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Ironclad felt a splitting headache, as if the entire world was spinning around him. He tried to concentrate, but only fragments of memories flashed through his mind. His body felt heavier than ever, every joint frozen and immovable. He struggled to move, but all he could feel was weakness and pain coursing through him.
His vision was blurry, but he could sense the ground was cold and biting. His breathing was rapid, each breath bringing unbearable pain. Panic and confusion filled his heart, yet there were no memories to explain the scene before him.
He tried hard to remember, but only fragments of memories flashed through his mind. He was the last member of the Iron Guard group, the only clear self-awareness he had. His last vivid memory was making a deal with a demon, exchanging it for powerful strength. His blood became hot as a result, filled with uncontrollable anger.
He struggled to stand up, but the pain in his body made him fall again. He felt despair spreading in his heart, but he knew he couldn't give up. He was the last member of the Iron Guard group, he had a mission, he couldn't fall.
He clenched his fists, feeling the power of the demon coursing through his veins. His blood seemed to be burning, providing him with the strength to stand up. He struggled to support his body and stood up once again. Though his body was in pain, his eyes burned with unwavering determination.
He was unsure of what awaited him ahead, but he knew he could not give up. For his legion, for his mission, he had to keep moving forward.
Ironclad's fingers trembled as they brushed against the sword beside him. The blade was broad, and the solidified black blood on the back testified to its past battles. His fingers glided over the hilt, feeling the cold and familiar texture, and his fingertip touched the emblem of the Iron Guard engraved on the hilt. That symbol stirred an inexplicable sense of comfort and courage within him. He gripped the hilt tightly, using the sword for support as he slowly rose to his feet.
With the hilt in hand, Ironclad felt the cold weight of the blade, a symbol of his strength and a vessel for his faith. He struggled to use the sword as a pivot, gradually lifting himself upright. Every joint seemed to resist his movements, every muscle ached as if reminding him of countless battles fought and reborn. He could feel his bones groaning and muscles straining, but he clenched his teeth and slowly, inch by inch, straightened his body.
When he finally stood firm, the whole world seemed to sway before his eyes. His vision was jumping, and every shadow left long traces on his retina. His head throbbed as if it were about to split open, but he knew it was just his body's response to the endless battle. He struggled to keep himself awake, tightly gripping the hilt of the sword, feeling the cold and hardness transmitted through the blade. That sense of reality calmed his mind slightly.
He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, trying to turn the hatred and pain in his heart into strength. His heartbeat throbbed in his chest, forming a strange harmony with the vibration on the sword. He could feel the surging power on the sword, as if calling to him, compelling him to move forward. Intense hatred and anger surged in his heart, burning in his blood, causing his eyes to flash with a cold and resolute light.
He opened his eyes again, and this time, all he could see was the mysterious and cold Tower ahead. He knew that he was on the first level of the Tower, a place filled with trials and challenges. He took his first step, the sword swaying gently with his movement, emitting a low and chilling hum, as if responding to the anger and determination in his heart. He understood that his journey was beginning anew, and this time, he had to conquer himself, overcome the Tower, and reclaim everything he had lost.
Ironclad gripped the sword tightly, each step feeling incredibly difficult, as if he were struggling in a dark quagmire. His steps were heavy, but his resolve pushed him forward relentlessly. The entrance to the first level of the Tower loomed larger before him, like a massive black hole ready to swallow all light. As he drew closer, the pain in his head intensified; each pulse felt like a hammer striking his skull. His stomach churned violently, waves of nausea crashing over him, making it nearly impossible to stand; every breath felt like it was suffocating him.
He struggled to suppress his discomfort, leaning against his sword for support. He knew that this was the trial of the Tower, a harbinger of unknown challenges ahead. A flicker of doubt crossed his eyes, but it was quickly replaced by the determination in his heart. He clenched his teeth, forcing himself to remain calm as he continued to move forward.
As he gradually approached the entrance, he felt something stirring in the darkness, something coldly watching him. The air grew heavier, each breath becoming more difficult, as if an invisible pressure was compressing his lungs. He sensed that the presence in the darkness seemed to be testing him or perhaps waiting for him. His instincts told him that every level of the Tower was filled with unknown dangers. Just then, a massive whale suddenly emerged from the shadows, its eyes glowing red, its mouth half-open as if trying to convey something. Ironclad instinctively raised his sword, but soon he felt that the creature before him, at least for now, did not seem inclined to be hostile.
A glimmer of elusive light flashed in the whale's eye as its mouth opened and closed again, seemingly trying to express something. Ironclad gripped his sword tightly, his vigilance unwavering, but his gaze was fixed intently on the whale, attempting to understand its intentions. He sensed that this creature possessed an unusual intelligence, and its presence deepened the mystery of the tower.
As he pondered how to respond, the whale's mouth moved once more, communicating with him in a unique manner. That strange light flickered in its eyes again, as if conveying some unfathomable message.
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