《The Mountain》


 Before (1)

    <h1 style="text-align: center">Before (1)</h1>


    "Tell me a story, Karo."


    A tall youth turned to the dark haired boy unamusedly, raising an eyebrow. "Again? Seriously?"


    The boy with the scarf too big for him grinned. "Its the only interesting one you could ever do. Some traveller you are. Can''t even light a damn fire."


    Karo moaned in exasperation, glaring at the boy opposite him, before dropping himself down to the floor, sitting cross legged so the flickers of the firelight caught his face at an angle, illuminating him in a mysterious light. Such a position had probably been chronicled in the rule-book for storytellers, being a requirement for all storytellers to know. At least, at times it seemed so.


    The dark haired boy smirked and took up a mockingly similar position opposite the storyteller, on the other side of the fire. Karo glared at him, which was returned with a shrug, and a gesture to get a move on!


    So with a cough, and the straightening of posture, Karo began.


    "They say there''s a dragon, on top of the Mountain."


    "Yo!" Complained the sole listener in exaggerated outrage. "Where''s the introduction? I wanna hear a ''once upon a time''-"


    "Shut up. I tell the story, my way."


    There was a pause, before he continued. "It is said the dragon is powerful, and his strength and might is indomitable, and unparalleled across the world. He is the paragon of strength, the peak of strength. He is strength, personified."


    "It''s a dragon. How can it be ''personified''-"


    "Do you want to hear the damn story or not?" There was a silence. "Good. Well then¡­ The world saw his presence a threat, a challenge to their power. Many of the strongest warriors, the greatest minds and the greatest kings would seek out this dragon, thirsting for this power possessed by him. For it was also said, that with the meeting of the dragon, one would be granted a wish. A wish for anything, to use for better or for worse."


    "I don''t get it." Karo made to interrupt the boy again, but hesitated. "Why would this dragon give out a wish to any random man that meets him? Is he mentally disabled? Has he got issues?"


    "Doubtful." Came the dry reply. "It is not known why, the dragon is made to fill out such an obligation. All that is known, is that he has to, and is bound to do so by the contract of the Mountain."


    "¡­ Go on."Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    "If you insist, my rude and impatient friend." Another cough. "Long ago, before the renown of the dragon was widespread, and none knew of him ¨C though his strength was not diminished by much at all ¨C the dragon came upon a mountain. This mountain was¡­ unlike other mountains. For, you see, the dragon, in all his youthful splendour and arrogance, could not see the peak of the mountain."


    "But," Came another interruption, "Does the dragon not have wings? Why didn''t he just fly up?"


    It seemed that the boy was getting into the story. His eyes were lit up, and he listed to the reply with rapt attention.


    Karo grinned at his expression. "Ah, but he did. He flew up and up, higher and higher, past the clouds and all that lay beyond. But to no avail. And after weeks, the dragon returned, in defeat."


    "So why do they say there is a dragon on top of the Mountain?"


    "And when the dragon returned," Karo continued in faux-ignorance, "at the foot of the mountain, he came across a passageway."


    The boy was sitting up, listening carefully to every word.


    "And at the end of this passageway, was a door. A door, into the mountain."


    "How could a mountain have a door?" Retorted the boy sceptically, his curious expression contrasting his tone, betraying his interest.


    He got no reply. "Meditating in front of the door of massive proportions, was the guardian of the mountain."


    "No one knows what conversation those two great beings had, on the doorstep of the Mountain. But, in the aftermath, the guardian came away with a smirk and a contract signed in blood, and opened the door to the dragon.


    The dragon tore up the mountain, cutting through its inhabitants, reaching higher and higher, until at last, he reached the top. And he remains there, to this day, a shadow over the Mountain."


    "Why did he stay there? What was on the contract?" Asked the boy in frustration. "Such a rubbish story. So many loose ends."


    Karo stared daggers at the boy. "But that is not the end of the story. For many, many years later, a group of travellers chanced upon a passageway, hidden away by the years. And through the passageway, still in meditation in front of the door, sat the guardian.


