Monster Harem In The Tower

Livia's brow furrowed, the confusion plain on her face. "The One? What are you even talking about? Dimensional War isn't some… toy for some godlike being."

Nathan's gaze didn't waver. "That's exactly what it is. Just a game board. And we're all pieces being moved around."

She blinked at him, taken aback by the sharp certainty in his tone. "You're saying all this like it's a fact."

"It is," Nathan replied coldly. "And now I'm wondering—why didn't Lilith tell you? You're a Rabbit Fighter from Rabielm, you've seen more of this war than I have. Shouldn't you already know?"

Livia's lips parted slightly, but no answer came out at first. "…How should I know? Lilith's your Guardian, not mine. And Guardians—" she hesitated, her eyes shifting away for a moment— "—they don't normally get close to the worlds they watch over."

Nathan tilted his head. "What do you mean?"

"Guardians are like… distant wardens," she explained slowly. "They make sure a world runs, but they don't mingle with its people. They only ever appear when The Messenger arrives to announce the war."

Nathan's expression hardened. "Then why is she with me?"

"I have no idea," Livia admitted, her voice low but firm. "If what you're saying is true, you might be the first human she's ever gotten close to."

---

LILITH'S DOMAIN

The panels flickered, showing Nathan and Livia's heated exchange in sharp detail. Their words bounced in the quiet of the violet-lit chamber, but Lilith's reaction was nothing like theirs.

She leaned back into her seat, a soft, amused chuckle slipping past her lips. "Look at them… bickering like children who just found out the world is bigger than their backyard."

Her eyes softened—though the smile on her face carried a dangerous curve. "They really have no idea."

The system's glow cast faint shadows across her face as she reached out, fingertips brushing one of the panels as if caressing glass.

"Perhaps I should tell them… that every dimension plays by different rules. Because the one who holds the strings—their The One—is never the same."

Her gaze lingered on Nathan's image, a hint of something warmer in her eyes. "And in your case, Nathan… the one pulling your strings is far more weird than you could imagine."

Lilith's chuckle deepened, echoing in the chamber like silk sliding over a blade.

---

The panels hummed softly, their light shifting in rhythm like a heartbeat. Then, without warning, a line of text slid across the largest screen—smooth, deliberate.

[Ding!]

[If Earth wins… what will you do, Lilith?]

Lilith's smile faltered for the first time. She tilted her head, as if weighing the question. "That's… an odd thing to ask."

The system did not reply. Its quiet persistence hung in the air, waiting.

She leaned back in her chair, fingers drumming lightly against the armrest. A faint hum left her lips. "Hmm… I don't know. I suppose… I'd stay with my daughters. Keep them safe, no matter the cost."

Her gaze drifted back to Nathan's frozen image on the panel. She stared at it for a long moment before letting out a slow breath.

"And Nathan…" she murmured, almost too softly for the system to catch. "I… don't know."

The system's glow pulsed once, then faded, as if satisfied—or perhaps just silent for now.

Lilith closed her eyes briefly, a faint smile curling her lips again. "It's too soon to decide, isn't it?"

EARTH, PRESENT DAY

The world moved as if nothing loomed on the horizon. Cities pulsed with neon and noise, markets bustled, and skyscrapers reached for the clouds as if height could defy fate.

Hunters—those blessed with the System's gifts—strolled through the streets with their heads held high. Their armor gleamed under the sun, weapons slung across their backs like trophies. They were the new celebrities, their faces plastered across billboards and streamed into millions of homes.

On social media, feeds overflowed with flashy dungeon footage and overproduced highlight reels.

#SoloClear.

#BossSlayer.

#FromZeroToHunter.

Each clip was a story of triumph—flashing stats, roaring crowds, interviews dripping with self-congratulation. Hunters recounted their kills as if narrating epic legends, each one convinced they were shaping humanity's golden age.

None of them saw the truth.

The dungeons, the monsters, the endless quests—they weren't the battlefield. They were the playground. A carefully fenced-in simulation, its walls invisible but absolute, built not for glory… but for grooming.

