months—

Sweat ran down.

Because of the fine control.

How hard it was to subdue someone without killing them.

He’d never done it that way before.

Keep them alive? Please.

Anyone who got caught in his hands, he killed.

‘This is fun.’

It felt like going back to the days when he was a green rookie stepping into the martial world.

The vanguard of the anti-Korea protesters—covered head to toe in colorful tattoos like their bodies were canvases, looking like street gangsters—charged in with vicious faces.

“Shit!”

“You old Joseon bastard!”

“Kill him!”

Cute.

Charging in without a shred of fear.

CRUNCH! The sound of jawbones shattering was downright satisfying.

He broke whatever came at him.

Thud, thud, thud...

But then—

THUD! THUD! THUD!

‘...Hm.’

He messed up. He hit this one twice.

The bastard yapped so much he must have thrown one extra hit without thinking.

‘I promised I’d only hit once.’

No one saw, right?

*****

Juhyeok squatted in a decent spot, chewing the popcorn Rajix handed him, and watched Mad Demon’s performance.

Gyeon Dallae sat demurely. Veronica nodded off. Bardin and Cossack stood nearby, guarding Juhyeok.

Mad Demon—here and gone.

How could someone move like that?

Like a ghost.

Sluuuide—he moved. SPOT! He appeared over there.

THUD! He tossed out a light punch.

And without fail, a protester was sprawled out, blood drooling from the mouth.

‘His control is insane.’

Juhyeok had seen Mad Demon handle Tower monsters a few times.

In the undead section, or Kabalan in the France Black Tower.

Back then, he hadn’t felt much.

Whoosh—throwing an aura boomerang, or grabbing a jaw and ripping wings apart.

Mad Demon might have been one of Lrsseusal’s summoned entities, but the fights were dry.

Because he was that strong.

Did he even need to bother moving his body?

But now was different.

Mad Demon was using only one percent of his internal power.

To make up for the lack of internal power, he moved like crazy.

All kinds of flashy body movement poured out.

Mad Demon was properly showing what fist arts and footwork were.

The protesters surged in, [N O V E L I G H T] worked up and excited.

But no one touched even a single fold of Mad Demon’s clothes.

Even if they rushed him all at once—

Sluuuide—

He twisted this way and that, then drove a straight punch.

THUDTHUDTHUDTHUD!

If they rushed to grab his legs, he slid away, vanished, then appeared beside them and drove another straight punch.

THUD!

Dodge, strike, pull back, strike again.

It felt like watching a tightly choreographed martial-arts movie.

And Mad Demon’s face bloomed with a smile.

Looks like he was having fun.

THUDTHUDTHUDTHUD!

He did keep the promise.

He really was hitting everyone exactly once.

But why did he only aim for the jaw?

“It’s the best value, sir. If he hits a vital point wrong, they could die on the spot. Then he’d be breaking the promise not to kill civilians.”

So he broke jawbones and knocked out teeth?

“Isn’t it the hardest to recover from, sir? And it costs a lot, too.”

True.

Even if the jaw was one thing, how much did it cost to replace teeth?

Mad Demon: friend of dentists.

Mad Demon: tooth-thresher.

The formation of the anti-Korea protesters was collapsing.

Only now did they seem to realize it.

That the stylish old man in the suit wasn’t normal.

“Ugh...”

“M-move!”

“Save me!”

The right-wingers who’d been screaming KILL JOSEON BASTARDS! started running.

But Mad Demon was relentless.

One percent of internal power.

Ghostlike lightness art unleashed from that alone.

SPOT! SPAPAPASPOT!

He chased down the fleeing protesters to the ends of the earth, landing one hit each.

CRUNCH! CRUNCH! CRUNCH!

Even if he wasn’t killing anyone...

‘Cruel. This is cruel.’

No blood. No tears.

Old anti-Korea men, young anti-Korea men, anti-Korea women—everyone got hit, their jawbones fractured, and they spat out teeth.

They wouldn’t be eating properly for a while.

They’d need wires in their jaws, and they’d have no teeth to chew with.

Still, it was lucky he was using only one percent. If he hadn’t restrained himself, it wouldn’t have ended at this.

It would’ve turned into a sea of blood and flesh.

‘Either way, he really did shoot a full martial-arts action movie.’

And it was actually being filmed.

By tourists from all over the world who’d come to see the Black Tower.

They had anti-recognition talismans on, but that only worked when you stayed quiet and didn’t stand out. If you rampaged that openly, you were going to draw attention.

‘Mad Demon debuted too.’

Right then—

Cossack pointed at Mad Demon, making a huge fuss.

“T-that, look. Mad Demon broke the promise.”

What is he doing now?

“I saw it with my own two eyes. He said one hit each, but he hit that bastard twice.”

Did he?

“So what?”

When you’re doing it, you could slip and hit twice.

“This isn’t something to brush off, sir. Two hits becomes three, and three becomes four, sir.”

So what are you trying to say?