    It is said that the guardian showed them the contract, all but one entered immediately. Because it wasn''t any group of travellers. It was a band of warriors, of youths, of explorers, who hungered for a challenge to their strength.


    They say the final man, with a smile on his face, refused the offer. He waved away his friends, and played a game of cards with the guardian. And he left, because he knew, that with his strength, he could beat the guardian, and the Mountain, no longer seemed a challenge to him."


    "So? What happened to him?" The boy snapped out of his attention, and asked eagerly, no longer hiding his enthusiasm.


    "The man returned to his kingdom, for he was a prince, and spread the story far and wide, and became the first storyteller. And that is how storytellers came to be."


    "..." The boy looked at the youth opposite him, who sat in a smug arrogance, revelling in what he personally considered a story well told.


    "What?"


    "Is it true?"


    Karo turned his head slowly, facing away from the boy. "The world holds many strange and mysterious things."


    They sat there in a companionable silence, for a long time, both staring up at the boundless starry skies above them, watching their twinkling freedom with wide eyes.


    "That wasn''t an answer."


    "I know."


    The two sat in their ring of warmth, somewhat comforted by the snow, still falling around their fire with unabated persistence. Karo adjusted the rim of his hat, covering his eyes, and the boy brought his red scarf up over his nose. And although they had no one, both were satisfied.

 Before (2)

    <h1 align="center">Before (2)</h1>


    Calloused hands sharpened the knife, mechanical, consistent movements of someone used to the routine. Sparks fell from the metal, orange flying into the air before burning small holes into the thin carpet of snow.


    The hands didn''t match the person they belonged to. A youth, too old to be a child yet too young to be called a man. Not that anyone had called him either. He hadn''t had the luxury of contact for a long time.


    But that was fine. Jafi valued his independence, it was true, but above it all, he valued his freedom. Because if anything he was free, free to wander through the snow and the forests, the mountains and the deserts.


    Even after all those years of travelling, once again, he found himself amongst the snow. Maybe that was his fate, destined to repeat what had come.


    Or maybe he was overthinking things. There were only a finite number of places to go, after all. Everntually, he was bound to come across a resemblance of his old haunt. It was inevitable.


    It all looked so familiar though. The light sheen, dusting the grass in a layer of gleaming white. Mountains looming over to one side, a white forest to the other. The sound of a lake, unfrozen despite the cold, running behind him. All it needed was a sheltering overhang and a warm fire.


    Placing the knife back at his hip, and the stone in a pocket, Jafi straightened. He brought his scarf back up over his mouth with gloved hands, softening the intensity of his misting breath, and sped up. He couldn''t stay in a place like¡­ like this for long. He should keep moving.


    Hefting his pack over his shoulders, the youth brushed flakes of snow from his dark hair, and trudged onward. Boots crunched over the snow, heavy steps weighed down by the mass of a person carrying their home on their shoulders.


    The wind stroked his cheek, but he ignored it, staring fixated with hazel eyes at his goal, looming above him, its top end obscured by the clouds, its sides vanishing miles past his line of sight.


    It was a mountain.


    Was it the one?


    Jafi didn''t care if it was. Not really. Because one of the mountains would be the it, eventually. This one, or the next one, or the one after. One day, he would come across it. The Mountain described in the stories.


    The storyteller had left suddenly. He had slept alongside him in companionable warmth, but woken up to the icy cold of loneliness and a stamped fire. No warning, no mention.


    Just a note. A few words scratched onto stone, which said everything, yet nothing at all.


    The youth took a breath, and stared at the rock in front of him, its featureless snow-covered face, not marked with anything, not even a peak.


    Perhaps there was, in the clouds. It was what the dragon had thought, after all. The desire, to defeat, to overcome this dead rock that stood tall in front of him, almost tauntingly.


    Jafi bit back a smile. It was what the storyteller would have said, in his expertly woven tales spoken during the long, cold winter nights.


