When The System Spoils You For No Reason-Chapter 60 - Sixty

"Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into the abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you."

— Friedrich Nietzsche

---

After destroying the kingdom—Anton paying the price with his arm and left eye—Jude and his friends ascended to the Tower’s second floor.

According to Anton, the kingdom had been the first floor’s challenge.

One he’d failed to recognize in time.

---

Jude became a shell of his former self. He threw everything into growing stronger, killing anyone and anything in his path without hesitation or mercy.

Never again. He would not allow what happened to happen again.

According to the books he’d read, sufficient strength would allow him to resurrect his brothers.

He just had to be strong enough.

With singular focus, he speed-ran floors two through twenty-nine.

Then his trait hit a wall. His attributes reached their cap—no amount of killing would push him further.

He needed a runestone. One that could evolve his trait or ability.

After reaching his bottleneck, he’d accumulated followers—useful tools for gathering information. He set them to the task: find the runestone.

Three years of camping on the twenty-ninth floor.

Finally, news arrived: the runestone could be found on the thirty-fifth floor.

A long way up.

---

He rallied his core group—his brother Anton, Zeke, and Michael.

Zeke and Anton agreed immediately.

Anton especially. They’d grown close over the past few years, even finding a method to heal his injuries.

Michael declined.

"I’m returning to Earth," he said, his tone matter-of-fact. "I’ve studied Zeke enough. The Tower holds no more interest for me."

Good riddance, Jude thought.

Even when lazy, Zeke at least followed orders. Michael never had—and somehow, he’d grown stronger than Jude again.

Having a follower more powerful than himself set Jude’s teeth on edge. Especially when his trait couldn’t close the gap.

---

Ten years.

It took them ten years to reach the thirty-fifth floor.

Ten years of grueling, meaningless battles that netted only useless runestones and resources his stagnant trait couldn’t utilize.

He’d focused instead on accumulating power for his organization, testing his luck on random runestones, building his arsenal.

He’d been selective—only assimilating S-Ranked stones or higher. His repertoire of skills, abilities, and traits had expanded considerably.

But still, no evolution stone.

Hopefully the thirty-fifth floor, he’d thought.

---

It wasn’t there either.

He fought tooth and nail against established organizations and kingdoms for every lead, every rumor. His foundation was too weak—there was always someone stronger, someone with deeper roots and greater backing.

Disappointed but undeterred, he continued climbing. He recruited aggressively for his organization, and at Anton’s insistence, he focused on geniuses.

Anyone subpar became meat—resources to be consumed once he finally evolved his trait.

Sacrifices for the greater good. For his glorious purpose.

---

On the fortieth floor, he finally found it.

An evolution stone. For his trait specifically.

Stronger organizations converged immediately, but this time Zeke and Anton positioned themselves at the forefront.

"Evolve your trait," Anton told him, his voice hard. "Meet us on the battlefield when you’re done. The days of running and bowing to anyone are over."

---

The evolution took three days.

His entire being underwent transfiguration—cells restructuring, power pathways rewriting themselves. When he emerged, his trait had become SSS-Ranked.

50% stat absorption. And the ability to select one trait, skill, or ability from anyone he killed.

Perfect.

With renewed fervor, he joined the battlefield. He cut through enemies indiscriminately, focusing on hostile organizations but uncaring when his own followers fell in the crossfire.

Weaklings don’t deserve to follow me anyway.

He broke through his bottleneck, reaching a level of power he relished with every fiber of his being.

Then he went to find his brothers.

---

He found them victorious.

Zeke stood at the center of a field of corpses, uninjured, his immortality having won the war of attrition.

They celebrated. Planned how to leverage Jude’s new trait for maximum efficiency.

Then a portal tore open in the sky.

A hand descended—massive, wreathed in distorted space.

Anton moved to shield Jude but was swatted aside like an insect, his body bursting into a pile of blood.

The hand continued its descent.

Zeke stepped forward.

The hand struck him. He regenerated instantly, buying Jude precious seconds to power up. Jude turned on the nearest bodies, absorbing frantically—

A snort echoed from the portal.

The hand swept over Zeke again. A formation materialized around him—glowing sigils, binding chains—and began ascending toward the portal.

Zeke escaped.

The hand swept a third time.

This time, Zeke moved with desperate speed. He grabbed Jude and threw him—space distorting around the motion.

As Jude disappeared into a forced translocation, the last thing he saw was the hand closing around Zeke’s entire body, holding him in the palm of its hands before dragging him through the portal.

---

Jude materialized on the first floor.

In the house Zeke had built.

---

As Anton lay impaled by a blade of light, blood trickling from his lips, he laughed—a broken, bitter sound directed at the sky.