“I’m going over there myself to monitor how many hits Mad Demon gives.”

“...”

Monitor, my ass.

Watching from here was making him squirm—he wanted to jump in.

“You’re only monitoring?”

“Yes, sir!”

“You’re not hitting people?”

“I swear, sir. I won’t hit civilians.”

“What about soldiers?”

“...Uh, well, that, hehehehe.”

So he would hit them.

No—would he only hit them?

Red Ribbon Cossack.

The creepy assassin who decorated ribbons on the necks he cut himself.

“Can’t we just leave it? It’s not Korea. It’s Japan—someone else’s country.”

“It’s a country right next to us, sir. It will definitely become a threat.”

“And if I stop you?”

“Ah, uh, mm.”

Even if he stopped him, he was going.

“Did Summoned Principles, Article Three activate for you too?”

“...Yes.”

He had to decide.

Let Cossack loose, or not.

Another problem on top of Mad Demon.

If Cossack moved, someone would die. No question.

Loan sharks. Terrorists. The Chairman of China...

Looking at the situation, this time it would be the Japan Self-Defense Force coup faction.

What should he do?

Until now, no matter what happened, if it wasn’t related to him, Juhyeok had always taken the stance of a bystander.

He had to.

What could a miserable twenty-five-year-old youth, scraping by day to day on part-time jobs just to survive, possibly do?

It wasn’t that he’d chosen to be a bystander.

He couldn’t do anything.

He’d been too weak. Even if he interfered, it wouldn’t matter. So he’d naturally lived that way.

But now the situation was different.

With a single sentence, he could invalidate a coup that happened in another country.

All he was doing was summoning someone, sure—but those someones had power that could change the world.

And they obeyed his words, and could do anything to protect him.

Ah... This was too hard a decision for a weak man.

Was it really okay to do this?

The hesitation stretched on.

A coup. Japan reverting to military rule. Deep-rooted anti-Korea sentiment. A latent threat...

Screw it. Whatever happens, happens.

“I hope not too many people die.”

“Huh?”

“...I’m not going to forcibly dismiss you.”

“Yes, sir!”

In the end, he let Cossack loose too.

*****

Japan’s Tokyo Black Tower had become an emerging tourist destination.

It wasn’t often you got a chance to see a colossal Tower like this in the middle of a city.

But overnight, a sudden coup erupted.

At first, tourists were bewildered.

A coup had happened—of course they’d be anxious.

But as time passed, the anxiety turned into thrilling excitement.

Tanks and armored vehicles rolling past the Black Tower, armed soldiers, helicopters passing overhead, crowds protesting.

Everyone raised a smartphone.

Some took photos. Some recorded video. Some went live.

And then an old man appeared—fedora, sharp suit—arguing with the protesters, then suddenly throwing the first punch.

A fight broke out.

Against a protest crowd hundreds strong.

How could anyone not film this?

This was perfect for live streaming.

—Who the hell is that old guy? 𝘧𝘳𝘦ℯ𝓌𝘦𝒷𝘯𝑜𝑣𝘦𝓁.𝒸𝘰𝓂

—Is he filming a martial-arts action movie?

—Oh my God! Look at those teeth getting pulled out. That’s not special effects.

—Oooo! Every punch lands perfectly.

—And that movement?

—The anti-Korea protesters are getting wrecked.

—This is insane catharsis.

—I mean... it’s something I’ve wanted to do at least once.

—But that old guy is seriously cool. That suit looks amazing on him.

—Ugh, my heart’s racing. Was my type a senior?

—That’s not a person. That’s a ghost.

—Ghosts show up on camera?

—They do. Like a spirit photo.

—If it’s a ghost, gravity wouldn’t affect it. How is it fixed in the coordinate system? It’s a person.

It was the moment Mad Demon’s one-percent skill became known to the world.

*****

A massive stage set up in front of the Black Tower.

Chief of Staff, Joint Staff Matsumoto Junichi sat in a chair on the stage, dressed in full uniform.

Beside him sat Japan Self-Defense Force Player Hongo Tetsuo.

The coup had succeeded, just as expected.

The cabinet ministers had sworn loyalty to him.

Kill one as an example, and everything moved like grease.

Acting Prime Minister Usuda had a bullet hole in the head—who was going to resist?

The Imperial Palace?

What could they even do?

He also had the support of Japan’s right-wing factions.

The Chief of Ground Staff, the Chief of Maritime Staff, the Chief of Air Staff—Japan Self-Defense Force generals across the board acknowledged Matsumoto’s coup success.

U.S. Forces Japan was a concern, but the tide had already turned.

They wouldn’t be able to do anything.

All that remained was the declaration.

The founding of a new Great Japan to replace the incompetent cabinet government.

“Tetsuo. No problems clearing Floor 58, right?”

“None at all. I’m confident.”

A full 5LV difference. There was no way he’d fail.

Only one thing bothered him: he hadn’t achieved Trait Enhancement.

“If you succeed this time, I’ll do whatever it takes to get you Trait Enhancement Runes.”