    And so, he began to circle. Ignoring the growing layer of white on his shoulders, he continued to move, step after step, around the mountain. Or, if fortune was behind him, the Mountain.


    This one looked promising. He had seen the peaks of the others. Then again, maybe it was the weather.


    After an hour, he paused. The view remained unchanged. If he had walked in place, the mountain would have looked the same. Glancing up, he shook his head wearily, unable to tell the time of day behind the dark ceiling of cloud. The only indicator of the change in time was his senses and the growing fatigue in his legs. He shook the latter feeling off; he had grown used to it in the years.


    He reached a hand to his belt, and removed a skin of water, taking a gulp before replacing it. Didn''t want to run out after all. Getting more from his pack was too much of a hassle.


    Sighing, Jafi decided to continue for a bit more, before setting camp for¡­ what may be the night. Fingering the knife at his side, he tiredly continued through the white landscape, scanning the mountain.


    He wondered whether he looked a fool. A man who wandered mountains, looking for a way inside. Sounded like a fable the storyteller might say as a scolding if he did something stupid. Shaking his head, he turned his thoughts away from that storyteller.


    ''No use dwelling¡­ more than necessary, at least.''


    Another half an hour yielded no results. The following hour Jafi used to set up a temporary base. Although, it wasn''t as if any of his bases hadn''t been temporary since the storyteller.


    Whatever he had set up hadn''t had that feeling, and within a few weeks at most he was gone again, on his endless journey. Jafi snorted. It had only been a few years; maybe a decade at most. Yet, why did it feel so long?


    Setting down his (considerably lighter) pack inside a cloth tent protected by a rocky overhang, Jafi went outside and observed the weather. A thick flake of snow landed on his nose.


    ''Hmph. Still crap.'' No point in setting up a fire then. A shame. The fire always was the final touch to any base. But maybe it was for the better. Fires brought back memories after all.


    The sound of dead branches rustling drew his attention back. Damn.This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    ''Can''t be dazing out like that.'' He reminded himself. This was foreign territory, after all. Anything could (and would) happen.


    Silently, re-adjusting his scarf, Jafi extracted the knife from its sheath on his belt, and halfheartedly ventured away from his camp, in pursuit of food. He wasn''t expecting to find anything, in terrain like this. But he didn''t think he could stomach another meal of the nuts he had picked up a week ago.


    He supposed hunger came with the occupation of ''traveller''.


    Therefore, it was some joy that alighted on Jafi''s face when he saw the black rabbit, loitering at the edge of his vision. With a trained movement, he flicked the knife that was already in his grip, lashing his arm out towards the solution to his recent vegetarian diet.


    The rabbit, oblivious to his assailant, hopped back into the darkness, the knife flying through his previous location, and vanishing into a patch of snow-covered bushes at the foot of the mountain.


    Jafi swore loudly. ''That''s the last knife, for god''s sake.''


    The storyteller had many weapons. Projectiles, close range, mid range, the whole assortment. He had carried them all in a pack larger than Jafi''s current setup, alongside his supplies. It was a small wonder he hadn''t collapsed under the weight of his own luggage. And he''d still managed to outpace an unburdened young Jafi whilst in full travelling regalia.


    When the storyteller vanished, he left all his weapons behind. Unable to bear the weight of an armoury, Jafi had set off taking all the weapons he could use ¨C mainly, lightweight ones.


    And that was the last one, gone because a rabbit had decided to become a psychic.


    In a flash, Jafi sprang towards the bushes, his dinner forgotten. Poking his head into the bush and pushing leaves aside, he rummaged around, ignoring the pangs of hurt when thorns stabbed into his arms. The knife was the priority, after all.


    Pushing deeper, his eyes caught a glimpse of the light sheen of the blade. With a grin and a sigh of relief, Jafi reached for it, pushing his legs off the ground in his efforts. Trimphantly, he grasped the wooden hilt of his last knife, feeling its familiar grip in his hands.


