Runebound Reverse Tower of The Dead-Chapter 114: The Sound of Silence

Peter was gleefully delivering judgement to the few goblins that came down, and it was the kind of gleeful that only showed up when someone finally felt useful. Not happy, not brave, just relieved. Relief wore a nasty grin in the Tower. It made people loud. It made them careless.

He wasn’t even clean about it. Every kill came with some shaky exhale like he’d been holding his breath all day and only now remembered he had lungs.

His swings were decent at first, then a little too eager, then sloppy again when his arms started to feel like they were filled with wet sand.

He kept stepping too far into the corner after each hit, like he wanted to peek up the stairwell and prove he wasn’t afraid, and Kael had to stop himself from grabbing him by the collar again and yanking him back.

Kael didn’t say anything. He didn’t praise him, didn’t mock him, didn’t coach him. He wasn’t his teacher after all. Unlike Kael who was used to hammering steel and punching metal into beams, tempo and rythem were all Kael needed to make each of his swings matter.

Though Peter was a former climber of the Tower of Trials. Kael could easily understand why he died.

Too sloppy.

The Tower rewarded effort. And this looked like someone who obtained a weapon and was swinging it every direction possible thinking he became a master.

Kael just watched Peter’s grip, watched his feet, watched the way Peter’s shoulders rose every time he heard a scrape from above like the building itself was about to spit something out. And could only sigh inwardly.

He thanked his own unfortunate life for today. After all, the very job that he hated. Made him lose the love of his life. Made him work hours on end and go into near alcoholic addiction. Was now serving him in a way that saved his life.

Rhythm mattered more than strength.

Whenever Kael would go up to take a turn, he’ll always kill more goblins in less time and not feel exhausted or fatigued.

As for Peter, it was just unfortunate watching what he was doing, the worst part, is he had a good opportunity to learn from Kael but he never picked up on the small habbits.

They lasted for what felt like an hour, swapping and taking turns and climbing, and the repetition started grinding at Kael’s nerves worse than the gore did.

Kill, rest, swap. Kill, rest, swap. Step up a floor, claim a new choke point, do it again.

It was efficient and it was stupid at the same time, because efficiency had a way of making you forget the Tower wasn’t a farm. It was a trap with patience.

Kael would wipe out a small wave fast, then sit, not because he was tired in the body, but because he refused to let his mind drift.

He’d count seconds in his head. He’d listen to the building’s noise, separating the normal creaks from the wet footfalls. He’d glance at the mini-map until the red dots above shifted again.

Then he’d nod at Peter without looking like he was giving permission, and Peter would step up like a dog who’d been thrown a bone.

Peter could manage four to five goblins before the exhaustion of swinging a weapon hit him hard.

Not the dramatic kind where you fall over.

The humiliating kind where your wrists start to tremble mid-swing and your breath turns loud without your consent.

The hatchet would feel heavier even though it wasn’t. His fingers would go numb, then sting. His stance would narrow because his legs didn’t want to support the constant bracing anymore.

Each time Peter started getting that wobble, Kael took over. It wasn’t heroic. It wasn’t teamwork. It was maintenance. Keep the asset alive until it stops being useful. Kael hated that his brain thought in those terms now, but he hated dying more.

When no goblins came down for a while, they moved up another floor. The bodies stacked behind them on the stairs, and the stench followed like a cloak.

Goblin blood wasn’t just blood. It had that sour, almost fermented bite to it, like rotten fruit left in a hot car. Mixed with it was the burned tang from Kael’s axe whenever the smoldering edge kissed flesh.

Every time the blade seared, the air tasted like scorched hair and pennies.

By the time they’d climbed a few floors, Peter had upgraded again. He found a steel hatchet and treated it like a trophy the moment it landed in his hands. It sat better on his shoulder than the stone junk, and the edge didn’t look like it would chip if you sneezed at it.

"Looks like it’s getting darker soon," Peter said, trying to sound casual as he rested the steel hatchet on his shoulder like he’d always carried something like that.

Kael didn’t answer right away. He was still, head slightly tilted, like he was listening to something beyond the obvious. Not mystical. Not heroic. Just a man who had learned the difference between safe noise and wrong noise.

"You hear that?" Kael said as he stood up from his seat.

Peter looked around, irritated because he didn’t want to admit he was relying on Kael’s senses again. "Hear what?" Peter asked.

"Exactly," Kael said.

It took a second for it to land. The absence wasn’t normal. Goblins did not do silence. Even when they hid, they did it badly. They argued, they hissed, they scraped their weapons along walls like idiots. They made noise when they were bored, noise when they were scared, noise when they were dying.

Now there was nothing. No yelps. No scuttling. No distant chatter from above. The building creaked, wind slipped through broken beams, and somewhere far away the city burned, but the goblins... the goblins were quiet.

Peter swallowed and forced himself to play it off with logic. "You’re right, I can’t hear anything. Maybe the building is clear? Or maybe they’re far up. We climbed a lot." Peter said.

"Hmm, maybe," Kael replied, and the way he said it made it sound like he didn’t believe his own mouth.