“Thank you.”

The finishing touch of the coup was clearing Floor 58.

If that failed, the justification would vanish.

“Then prepare to clim—”

That was when it happened.

A noisy commotion from the front of the stage.

Screams and shrieks.

CRUNCH! People going down.

‘...What is that now?’

A fight?

It looked like unrest had broken out among the right-wing protesters who’d come to support the coup.

‘Who the hell are they?’

With Japan Self-Defense Force armed personnel spread everywhere, and they had the nerve.

“Bring me binoculars.”

“Yes.”

Chief of Staff, Joint Staff Matsumoto Junichi took the binoculars from an aide and looked toward the commotion.

‘...Huh?’

It was a fight.

But was that real?

It was just one old man.

And that one old man was beating down a crowd of hundreds.

A sturdy young man went down in one hit.

Bleeding red, rolling on the ground.

Someone else tried to run, got caught, got hit, and went down.

Like a lion had wandered into a peaceful rabbit village, the right-wing protest crowd was scattering in panic from a single old man.

A scene turned into chaos.

A proclamation ceremony for a new nation was scheduled—what kind of absurd situation was this?

And that old man—

Was it even possible to knock down hundreds alone?

And he was smiling as he hit them.

Not a twitch of expression as he drove fists into jaws.

Even watching through binoculars, chills crawled up Matsumoto’s spine.

Gulp.

A sudden unease gripped him.

What if he came all the way here?

No matter how many armed troops guarded the stage—

“...Aide.”

“Yes!”

“Kill that old man immediately. I authorize live fire.”

“Uh—he’s tangled up with the protesters. If we fire, we might—”

“Doesn’t matter. Even if a few die, that old man must die.”

“Y-yes. U-understood. I’ll relay the order—”

Right then!

TSIP! A tearing whistle through the air. Slice!

The aide, about to go down off the stage to relay the firing order, froze mid-step.

“Hm? What are you doing? Hurry and give the order to fi—”

Sluuuide, thud!

Rrrroll...

The aide’s head rolled across the stage.

“...Hk!”

It wasn’t only the aide.

SPOT! A sudden wind blew.

The few strands of hair Matsumoto had left got whipped around.

TSIP! TSIPIPIT! TSIPIPIPIPIT!

Slice! Sli-sli-slice! Sli-sli-sli-sli-slice!

The stage flashed.

A flash here, a flash there.

In broad daylight.

Like someone had turned on psycho lighting.

Matsumoto couldn’t move.

Neither could the Japan Self-Defense Force soldiers guarding the stage.

They couldn’t even tell what was happening.

And then—

Thud, rattle-rattle-rattle, thud-thud!

Bump, roll, bump, roll-roll, bump-bump-bump-roll, rrrroll...

Heads rolled everywhere.

Bodies collapsed one by one, headless.

All of them were key figures of this coup—his subordinate generals.

The commanders who had been seated on the stage, waiting for the ceremony to begin, all lost their heads and fell.

Even the trusted Japan Self-Defense Force Player Hongo Tetsuo.

A Player—dead?

Before even entering the Tower?

“Wh-what the hell is th—”

Chief of Staff, Joint Staff Matsumoto Junichi doubted his own eyes.

A sight no normal reasoning could accept.

Then—

“Hello.”

A voice from behind.

“W-who?”

“I’m a Joseon bastard.”

“...What?”

Joseon bastard?

“Goodbye.”

“W-wait! Let’s talk first—”

“I don’t speak Japanese.”

“...Wh-what.”

“Fast food!!!”

TSIP! Slice!

Warm—

Something sharp cut across Matsumoto’s throat.

Thankfully, there was no pain.

Only his vision going dark.

‘It was right in front of me...!’

Thud. Slump.

After neatly cutting even Matsumoto’s head off—

“Hoo... What do I do with this. This is a problem.”

Cossack frowned, deeply troubled.

“I killed too many.”

Now he didn’t have enough ribbons.

“Well. No choice.”

He’d decorate just the leader.

And he’d do it with the utmost care.

Cossack tied a red ribbon around Matsumoto’s head, decorating it into a bow.

Was it a little crooked?

It had been so long since he’d tied a ribbon—his touch must have dulled.

But he could feel eyes burning into him.

He turned his head.

Japan Self-Defense Force soldiers, guns in hand, were staring at him blankly.

All of them were frozen stiff.

No matter how armed they were, with their commanders turned into corpses on the stage, there was nothing they could do.

And to top it off—a perverted killer tying ribbons around severed heads.

“Sorry?”

Cossack spoke with a grin.

“AAAAAAAH!”

The soldiers screamed and scattered.

It didn’t matter if they had guns. If they’d brought tanks and armored vehicles. If helicopters hovered overhead.

None of it mattered.

Their heads were dead.

The command structure had completely collapsed.

Chief of Staff, Joint Staff Matsumoto Junichi had been beheaded and decorated with a ribbon.

And with that, the coup was over.

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