Chapter 8 Preview - How I Became The World's Strongest Warrior Book 2!

I woke up early, the bed empty beside me where Mayra had been. She'd left a note on the pillow, something about helping Martin with breakfast prep. I smiled. That made forty-eight notes in my collection now. Not that I was counting.

Well, I was counting. But that's just who I was.

The past day had been productive, at least as productive as it could be without my primary weapon. NatTheCat and Peter were still working on my sword's enchantment upgrade, and I'd spent most of my time in low-level zones outside the city walls practicing dual wielding.

The penalty system was brutal. Minus twenty percent accuracy and minus twenty-five percent damage to both weapons? But I was starting to see how the efficiency could eventually offset these penalties. My dual wielding proficiency had already climbed to 23.6, and I'd noticed the accuracy penalty decreasing slightly as the skill improved.

I'd established a routine, hitting the wolf packs in the eastern forest for an hour, then switching to the goblin camps in the southern hills, then back again. Efficient mob rotation to avoid issues with diminishing spawns. After all, I didn’t need to do more than hit things to get credit. 

I was just finishing up my morning routine when my communication crystal pulsed with an incoming message. I touched it, figuring it was Mayra checking on me. She’d been doing that a lot lately. Probably worried I’d up and disappear without telling her, which was fair. 

"Chuck?" Witch's voice came through, sounding excited and stressed at the same time. "I need you at my workshop. Now."

"What's going on? Any progress with Dartanion?" I asked, already moving.

"Yes. No. Sort of. Just... get here."

I didn't waste time. Ten minutes later, I was knocking on Witch's workshop door.

"It's open!" she called.

I paused for a moment before I entered, the memory of her hands, her mouth, flickering through my mind unbidden. I pushed it aside, though not as easily as I would have preferred. Whatever that had been—comfort, curiosity, something else—it didn't change the current objective. Though, I did find myself hoping she wasn't regretting it. I also wasn't sure what protocol applied to workshop visits after intimate encounters. Probably best to proceed as normal until she indicated otherwise.

Inside, the workshop looked like a magical bomb had gone off… more so than usual. Books were stacked in precarious towers, scrolls unrolled across every surface, and in the center, the Ancient Spellbook of Winter lay open on a specialized reading stand. Witch stood beside it, hair wild, eyes bright with what looked like either discovery or madness. Maybe both.

"I figured it out," she announced as I closed the door behind me.

"Dartanion can be restored?" I asked.

"Yes. Maybe. Probably." She ran a hand through her already messy hair. "The Pattern Fragments contain significant portions of his data structure, but they're incomplete. We need something to act as a framework, a... bridge between fragments."

"What kind of bridge?" I asked. 

She pointed dramatically to the open spellbook. "According to this, we need an Essence of Passage from the God of Death."

I blinked. "The God of Death."

"Yes." She nodded. 

"That's not real," I said, crossing my arms.

Witch laughed, a slightly unhinged sound after another sleepless night. "That's what I thought too! But look here." She beckoned me closer to the spellbook.

The page was covered in shimmering frost runes that shifted and rearranged themselves even as I watched. A section near the bottom glowed brighter than the rest.

"The Tower of the Last God," Witch read aloud. "He built it to be followed. No one ever reached him."

"A tower," I repeated. "You're talking about the hundred-floor dungeon."

Witch looked surprised. "You know about it?"

"Everyone knows about it." I shrugged. "It's a famous grinding spot for low-levels. The first five floors, anyway."

"This isn't just any dungeon," Witch insisted. "According to the spellbook, the tower was constructed by an entity that predates the current world structure. What we'd call a god, for lack of a better term."

"And this god has something we need for Dartanion." I raised an eyebrow. 

"Exactly." She flipped to another page, where an illustration showed a small crystal vial containing what appeared to be swirling mist. "The Essence of Passage. It can bridge gaps in a disrupted pattern like Dartanion's."

I considered this. "So I need to climb the tower, kill the god, and get this essence thing. Sounds straightforward."

Witch stared at me, then burst out laughing. "Are you serious? Chuck, hold the fuck up. For one, only one guy ever made it to floor sixteen, and he's legendary."

"Who?" I asked.

"Aerilius the Undying." She said it like I should know who that was. 

I shrugged. The name meant nothing to me.

"You don't know Aerilius?" Witch looked genuinely shocked. "He's only the most famous adventurer in the last century! He reached floor sixteen twenty years ago and was nearly killed so badly the system couldn't fully restore him. He came back missing an eye and an arm that couldn't be regenerated."

"So I'll be careful," I said simply.

She stepped closer, poking me in the chest. "It isn't possible, Chuck. Even with your ridiculous combat stats. The tower scales in difficulty exponentially, not linearly. Floor ten is ten times harder than floor one, not just ten times the level."

