Arjun entered Floor 4 without spectacle.
No flash.
No roar.
Just a city gate opening at dawn.
Stone walls. Narrow streets. Banners of a foreign crest snapping in the wind.
A living city—markets, patrols, arguments, prayers.
And a blue line burned into his vision:A blue window appeared before Arjun's eyes.
[MAIN QUEST — FLOOR 4]
Title: Enemy Within
Difficulty: Hard
Type: Infiltration · Deception · Survival
Objective:
• Enter the enemy-controlled city
• Blend in without raising suspicion
• Gain trust and rank within enemy forces
Failure Conditions:
• Identity exposed
• Capture
• Death
Reward:
• Performance-based XP
• Variable-grade item
Additional Rules:
• Solo Entry Only
• No external communication
• NPC perception identical to real humans
• Time Distortion Active (1 day = 1 hour outside)
Note:
The longer you remain embedded,
the higher the reward—and the risk.
The window faded.
The city gate opened at dawn.
[ROLE ASSIGNED: CONSCRIPT — AUXILIARY CORPS]
Armor settled onto his body.
Rough. Ill-fitting. Deliberately uncomfortable.
A sergeant shoved a spear into his hands.
"Name?" the NPC barked.
Arjun didn't hesitate.
"Arav," he said. "From the eastern farms."
The man grunted, already bored.
Good.
Boredom meant survival.
Days passed.
Arjun learned when to speak—and more importantly—when not to.
He complained just enough.
Worked just hard enough.
He listened.
He memorized faces.
Patrol rotations.
Which officers drank too much.
Which ones beat soldiers to feel tall.
At night, he slept lightly.
Every scream in the city taught him something.
By the seventh day, he was promoted to supply runner.
By the twelfth, he knew where the ledgers were kept.
By the fifteenth, he realized the city wasn't defending itself.
It was preparing to invade.
Arjun smiled faintly in the dark.
"Found you," he whispered.
The Tower remained silent.
Watching.
Arjun didn't move on the revelation.
He waited.
In the city, waiting was a skill.
He began copying numbers in his head—grain shipments, weapon tallies, troop rotations.
Not stealing.
Not yet.
On the eighteenth day, a clerk went missing.
No alarm.
No search.
His desk was simply reassigned.
That night, Arjun took his place.
The ledgers were heavier than they looked.
Not in weight—
in consequence.
By the twenty-first day, he knew which districts would empty first when the army marched.
By the twenty-third, he knew where the siege engines were hidden.
By the twenty-fifth, he knew the invasion date.
And still—he stayed.
He ignored it.
On the twenty-eighth night, an officer invited him to drink.
Arjun smiled.
Accepted.
Lost on purpose.
By dawn, the officer was laughing too hard to remember names.
By dusk, Arjun wore a new insignia.
[STATUS UPDATE: TRUST LEVEL — ACCEPTED]
When the thirty-first day arrived, the Tower pulsed softly.
[FLOOR CLEAR CONDITION MET — LOW-TIER EXIT AVAILABLE]
Arjun didn't leave.
He folded the last map, memorized the final route, and burned the original.
"Not yet," he murmured.
On the thirty-fourth day, Arjun slipped.
Just once.
A junior officer asked an offhand question—too casual, too precise.
"Which grain route feeds the eastern garrison?"
Arjun answered instantly.
Too instantly.
The room went quiet.
Three pairs of eyes lifted to him.
Silence stretched, sharp as a blade.
Arjun felt it—
the thin line between trusted and exposed.
One heartbeat too late, he laughed.
"Sorry," he said, rubbing his temple.
"Ran supplies there last winter. Still remember the mud.
He deliberately named the wrong month.
The officer frowned, then shrugged.
"Winter mud all feels the same."
Conversation resumed.
Arjun's pulse didn't slow for a long time.
That night, a patrol stopped him at the barracks gate.
"Orders," one guard said.
"Random inspection."
Arjun raised his hands without hesitation.
No resistance.
No tension.
Inside his sleeve, a folded scrap burned against his skin.
