Another series of violent tremors shook the tower in the aftermath of the blast. This was a siege-level magic spell. Ronan was envious of the man who'd had the fortune of obtaining such a thing, but he had been gifted by being able to witness its use. He might now be able to recreate it.

He started to worry about the structural stability of the tower. A regular skyscraper certainly wouldn't remain standing if it was struck by successive explosions, but this was no ordinary tower.

Not only had it been the location of the boss tower, but it was the current location of the sector pillar. Surely it wouldn't be brought down by a single man and his lackeys?

Thankfully Ronan's suspicions were correct. After the failure of the most recent blast to bring the tower down, Rockmore had clearly grown tired of waiting. Another yelled order and a pointed finger caused the majority of the people gathered below to surge towards the entrance of the former boss' tower.

Ronan found himself excited at the prospect of a new challenge. While he knew that none of Rockmore's lackeys, or even the man himself, posed an individual threat, he was curious to see how he would hold up against a horde of humans.

When the first of his foes burst through the door, they found an overgrown room containing a solitary tree. At the base of the tree, there was a man sleeping peacefully.

"That must be the guy!" one of them shouted, pointing his sword at the sleeping figure.

"What the hell is he doing? Did we catch him having a nap? Don't waste this opportunity, lads. Think of how the Lord will reward us for bringing him this Ronan's head!" another yelled, rushing ahead of the pack.

All of the lackeys sprinted towards the sleeping Ronan one after another, each of them intent on claiming the victory for themselves and uncaring of the others. "Fuck Rockmore! I'll claim the pillar for myself!" a third man cried, darting ahead of the pack and thrusting his spear towards Ronan's back.

The instant before the spear connected, the sleeping figure suddenly flipped around, rolled under the spear and grabbed the shaft in one hand. Before the attacker even had a chance to be surprised by the sudden change of pace, they found themselves being yanked forward.

Ronan smashed his fist into the bastard's face, using magic strike to make it a lethal blow. The puny lackey's face exploded.

He dismissed the notification, mentally willing the system not to bother him until the fight was over. A crowd of guests had presented themselves at his doorstep and he would be a poor host if he didn't give them what they came for.

All of his new skills were put to the test in the ensuing melee. Ronan wasn't being pushed by the level of his opponents, but he made sure to push himself. Overloading surging strikes to see how many enemies he could take down in a 'single' blow was the first test.

As it turned out, he was able to reach a seventh strike before his stamina ran out. It was partly restored as the strikes landed and obliterated seven of Rockmore's goons, but that didn't let him hit an eighth time. Even after killing that many foes, he hadn't gained another level.

That wasn't surprising. He would be shocked if he even gained a single level after killing them all. Even Lord Rockmore himself was barely at the level of Vulparis.

Hearing the way many of the men attacking him were barely loyal to their supposed lord, Ronan felt a plan forming in his mind. It was too late to put it into action during this iteration, but in future he might be able to deal with Rockmore's faction without resorting to violence.

He enjoyed a good brawl, but killing so many of his fellow humans all the time wasn't a habit he wanted to get used to. In this new world, violence seemed to be the new normal. If that was the case, wasn't it better to focus his power against the real threats to their world, rather than each other?

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Mana bolts screamed from his hands one after another, every single one catching at least one enemy in the blast. He aimed them roughly, but with how packed the hundredth floor was getting it would have almost been harder to miss than to strike someone.

Despite how many enemies Ronan had killed, it seemed that their numbers continued to increase. No wonder we couldn't find anyone when we first explored the sector! he exclaimed inwardly. Everyone had already been gathered up by that pompous arsehole.

He started to mix things up. Rather than simply relying on conjured weapons, Ronan started to dig through his inventory for all the random weapons he'd accumulated during this iteration. Not because they were better, but because he felt that this was a perfect opportunity to farm masteries.

And the crappy dropped weapons wouldn't add much to his inventory value, so losing them to gain more mastery points was a worthwhile endeavour. First up, a spear with a slightly rusted blade.

Slashing it through the air, Ronan used surging strikes and arcane piercing strike in tandem. Despite the shoddy condition of the weapon, it sliced through the first woman as though she were tofu.

The second man was bisected across the waist almost all the way through, but held on by a few muscle fibers and a strip of skin. A second push finished the job, and the four surging strikes that followed cut down swathes of hapless foes.

Unfortunately the spear couldn't handle that much power and the shaft snapped as it was piercing its final victim. Ronan wasn't fazed, immediately ditching the broken weapon and taking out his next.

The brittle broadsword was a recent addition, one that had been acquired from a treasury token rather than a defeated enemy. It was heavy in his hands, and to his untrained eye the blade seemed to be well forged. If not for the system's description outright warning him of its faults, he would have had no idea that it could potentially shatter at a moment's notice.

Despite that, he swung it with all his might, using a skill that hadn't seen much use—ethereal slash. After his last slaughtering spree with the spear, there was a distinct lack of enemies directly around him. The skill ensured that wasn't a problem.

He kept pushing in mana until the skill began to refuse it. As he swung the blade, the edge glowed a luminous white, brighter for every point of mana he infused into the skill. At the end of his two-hundred-seventy degree swing, a crescent-shaped arc of white mana exploded outwards from his position.

From the moment of its inception Ronan felt the thrumming power in the air. It sliced through the fabric of the world as it soared towards his enemies. The drop in mana was followed by a metallic tinkle as the broadsword exploded into a thousand razor-sharp shards that sprayed outwards, following the ethereal slash.

The epic skill cut into a dozen challengers at once, crimson floodgates opened as their lifeblood spilled onto the tiles. Yet even with the first wave down, the skill wasn't spent. It continued to slice its way through the horde of weaklings until the plants had been drowned and the base of the windows was tinted red.

The shards of his broken blade followed, the tsunami to the skill's earthquake. They only killed a few more, a terrifying feat on its own merit—imagine killing your foes simply by destroying your own weapon—yet it paled in comparison to the destruction that the pure white crescent-blade had wrought.

Damn, I really haven't been using that skill enough. Veloxis was a demon wrapped in a cute furry form… Ronan marvelled at the aftermath of using a single skill. Admittedly, he had about a fifty to sixty level advantage on most of the people he'd just killed, but he would never have been able to replicate the feat using just a weapon and a regular strike.

It reminded him of the time he'd met his ancestor. Azathere the Timeless had struck him so hard with a single tap of the finger that the system hadn't even been able to register the damage or the secondary effects. He wanted to reach that same level of power one day.

Unbound by the system.

Not beholden to anyone, or anything.

Right now though, he was far from it. At that moment, the door was blown off its hinges. It flew across the room, splitting into three parts as it crashed against the bloodsoaked tiles.

A familiar man barged into the room, arrogance painted on his visage. The sneer twisted into shock and horror as he caught sight of the carnage, his wide eyes locking onto Ronan. He restrained himself a moment later, settling on cold indifference.

Ronan felt that it was a painfully obvious attempt to mask his fear, but he didn't say as much. He wanted to see what the siege mage could do in a one-versus-one battle. "I wonder if you're any tougher than that lot?" Tilting his head to one side, Ronan threw down the gauntlet.

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