Humanity's decay had begun long before the Tower appeared. Not with famine or plague, but with themselves. Paranoia rotted trust between nations, between neighbors—between families. Fear of infiltration, of blood "tainted" by outsiders, turned into obsession.

And so they chose to turn inward.

To keep their blood "pure."

Generation after generation, families folded into themselves, their lineages twisted into knots. What began as suspicion became tradition, and what became tradition rotted into a comfortable depravity.

The result was a species weakened from within—suspicious, divided, yet somehow proud of the walls they built around their own bloodlines.

The playground was their reward.

The monsters, their sparring partners.

And they, blind to their own corruption, cheered for every staged victory as if it meant salvation.

In bars, Hunters clinked glasses of expensive liquor, laughing over tales of the one time a boss fight almost went wrong. In gaming cafés, fans dissected fight recordings frame by frame, betting on which guild would "dominate the next floor." Influencers posted training montages in high-res slow motion, their comment sections flooded with envy and praise.

And all the while, above the invisible dome of their world, someone watched—knowing that the true war would not be fought here, and that the Border had no patience for the illusions of men.

-----

The drip of melting ice echoed faintly, steady as a clock. Nathan leaned back against the cold wall, his breath curling in pale wisps.

Maybe it really is different, he thought. Different worlds… different The One. And everything I know is just what Lilith's chosen to tell me.

Livia stood across from him, arms folded, her eyes narrow in that way she had when she was sizing someone up. "You people… you're too weak," she said bluntly. "Is that how you were made? Weak on purpose?"

Nathan didn't answer right away. His gaze shifted down to the frost beneath his boots. He knew the truth—knew why humanity had grown so fragile, why most of them couldn't even touch mana without the System's help.

Because once, long before the Tower, humans had turned inward.

Because suspicion had rotted them from the inside.

Because bloodlines had been kept too close… for too long.

But that wasn't something he was going to explain to her. Not here. Not now.

He forced a half-shrug. "…I Don't Know."

Livia tilted her head, frowning slightly as if expecting more, but Nathan kept his face unreadable.

Nathan's eyes flicked toward the dark mouth of the tunnel where the scraping grew louder.

"If it's another Mindless Monster like before… can you take it down?"

Livia's expression didn't even shift. "Of course. Did you forget how I almost killed you during the Eclipse?"

Nathan went quiet. His lips pressed into a thin line, but not in a smile.

Right…

The memory of that night resurfaced—blood, steel, and the icy breath of death brushing the back of his neck. If Livia wanted to, she could wipe out that thing before he even swung his axes once.

But then… what would be the point of all this?

If she kept clearing everything for him, he'd never grow stronger—never be more than a bystander in his own war.

No, he decided. This is supposed to make me stronger. If she wipes them all out, it's worthless.

His grip tightened on his axes as the scraping in the dark grew sharper, closer. He stared into the black.

"…Then let me try first."

Livia's brow twitched. "Try what?" Her voice was flat, almost bored. "Don't be stupid. That thing could shred you to pieces."

She waved him off, stepping forward. "Stay down, weakling. Tch… useless man."

Deg.

The word hit harder than the cold air. Nathan froze, his jaw tightening, but no retort came. Slowly, he sank back down against the icy wall, eyes narrowing.

"…Damn it," he muttered under his breath. "Being called useless… that stings."

The scraping from the tunnel grew louder, like chains grinding against stone, but Nathan's mind was still on her words—on the burn they left behind.

"Quiet," Livia said without looking at him. Her eyes stayed fixed on the darkness, listening to the scraping echo fade into the distance. "If that monster's gone, we'll move."

She turned her head slightly, glancing at him over her shoulder. "We'll find something you can kill—something that won't tear you apart in seconds. And I'll only give you the bare minimum of help."

Nathan exhaled slowly, his grip tightening on his axes again. Bare minimum. That was fine. That was what he wanted.

As the scraping finally faded, Nathan broke the silence.

"Livia… what was Rabielm like? Before all this. I'm curious."

She didn't answer right away. Her gaze drifted past him, as if looking at something far away—something only she could see.

"Rabielm was… beautiful," she said at last, her voice quieter than usual. "And…"

She stopped, the word hanging there, her expression unreadable.