    And then the bush gave way under him, and he fell.


    <hr noshade="noshade" size="1">


    He fell far ¨C or it felt far, at least. Instinctively, Jafi closed his eyes, and spread out his arms. Wind slammed into him, and although his eyes were closed, he could feel his jacket billowing behind him.


    But then he stopped.


    ''What?'' There was no impact. He had fallen, headfirst, and stopped suddenly but he felt nothing.


    This worried him. What force could there be, that could soften the blow of someone falling at what felt like terminal velocity? Albeit, it probably wasn''t. Disregarding that, his neck should be shattered.


    Sitting up, Jafi spat out dust, and rubbed his eyes clear, and looked around.


    He was in a cavern. Above him, embedded into the roof of the cave, was an almost perfectly cut tunnel, a chute almost, cut into the rock and into darkness, its peak obscured from view.


    At the end of the carvern, was a door. It seemed stained a dark red, from what he didn''t dwell on. From the gaps in the door, came the light that illuminated the cavern, tinted in the same hue as the door.


    The knife had clattered to the ground behind him. Jafi reached over to grab it, before replacing it in the comfortable position in its sheath. The weight gave him ease, calming his heart that still pumped with adrenaline from the fall.


    The fall.


    In a sudden panic, he grasped at his neck, only to sigh in relief. ''The scarf is still there.''


    "Interesting scarf you have there boy."


    Jafi''s gaze shot up, his hand instinctively going to his side, springing to his feet and backing away from the source of the voice. And in front of him, stood¡­ something.


    It was humanoid, yet faceless. Flowing, golden robes fell to the ground, where they shone, the dirt having no effect on its magnificence. Behind him, a white circle floated, symbols engraved intricately in a language he didn''t understand. At the bottom of skin toned, ovular head was a mouth. The rest of it was covered in black markings, tattoos almost, each eerily similar, yet different. A hundred black eyes, existing but unmoving, staring when they couldn''t possibly.


    The youth''s heart thumped, but he couldn''t speak. Because he had realised it. That he was here. He was finally here.


    "I think I''ve seen it somewhere before. Tied around the waist, of someone very similar to you boy." Its mouth didn''t move, but a voice came nonetheless.


    This was it. The Mountain, described in tales woven by a storyteller years ago, now all too real in front of him.


    "S-Similar?" Jafi had never stuttered before, but something about this character was¡­ wrong. Scary. He fingered the red fabric of his scarf, uncertain.


    The figure nodded. "Yes. The waist of a boy who stood where you stand now, once upon a time." It looked at him.


    His breath heightened. Something pushed him down, his body suddenly felt heavy, and the urge to succumb and collapse overwhelmed him. But he refused. The storyteller had said once, in an annoyingly arrogant tone, that showing weakness to an unknown was the same as handing them a knife and telling them to stab you. Of course, he had never done such a thing.


    "Ho?" The thing had no face, but it sounded mildly surprised. "It seems that you are not that unlike him after all."


    The pressure faded, and the youth staggered, gasping for air.


    "So..." The figure stood, his back to the door, his arms behind his back, facing Jafi full on. "Why have you come?"


    He suddenly felt small, before a giant. He wasn''t sure why. Maybe it was the tinge of amusement in the thing''s voice, like someone playing with a toy, or watching a slightly funny child. Of someone far, far above him, in strength, and in stature.


    "I-I''m looking for a man. A tall person, with brown hair. Is he... Is he in the Mountain?"


    The mouth of the guardian morphed into a grin. It was horrifying: sharp, spiked teeth fitting together in an unnatural array. But he knew that the guardian didn''t need to use those teeth to squish him.


    "Perhaps. Perhaps not." The grin widened. "Outsiders are not common boy. You are the first newcomer in centuries."


    Newcomer. And then he knew. That Karo was here, and that he had been here before, many years ago. His breath heightened again, but this time, in excitement.