I looked her straight in the eye. "Last time I did something no one said I could do, I got a blowjob."

Her mouth dropped open, color flooding her cheeks. She opened and closed her mouth a few times, but nothing came out.

I turned toward the door. "I'll check out the tower. Get more information before I go in."

"Wait! You can't just—" But I was already closing the door behind me.

The Adventurer's Guild was busier than usual when I arrived. A new season of quests had just been posted, drawing crowds of eager adventurers looking to claim the best bounties before others got to them. I squeezed through the crowd toward the information desk.

"Clara," I called, catching the attention of the registration clerk.

She looked up from her paperwork, eyebrows rising when she recognized me. "Well, if it isn't the Harbinger's Bane! What can I do for you today? More world bosses to solo? Maybe a god to challenge?"

"Funny you should mention gods," I said. "I need information on the Tower of the Last God."

Something flickered across her face, concern, maybe. "The Tower? Why?"

"Research," I replied simply.

Clara glanced around, then beckoned me closer. "Follow me to the archive room. You won't get accurate information out here… too many tall tales about that place."

She led me to a small room behind the main guild hall, filled with shelves of records, quest logs, and adventurer accounts. She pulled a thick folder from one of the shelves.

"Tower of the Last God," she said, laying it on the table. "Official guild records of all confirmed expeditions, floor layouts for levels one through ten, and creature catalogs for known entities."

I flipped through the folder. "People farm the lower floors regularly, right?"

Clara nodded. "Floors one through five are popular for beginners. Good loot drops, predictable enemy patterns. Floor six is a safe zone with no monsters, places to rest, vendors who'll buy your drops. Beyond that, it gets dicey."

"What's on the higher floors?" I asked. 

"Floors one through ten are the Bestiary Levels. Cockatrices, chimeras, gorgons, giant spiders, lamias. Classic mythological creatures. The boss on floor ten is a massive beholder-type entity with poisonous attacks."

"Has it been beaten?" I asked. 

"Occasionally," Clara confirmed. "It drops a Ring of Poison Immunity that’s very valuable. But people don't farm it regularly because you have to clear floors one through nine every time, and there's no guarantee the boss will have respawned."

"And beyond floor ten?" I asked. 

Clara's expression grew more serious. "No official guild expedition has ever returned from beyond floor twelve. We have some secondhand accounts from Aerilius the Undying, but even he couldn't provide complete information."

"What's on floors eleven through sixteen?" I asked. 

"We don't know exactly. Aerilius described direwolves, succubi, mimics, and living swords before he refused to talk about it anymore." She closed the folder. "Look, Chuck, I know what you're thinking, but even you should reconsider this one. The Tower isn't like the Harbinger. It's different."

"Different how?" I asked. 

"The Harbinger was deadly, but it was still just a high-level entity with defined parameters. The Tower... changes people. Those who go too deep come back different, if they come back at all."

I considered this. "Clara, I need something from the Tower. Something important."

She studied me for a moment. "This about your friend? The one who was permanently killed?"

I nodded.

She sighed. "I figured. Guild gossip gets around." She reached under the table and pulled out another, thinner folder. "This is unofficial. Personal accounts from adventurers who've gone past floor ten. Most of it is probably exaggerated, but..."

"Thanks," I said, taking the second folder.

"Don't thank me yet," she replied grimly. "Just... be careful in there, Chuck. And take these." She pressed three small orbs into my hand. "Orbs of Return. They'll transport you back to the nearest safe floor. Standard issue for Tower expeditions, but hard to come by. Use them wisely."

I pocketed the orbs. "What's the entry procedure?"

"The Tower entrance is in the Northern Mountains, about a day's journey from the city. There's a small outpost with basic supplies. You'll need to register your expedition with the Tower Keeper before entering."

I spent the next hour reviewing the contents of both folders. The information painted an interesting picture: The Tower was structured in ten-floor sections, each with its own theme and escalating difficulty. Safe zones appeared every sixth floor after beating the boss, providing respite and resupply opportunities.

The first ten floors, the Bestiary Levels, were well-documented. Floors 11-20 were called the Trials, featuring increasingly powerful entities, though detailed information was sparse. Beyond that was mostly speculation.

Interestingly, the Tower didn't follow regular dungeon rules. Healing rates were reduced, and most importantly, death worked differently. If you died in the Tower, you respawned at the entrance with the standard three-level penalty, but you couldn't re-enter for seven days.

I closed the folders, my decision made. If the essence we needed was in there, I'd get it. Simple as that.

I stopped by The Broken Shield on my way back to tell Mayra my plans. As expected, she wasn't thrilled.

"The Tower of the Last God? Are you kidding me?" She put her hands on her hips, glaring at me. "Didn't we just have a conversation about you telling me before doing something stupidly dangerous?"

"That's what I'm doing now," I pointed out. "Telling you before I go."

