The Hilt Bears Your Warmth

"Should I say it was expected...?"

"Alone, I truly struggle to control the entire tower."

The sky was gloomy.

The earth lay silent.

The wizard's tower had crash-landed on a plain.

Smoke rose from multiple gashes, its battered and broken form a pitiful sight.

Earthen puppets emerged from within, carrying out repairs in orderly fashion, while Xu Xi stood some distance away, silently watching the tower's restoration.

As a mobile war fortress,

from the very beginning,

the wizard's tower was never meant for solo operation.

The ideal model was to have the strongest Tower Lord at its core, supported by lower and mid-tier wizards each fulfilling their roles.

Yet the current circumstances were exceptional.

Apart from Servia, Xu Xi had no other capable personnel at his disposal.

"...Forgive me, Lord Wizard."

"...I am too incompetent."

Servia's expression was downcast, the blade of her knight's sword chipped and shattered—clear evidence of recent fierce combat.

"Servia, you need not apologize to me. You've done nothing wrong."

The girl blamed herself so deeply,

believing the tower's damage was due to her inadequacy.

Xu Xi gazed at the lightless world, comforting Servia, telling her not to grieve—no one could have foreseen the overwhelming ferocity of this Dark Tide.

It seemed truly endless.

The number of undead stretched beyond sight.

Even a wizard would feel powerless before such a calamity.

...

[After the Tower of Salvation was repaired, you resumed its flight]

[In the current wizarding world]

[every corner teemed with dangerous undead]

[This was both a peril and your opportunity]

[Ordinary wizards could barely defy the laws of the Netherworld, laboring for ages to capture mere wisps of soulfire]

[But with your Soul Collector trait, you could effortlessly harvest abundant soulfire for your own use]

[You ceaselessly eradicated the undead]

[The sheer density of soul energy made weaker undead begin to fear you]

[You noticed that Servia's weapon, battered by the Dark Tide's intensity, was on the verge of shattering, rendered nearly unusable]

[You forged a new enchanted sword for Servia]

Silver light glinted, sharp and piercing.

The blade was heavy and elongated,

engraved with amplification runes.

On the pristine floor, iron boots stepped forward as hands solemnly accepted the sword.

Gripping the hilt, she effortlessly lifted the heavy mithril blade.

Under the overhead light, the sword gleamed brilliantly, casting an ethereal glow over her vibrant green eyes.

"Lord Wizard... may I truly keep this?"

"Of course. It was made for you, Servia."

Xu Xi spoke,

explaining the blade's enchantments to help her master it swiftly.

Finally, he assessed his work: "Adequate, I suppose. Materials were scarce. I’ll craft a better one later."

"No, Lord Wizard. This sword is perfect."

She sheathed the blade,

cradling it in her arms.

Her green eyes, layered with depth, softened.

"Lord Wizard, I love it. Truly... deeply."

Because it came from you, there could be no other answer.

No matter its form, no matter its quality—

the answer would always be love.

Bone fingers brushed the hilt through her armor,

clenching slowly, then releasing.

In that rhythm, the soul within her undead frame seemed purified,

flickering with quiet joy.

Abruptly, as if struck by a thought, Servia removed her gauntlets,

revealing pale skeletal hands.

She repeated the motion, gripping the sword bare.

"Servia, what are you...?"

"Lord Wizard, holding it like this... feels comforting," the Hero murmured, speaking of warmth in her hands—

though an undead body should feel neither heat nor cold.

...

[You and the Hero pressed onward]

[The wizard's tower’s firepower accelerated your soulfire collection]

[To counter the enigmatic Seventh-Circle Wizard]

[you sought even greater efficiency]

[You experimented relentlessly, refining the tower’s spirit to process faster and smarter]

[The Tower of Salvation soared swiftly]

[carrying you and Servia from desolate wilderness back to lands once inhabited]

[You faintly recalled a kingdom here]

[but found only ruins]

[The dead clawed free from flesh, bones scraping through rubble, contorted figures weaving through smoke-choked flames]

[Fire raged upward]

[Souls wailed silently]

[You witnessed true hell]

The combined devastation of the Black Sun’s fall and the Dark Tide

far exceeded Xu Xi’s expectations.

If, at the fifth simulation’s start, the living still clung to survival,

now, the wizarding world offered no refuge.

Before the collision of worlds brought final ruin,

the undead would erase all life,

twisting terrified souls into the very monsters they feared.

"BOOM—!!"

Above the burning ruins of the fallen kingdom,

the wizard's tower unleashed its fury.

The undead swarmed so thickly that even blind firing reaped soulfire aplenty.

Xu Xi swung his staff, unleashing a Third-Circle grand spell to obliterate skeletal dragons ambushing the tower.

Servia guarded his flank,

her gaze flickering toward the inferno below.

With every surge of flames, her grip tightened.

Then, from the crimson-dark despair,

a blade’s light tore through.

Strong.

Yet fragile.

"Lord Wizard... I hate this world."

Her voice was rough with sorrow, rage, and bitter defiance.

"Likewise," Xu Xi replied, his eyes reflecting the flames and the sea of pale bones.

Wind howled between heat and cold,

a chorus of the dead.

...

...

[Year 17 of the simulation. Age 34]

[You grasped the first threads of Fourth-Circle ascension]

[You and Servia endured the heaviest year]

[The world hadn’t fully crumbled]

[but its people saw no dawn ahead]

[You piloted the Tower of Salvation from one human kingdom to another]

[only to find ruins every time]

[Crumbled walls, eternal pyres]

[The stench of rot blanketed lands devoid of villages, towns, or nations—only a handful cowered in hiding]

[You and the Hero saved some]

[In hushed reverence, they spoke of you not by name, but as "That Lord"]