    The guardian spoke suddenly. "I don''t suppose, boy, that you have heard of the Contract of the Dragon?"


    Jafi nodded.


    Shark-teeth glinted in the light. "Well then, boy, you will know that anything can be achieved, if you reach the top."


    Reach¡­ the top? But surely, all he had to do was find the storyteller. Reaching the top was unnecessary. He didn''t want anything. Just answers.


    But he still nodded.


    "Then, you will climb?"


    Hesitation. This¡­ this was it. The point of no return. Where behind was warm and familiar, ahead of him lay the cold unknown. This mountain¡­ could very well be his deathbed.


    The smug grin of the storyteller flashed in his mind. He was here. This hell would be where all mysteries end. This would be where the truth would finally be revealed, in its unabridged entirety.


    Jafi gathered his resolve and nodded.


    The guardian smiled in satisfaction. And he turned, and the door opened. Light streamed from the entrance, and Jafi covered his eyes from the sudden intensity.


    And there was a force. It sucked him in, like a black hole, sucking everything in. Jafi scrabbled at the ground for something, anything to grip, but his hands met nothing.


    He flew into the light and the door swung shut ominously behind him. There was silence.


    "Then climb, boy." The guardian whispered, his blood-curdling grin unfading, as he stared at the door. He looked at it for a long while, in the deafening silence of the cave.


    With a sigh, the guardian turned away from the door. With well practiced, routine movements, he took his place on a rock in the far corner of the room. Crossing his legs, the guardian shut his many eyes, and meditated.

 Entertainment (1)

    <h1 align="center">Entertainment (1)</h1>


    Niwa was ready. It wasn¡¯t that he felt particularly filled with strength on the day, nor did he feel especially intelligent either. But he had always had a good grasp of his own mind, and today he knew that he was ready.


    Hundreds began the climb every year, each with a goal in mind, an aim to achieve, a wish to ask the king, should they reach the top. Niwa had no such questions. Anything he would achieve, he would do it with his own hands, by his own merits. Where was the fun, after all, in having everything handed to you on a platter?


    It was this same reasoning that brought him down to this level, the lowest he had gone in his life. Because he wanted to start from the beginning; build his castle from scratch. It would be cheating to start when someone else had already built the foundation, after all.


    Coupled with the fact that his branch of the family had kicked him out, he had every reason to be walking down this road.


    Neon lights shone on his pale face as he walked through outer level one. It was his first time there but he looked completely at home, as though he had made this walk thousands of times before. White shirt, black tie, briefcase slung over his shoulder, striding through the neon cityscape, like the hundreds of others in the crowd around him. His shirt was suitably clean, his tie suitably new, his trousers suitably pressed. There were few things differentiating him from the others around him ¨C the main being strength.


    No one knew when the Summits had started frequenting the first level. However, there was a well known legend that said that, in a fit of nostalgia, the head of the Jin Family had descended down to a dank pub in a remote corner of the First Floor and drowned his sorrows back where it had all began. Since then, others followed, and it had eventually flourished into the bright Summit entertainment district it was today.


    Niwa doubted the autenticity of the legend. It seemed unlikely that, a first-rate Summit ¨C a family head at that ¨C had lowered themselves to drinking amongst mere pre-Scalers. He had met many Summits from his own family, and only one he had met would lower their dignity to drown in alcohol rather than their own arrogance.


    But then again, maybe the existence of that one Summit was what proved that the story could be possible. Either way, it was unlikely as hell.


    Ignoring its origins, it was certainly true that the Entertainment Distric in the first level was a favourite haunt of many Summits. The saying went, after all, that theWih highest concentration of Summits in one place could be in one of two places: The King¡¯s Army Headquarters, or the first level Grand Casino on a Friday night.


    However, Niwa wasn¡¯t here to enjoy the pleasantries. He had a much more serious purpose ¨C to begin his climb.