"This has got to be the worst trial yet," he said, his voice hoarse. "But you know I’m not falling for it. This isn’t real. No matter how convincing you make it." 𝓯𝙧𝙚𝒆𝙬𝙚𝒃𝙣𝙤𝒗𝓮𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢

He coughed, blood spattering. "I don’t know how you make me forget the previous iterations, but you always slip up at the end. I remember this is just a trial."

---

Anton had died 173 times.

He had regressed to the moment he entered the Tower 173 times.

This time, he expected to wake surrounded by his brother and his friends again.

Instead, he found himself in a white void.

And facing a pool of black sludge.

The sludge shifted. Formed. Took shape.

It became him.

"Why do you look so confused, Anton?" the doppelganger asked, tilting its head.

Anton’s expression flattened. "Really? You’re turning into me now? Had enough of watching me die?"

"You misunderstand what’s happening." The shadow-Anton’s smile was wrong—too wide, too knowing. "I’m not ’you.’ I’m the part of you you’ve forgotten. The part you refuse to acknowledge."

It stepped closer.

"You’re the cause of your little brother’s death. You know this. You’re the reason he’ll die again—because you’ve gotten them on your radar. There’s no escaping that."

Anton’s jaw tightened. "So you’re my guilt? Then you’re too late. I’ve faced my guilt 173 times." His voice hardened. "This time, I’ll save my brother. You should know who I have backing me."

The shadow burst into laughter—harsh, mocking.

"Even you know that’s a lie. Why would she help? Because she shares a surname with him?" It leaned in, voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "You and your brother share the same father, yet you caused Jude’s death. Practically killed him with your own hands."

"I never knew the Tower was this invested in my psyche." Anton’s tone remained flat, unmoved. "Sorry to disappoint, but your little performance isn’t working."

"Really?" The shadow’s form rippled. "Well, living a thousand years after your brother’s death does make one numb to guilt. You might even feel relieved you killed him."

The sludge reshaped.

It became Jude—older, more weathered. Black hair grown long and wild. Arms severed at the elbows. Kneeling, with chains binding his neck and ankles.

His clothes were torn. A massive hole gaped in his chest.

"Brother," the apparition said, its voice cracking. "Why? Why did you have to provoke them?"

Anton’s expression didn’t change. "I was protecting my brother." His voice dropped to something cold and dangerous. "Tower, you’d best return to the previous trial format. If you don’t..."

His fist clenched, mana coalescing around it.

"I’ll kill your agent right here."

The apparition tilted its head. "You couldn’t kill them last time. What makes you think you can kill something at their level—or higher?"

It smiled, wrong and terrible.

"Brother... do you wish to kill me again? Do you feel no guilt for your sins?"

The chains shattered.

The thing wearing Jude’s face lunged, feral and screaming—

---

Kai woke up in his house on Earth.

He was sixteen years old.

He walked to the living room, still groggy, his mind struggling to catch up.

"You’re awake?" Lisa’s voice cut through the fog, sharp with disapproval. "How could you sleep this late? How do you expect to lead this family?"

She crossed her arms, her expression cold. "Your sister awakened an SSS-Ranked ability. You’d better not disgrace us."

Jae-Min didn’t look up from his tablet. "Waking at this hour when you bear the responsibility of the family heir. Shameful." He paused. "If your sister hadn’t refused the guild leader position, I wouldn’t bother with you at all."

Lisa sighed, shaking her head. "I told you to pull out, didn’t I?"

Kai stood frozen, his mind reeling.

What the hell is going on?

---

Aaron materialized in an unfamiliar town, his friends appearing beside him.

Kai looked around in awe. "Whoa."

"Dope," Zeke said, grinning.

The trio nodded appreciatively.

"We should move," Anton said, already scanning their surroundings.

"We’re in the Tower now. A place for us to change our destinies."

"Okay," the group echoed.

Then Aaron heard a voice—Anton’s voice—though Anton’s lips didn’t move.

"Aiya, we have to carry this weakling?"

Aaron’s head snapped toward Anton, but the regressor’s expression remained neutral, his attention elsewhere.

Then Michael’s voice, cold and clinical: "I can’t understand why Zeke frolics with these weaklings. I understand the S-Ranked one, but the B-Ranked trash? I have much to learn about emotions."

Aaron’s pulse quickened. He turned toward Michael—

Jude’s voice cut through: "I can’t wait to dump these two baggage. At least Kai has Yeon. Aaron’s just... useless."

Then Kai’s voice, self-deprecating: "I hate being the weakling. Thank God I have Aaron here. And my sister will find a way through this bottleneck—she dotes on me."

Aaron waited, breath held, for Zeke’s thoughts.

Silence.

Zeke just whistled cheerfully and walked forward, hands in his pockets.

Aaron’s chest tightened.

Is this what they actually think of me?

His throat felt dry.

At least Zeke doesn’t think that way... right?

The doubt crept in, insidious.

What if I’m just too useless to even warrant a thought from him?