She threw up her hands. "That's not—ugh! You're impossible!" But there was less heat in her voice than I expected. "When are you leaving?"

"Tomorrow morning," I replied. "I want to check with NatTheCat first. If my sword's ready, I'd rather take it."

Mayra nodded, her expression softening. "That's... actually sensible. Good."

"I'll need supplies," I continued. "High-quality food buffs would help."

"I'll prepare something special," she promised. Then, after glancing around to make sure no one was within earshot, she added, "And I'd like to spend tonight with you. If that's okay."

I nodded, feeling that strange flutter in my chest again. "I'd like that too."

My next stop was NatTheCat's workshop. The sign outside had changed again, now reading "DIMENSIONAL RECALIBRATION IN PROGRESS. ENTER AT OWN RISK (SERIOUSLY)." I knocked anyway.

The door swung open to reveal Peter, his normally tidy appearance disrupted by what appeared to be magical residue covering half his face and clothes.

"Oh, Chuck! Perfect timing," he said, beckoning me inside. "We've just reached a critical juncture in the enchantment matrix reconfiguration."

The workshop's interior looked like a magical warzone. Tools and components lay scattered everywhere, strange symbols had been drawn on every available surface, and in the center of it all, my sword floated in a containment field, surrounded by swirling energy patterns.

NatTheCat spotted me from across the room and bounded over with typical feline grace. "The Dummy Slayer returns! Come to check on your precious darling? She's being absolutely magnificent in the procedure! Such resilience! Such adaptability!"

"Is it almost done?" I asked, eyeing my floating sword.

"Almost? ALMOST?" NatTheCat put a hand to their chest in mock offense. "Art cannot be rushed! Genius cannot be scheduled! But... yes, probably tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" That was surprisingly good news. "I thought you said three to seven days."

"The sword's developing sentience has significantly accelerated the process," Peter explained, adjusting his glasses. "It's actively participating in its own enhancement, which is... unprecedented, to say the least."

"I need it tomorrow," I said. "I'm going to the Tower of the Last God."

Both NatTheCat and Peter froze, staring at me with identical expressions of shock.

"The Tower?" Peter whispered, as if saying it too loudly might summon something unpleasant. "Why would you venture there?"

I explained about Dartanion and the Essence of Passage. NatTheCat's ears twitched with increasing agitation as I spoke.

"The Tower is NOT like other dungeons," NatTheCat insisted when I'd finished. "It's older. Stranger. The normal rules don't quite... stick properly there."

"I'm aware of the risks," I assured them. "But I need that essence."

Peter and NatTheCat exchanged glances, having one of those silent conversations that close collaborators sometimes develop.

"We'll have your sword ready by morning," Peter promised. "And I'll add some specialized enhancements that might help in the Tower's environment."

"Just don't go beyond floor sixteen!" NatTheCat added, tail swishing anxiously. "Whatever Aerilius saw there... it changed him. And not in the fun 'ooh I have cool new powers' way. In the 'I wake up screaming every night' way."

I nodded, not bothering to mention that I'd go as far as necessary to get what I needed.

"One more thing," Peter said, reaching into a nearby drawer. He withdrew a small crystal pendant. "Take this. It's an enhanced communication stone linked to the ones you already have. It should maintain connection even inside the Tower, at least for the first twenty floors or so."

"Thanks," I said, pocketing the pendant. "I'll be back in the morning for the sword."

As I left the workshop, I couldn't help but notice that neither of them had said "good luck" or anything encouraging. Just warnings. Everyone had warnings about the Tower.

Which made sense, unusual danger required unusual caution. But it wouldn't change my course. Dartanion needed that essence, so I'd get it. Simple optimization problem: identify goal, determine requirements, execute with maximum efficiency.

I spent the rest of the day preparing. I visited Gerald's shop to stock up on health and stamina potions, purchased additional Orbs of Return from a specialized vendor, and had my backup weapons checked and reinforced by the blacksmith.

By evening, I'd compiled a mental inventory of everything I'd need for the expedition. My only remaining concern was whether my sword would actually be ready in time, but I trusted Peter's assessment.

When I returned to The Broken Shield that night, Mayra was waiting for me. She'd prepared a special meal with powerful stat-boosting effects and had packed supplies for my journey. We didn't talk much about the Tower. Instead, we talked about small things like funny customers she'd served that day, improvements I was considering for my combat rotation, the weird way Martin organized the wine cellar.

Later, in my room, she held me tighter than usual. We both knew why, though neither mentioned it.

"Just come back," she whispered as we drifted toward sleep. "That's all I ask. Just come back."

"I will," I promised, and I meant it.

Morning came too quickly. I woke before dawn, gathered my gear, and gave Mayra a quick kiss on the cheek before heading out. If she noticed my awkwardness with the gesture, she didn't comment on it.