    It wasn¡¯t done anymore, starting from the first level. Starting the climb was rare in itself; there was an unofficial strength barrier that prevented many from even attempting the climb. Those who did, would start from comfortable positions higher up in the Mountain ¨C these people generally being of bluer blood, would begin from family territories in and around the twentieth level or so. The King had set the maximum bound to level fifty, after all.


    And of these Scalers, it is said that only one in a thousand would reach the top and become a Summit, the rest dying on the way. These figures whispered in the ears of the Mountain¡¯s residents was enough to ensure low participation rates among non family members. Yet, somehow, these few Summits would gather in their thousands to party under the neon lights of level one Entertainment District.


    Niwa personally found it quite amusing.


    He strode into an alley, cutting past the crowd before turning back onto the main road, ahead of the crowds. With a hint of curiosity, he glanced at his watch. 20:24. Ah. That would explain the crowds.


    At the end of the human train, would no doubt be the coliseum.


    The blonde wondered what it was that these literal gods found interesting about some low-level pre-Scalers beating each other to death. He supposed that the sight of injury would get the blood of the old-schoolers rushing.


    Of the fifty-thousand or so Summits, three-fifths of them formed the bulk of the King¡¯s army, ruling and invigilating forces spanning the entirity of the Mountain. The rest formed the bulk of the crowds on the first floor.


    Not that the Entertainment District covered the entire level, although it did take up more than half. It was just that the original residents had faded into irrelevance with the constant influx of Summits.


    One could almost forget that almost all the Summits themselves were born and bred in the Mountain, just like the inhabitants of the first floor¡¯s outskirts.


    Niwa took another turn, off the main road and into a side road, still crowded with noise and light but not to the extent of the previous road. Inwardly he cursed at the winding nature of the district, and the complexity of his route.


    But with a final turn and a look to the left, he was finally at his destination.


    In front of him stood a slightly rundown building, decorated with grimy windows partly covered with advertisements and a flickering display that read:


    DPT. OF SCALING


    Register for your official scaling pass here!


    And in a slightly larger and more well maintained sign, shouted the words in splendour:


    ZHENDONG¡¯S ARMS


    Ales and Fine Wines


    ¡®...¡¯


    So perhaps the interest in scaling had decreased a lot more than had been accounted for. It was of no matter. He had found his passport into the inner level, after all. That was, if this building still served its king-assigned purpose. With some trepidation, Niwa pushed open the faded blue door, and stepped into the King¡¯s official scaling office for the first level.


    A pot-bellied man sat behind a dirty wooden counter. One hand gripped a glass and the other a cloth; he had apparently fallen asleep halfway through his bartending duties ¨C unsurprising, given the lack of customers. A crowd of flies swarmed an overflowing bin in the far corner, with seperate groups attacking stains left on grimy tables, one of which served use as a pillow for a person in a similar state of unconsciousness, whose face was hidden by a worn red scarf.


    A fly left its squadron to land on Niwa¡¯s shoulder.


    He squished it between two fingers.


    ¡°Excuse me.¡±


    The man didn¡¯t stir from his rest. Damnit. Niwa was sorely tempted to crack that glass over the man¡¯s head, yet he doubted that such an action would lead to himself achieving his desired outcome.If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    This man was supposed to be a Summit, after all. Someone who had powered through the one hundred and forty-nine levels and met the King at the top.


    Sighing, Niwa approached the counter and took a seat on one of the less dirty chairs tucked under it. Maybe he should have opted in for the more easily achievable illegal option. Then again, the risks heavily outnumbered the pros. But at least he wouldn¡¯t have to deal with this crap.


    And he didn¡¯t imagine that he had the required skills to complete the registration process himself ¨C he wouldn¡¯t even know where to begin.


    Ah well. All this required, in the end, was patience. And if there was something that Niwa knew that he had in surplus, it was patience.


    A chair scraped the ground behind him.


    Niwa glanced back at the man in the chair behind him. It wasn¡¯t a man, he realised, but rather a youth of age similar to his own. He was stretching tiredly, stopping to rub the sleep from his eyes.