The guard searched him—
missed it by a finger's width.
Arjun exhaled only after the gate shut behind him.
In the dark, he pressed his back to the wall.
"Careful," he whispered to himself.
Above him, unseen—
[EXPOSURE RISK: CRITICAL — NARROWLY AVOIDED]
The Tower recorded it.
So did Arthur.
Arjun didn't write reports.
Paper could be found.
Words could be traced.
He memorized everything instead.
Routes.
Dates.
Names spoken only once, late at night.
On the thirty-sixth day, he requested a routine supply transfer—nothing special, nothing urgent.
Superiors approved it.
The approval came with a stamp and a grunt.
No questions.
That alone told Arjun how confident the enemy had become.
The transfer route took him beyond the inner districts, past the outer warehouses—
to a checkpoint that didn't officially exist.
Two guards stood there.
Different posture.
Different eyes.
One of them scratched his beard in a way that was too deliberate.
Arjun slowed.
The man spoke without looking at him.
"Supplies from the eastern farms?"
Wrong phrasing.
Arjun answered just as quietly.
"Late harvest. Early winter."
Right response.
The guard finally met his eyes.
They passed through the gate without ceremony.
Beyond it lay a ruined shrine—collapsed roof, broken idols, forgotten by the city.
The other guard stayed outside.
Inside, the first man removed his helmet.
The crest on his armor matched Arjun's—
not the city's banner, but the faction the Tower had assigned him to.
Same nation.
Same lie.
"Auxiliary Corps, Third Division," the man said quietly.
"Embedded Intelligence Cell."
Arjun nodded once.
They moved to the shattered altar.
The man pressed a weird symbol into cracked stone.
A blue veil sealed the room.
"Speak," he said.
Arjun did.
Not everything—only what mattered now.
Which districts would fall first.
Which commanders were loyal to the invasion.
Which ones hesitated.
"This stays inside the faction," the man said.
"Our generals will counter quietly."
"And the civilians?" Arjun asked.
The man met his eyes.
"That depends on how long you stay alive."
A pause.
"You can rotate out," the man added.
"Promotion request. Safer post."
Arjun shook his head.
"They trust me where I am," he said.
"That's leverage."
The man studied him, then inclined his head.
"Then keep spying," he said.
"For our nation."
The veil dropped.
Arjun replaced his helmet.
And walked back into the city—
serving a nation that didn't know he was saving it,
inside a war that hadn't started yet.
Arjun returned to the barracks before curfew.
No one looked at him twice.
Trust was a shield—but it rusted quickly.
On the forty-second day, orders changed.
Night drills.
Closed briefings.
Maps sealed with red wax.
The city was accelerating.
Arjun listened more than ever.
He volunteered for tasks others avoided—messenger runs, inventory audits, escort duty for officers who drank themselves stupid.
Each job brought him closer to the center.
On the fifty-sixth day, he was summoned upstairs.
Not shouted.
Invited.
A commander stood by the window, hands behind his back.
"You're efficient," the man said.
"And forgettable."
Arjun bowed slightly.
The highest compliment.
"You'll assist logistics for the eastern front," the commander continued.
"Direct access. Restricted routes."
[STATUS UPDATE: RANK INCREASED — INNER CIRCLE (LOW)]
Arjun felt the danger spike instantly.
That night, he memorized three new maps and burned two orders.
On the seventy-ninth day, he passed a second report through the shrine.
This one was worse.
Full invasion paths.
False-flag operations.
A city marked for sacrifice.
The liaison's hands shook when he heard it.
"This is massacre planning," the man whispered.
"Yes," Arjun replied.
"And it's scheduled."
When he returned, the city felt different.
Sharper.
Hungry.
Arjun lay awake, staring at the ceiling.
"Almost," he murmured.
Above him—
[EMBEDDED DURATION: HIGH]
[REWARD MULTIPLIER: RISING]
[DEATH RISK: EXPONENTIAL]
The Tower did not warn him to leave.
It only kept counting.
And Arjun chose—
again—
to stay.