    The youth squinted up at the bulb hanging from the ceiling in annoyance at its offending brightness. He sat up straight with a yawn, and turned to the counter.


    Niwa greeted him with a raised hand. ¡°Yo.¡±


    His sleepy expression vanished, as the youth¡¯s eyes widened in the realisation that he was not alone. He raised a hand uncertainly. ¡°Hello.¡±


    Niwa flashed a grin. This man didn¡¯t have the presence, nor the temperament of a Summit, or even a Scaler. This was someone he could talk to.


    He gestured at the sleeping bartender. ¡°Are you waiting for him?¡±


    The youth nodded.


    In some satisfaction, Niwa leaned back against the table in a show of relaxation. Maybe he could gleam some info from this guy.


    Injecting some annoyance into his tone, he asked, ¡°How long has he been out?¡±


    He caught the flicker in the youth¡¯s eyes towards the window, before he turned to the clock hanging above the drooling barman. ¡°A few hours. I decided to wait.¡±


    Interesting.


    Niwa changed the flow of the conversation. ¡°What brings you here?¡± He said, glancing behind him.


    There was a pause. ¡°Wanted to try his fine wines.¡±


    Fine. He hadn¡¯t expected him to answer truthfully anyway. This guy had proven himself to be interesting, in the span of that short conversation. Niwa raised a hand towards the youth.


    ¡°Niwa Jun.¡±


    The youth looked at him uncertainly, with some confusion in his eyes.


    ¡°My name.¡± He added. This guy was getting more interesting with every action he made.


    Eyes widened in realisation, before the boy grabbed Niwa¡¯s hand and shook it with his own. He noted its dirtied and hardened nature.


    ¡°Jafi.¡± No surname. No family. An orphan? Possibly. Stating your family to another family member was a rule, after all. He wouldn¡¯t have left it out.


    But if he had no family¡­ then what? It didn¡¯t add up. The jigsaw pieces in Niwa¡¯s mind wouldn¡¯t fit together.


    He¡¯d looked outside to check the time; a movement of someone used to checking the sun or moon, not someone from the entirely built up first level. He¡¯d seen similar movements in family members in their territories around the fiftieth level.


    So someone who had descended down to the first level. But not a Summit, clearly, by his wariness, his actions, his attitude. Maybe someone like himself, Niwa had supposed.


    But not part of one of the nine families. Descending levels without being part of a family was possible. But difficult. A summit could do it, certainly. And maybe a ninth grade Scaler. But for anyone below that level¡­


    And his expression, when he had given his name. It was confused, not fearful. Like someone who hadn¡¯t heard of such a name before. And who hadn¡¯t heard of the nine families?


    ¡®This guy is interesting. I want to have him on my side.¡¯


    ¡°Who¡¯re you two jokers?¡±


    A tired, croaked voice came from behind him. Jafi¡¯s expression brightened. Niwa turned on his seat, and looked at the Summit.


    The bartender wore a light blue shirt, which threatened to open under the pressure of his sizeable stomach. He had a light stubble of someone who didn¡¯t really give a damn of what others thought of him. His collar was grimy, his armpits stained and his hair was unkempt.


    ¡®A disgusting specimen of a Summit.¡¯


    ¡°Yo!¡± Niwa greeted him cheerfully. ¡°I¡¯m Niwa. He¡¯s Jafi. We met waiting for you to wake up. We¡¯ve come to register as Scalers.¡±


    He felt the narrowed eyes behind him, but also noted the lack of denial. Niwa grinned internally. His mental profile of the youth behind him became more substantial.


    Meanwhile, the bartender chuckled. The chuckle grew into a laugh, and in a moment, he was laughing his lungs out, banging on the table, causing the glasses to jump on the spot, as though he had told the most superior joke in the world.


    The laugh halted abruptly when a glass fell off the shelf and smashed onto the ground behind the counter, covering the floor in shards.


    ¡°Crap.¡± The barman glanced down at the floorboards in annoyance. ¡°I¡¯m gonna have to clean that later.¡±


    Niwa narrowed his eyes. The glass shards hadn¡¯t left a mark on him.


    The barman turned back to them. ¡°Listen kids, no one starts the climb from the first level anymore. It just isn¡¯t done. This place is a dump for Summits to drink themselves to death. You.¡± he gestured at Niwa. ¡°You said you were a Jun?¡±


    The blonde gave a nod in confirmation.


    ¡°You look it. Why the hell¡¯re you down here anyway? Shunt yourself back up to your home level and start the climb from there.¡±


    There was a silence.


    ¡°And you.¡± He pointed a grubby finger at Jafi. ¡°Sorry kid. The first level residents¡­ you have no hope to scale the Mountain. The growth of the Entertainment District has done wonders for the economy, but has killed off any hope of first level residents accomplishing anything in life. Go home and get a job.¡±


    Niwa glanced at the youth behind him, who stared expressionless at the barman in front of him, and his lips twitched in amusement.


    But none of them moved.


    ¡°Listen, sir.¡± Began Niwa politely. ¡°No disrespect to you, but I have made my mind up to start from this level. As for my friend here, I can¡¯t speak for him, but...¡± He glanced back.


    Jafi raised an eyebrow at the address of ¡®friend¡¯, but nodded in agreement.


    ¡°So,¡± The blonde continued in satisfaction, ¡°if there is anything that we could do to change your mind sir...¡±


    The pot-bellied man peered at them, with narrow eyes, before turning around, and grabbing a broom. He began to sweep the shards off the floor.


    ¡°Nope. Go home.¡±


    ¡°Sir,¡± Niwa interrupted, ¡°I wonder, if you might be interested in something I acquired recently.¡±


    The barman paused for a moment, before continuing to sweep the floor. ¡°Ha.¡± He snorted dismissively. ¡°I doubt anything a pre-scaler has would interest me.¡±


    With a thump, the blonde lifted the briefcase and placed it on the countertop. Jafi watched it in interest, and the barkeep eyed it suspiciously, slowing his cleaning.


    Niwa grinned. He swivelled the briefcase around, obscuring it from Jafi¡¯s view whilst showing the front to the bartender, and opened the case.


    The barman¡¯s eyes widened, as he stared at the object in the case. ¡°Well, kids.¡± he said, his eyes not moving from the object. ¡°It appears that I may be able to assist you.¡±


    Jafi raised his eyebrows at the blonde, but knew better than to look a gift-horse in the mouth. The youth with the scarf kept silent.


    Niwa smiled. ¡°How would we go about gaining Scaling passes by legal means?¡±


    ¡°Well, as of now, I, by myself, am unable to operate the press. But,¡± he continued, before he could be interrupted, ¡°if my boss was here, we could fix you up with a pass in no time.¡±


    The blonde moaned internally. ¡®Of course. Just my bloody luck.¡¯


    ¡°If you could wait, a few hours, Boss Zhendong will turn up eventually.¡±


    Annoying, but acceptable. When a Summit was said to be immortal, what use was there in worrying about a few hours?


    ¡°Too long. Where is he?¡±


    Out of the barman¡¯s view, Niwa turned and looked at the youth behind him, but he felt like glaring. What was this idiot doing? His impatience could damn well get the bartender to refuse.


    But he calmed himself. This guy looked intriguing. His presence would probably come useful in the future.


    The barkeep¡¯s eyes narrowed, as they focused on Jafi. ¡°At this time? Probably at the coliseum.¡±


    The scarf kid made to stand up.


    Crap. Should he follow? An almost certain deal on one hand, but on the other, a possibly useful contact for the future.


    Niwa weighed the possibilities in his head, then turned to the barman apologetically. ¡°I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll understand if I don¡¯t part with the goods as of now?¡±


    A grunt in reply.


    Waving at the bartender, the blonde turned and followed the dark-haired youth out the door, in his head cursing his bad fortune.