Kazui stood still, breath uneven, his eyes scanning the strange, alien forest around him.
The trees were thick and massive, their trunks a deep, almost blood-like red. Leaves shimmered with a surreal cyan-green glow, casting eerie shades across the forest floor. The air felt heavy, dense with an unnatural silence—like the world itself was holding its breath.
Swallowing hard, Kazui opened the relic once again. The same golden letters floated before him, etched in the air:
"Power: Maiden Gacha"
He hesitated for a moment, then spoke.
"Power Info."
Instantly, the floating text shifted. A new panel appeared, glowing faintly with a silver hue.
"Maiden Gacha: A summoning-type ability. Allows the user to perform a gacha roll to summon a companion. Each roll costs 500 Souls. The user can only perform one roll at a time.
Souls are obtained by killing opponents. Opponents include both monsters and humans."
Kazui blinked. The words "500 Souls" repeated in his mind.
Before he could process what that meant, another message flashed before him.
"For your first time, you are granted 500 Souls free of cost."
"What…?"
He hadn't done anything.
And yet, the system had just handed him the exact cost of a single roll—for free.
His heartbeat quickened.
This was real.
Kazui Kurota had just turned eighteen, and yet, he was anything but ordinary.
Standing at 6'1", Kazui possessed a tall, well-built frame—lean yet athletic, the kind that came not from the gym, but from real-world hustle. His mid-length black hair was always a bit messy, as though constantly tussled by a restless wind. Beneath that unkempt fringe gleamed his most striking feature—piercing silver eyes that often caught people off-guard, unreadable yet oddly magnetic.
His skin was pale and clear, and his voice—deep and mature—often made him sound older than he was. But no amount of voice or height could hide one undeniable truth about him: Kazui was a certified pervert. Not the loud, obnoxious kind—but the dangerous, silent type with a refined taste.
He had no real interest in girls his age or younger. What stirred his blood was something far more specific—thick, mature women. Big thighs, generous curves, confident attitudes—he adored every bit of it.
Kazui lived alone in Tokyo, far from his quiet hometown of Kawazu. He worked part-time at a supermarket to support himself. His birthday fell on April 6th, and just two days ago… he turned 18.
Kazui stood silently in the middle of the dense forest, his breath steady, his senses sharp. The light barely pierced through the thick canopy of cyan-green leaves above, casting a dim, eerie hue over the blood-red tree trunks that surrounded him. He wore a black hoodie, zipped halfway, and loose grey sweatpants—comfortable, but not exactly battle-ready.
Then, he heard it.
Footsteps.
Soft at first, but growing louder. Instinctively, Kazui straightened, his body tensing. The sound came from behind the trees—rustling leaves, shifting branches. Something… was coming.
Suddenly, grotesque figures emerged from the shadows.
Dead Fiends.
A monstrous species known for their terrifying appearance. Their bodies were torn and decayed, flesh peeled away in places to reveal raw muscle and jagged bone. Their movements were twitchy, almost unstable, and yet filled with a ravenous hunger. Empty eye sockets burned faintly with red light as they slowly began to encircle him.
Kazui clenched his fists.
The tower wasn't going to let him breathe—not even for a minute.
The Dead Fiends crept forward, dragging their distorted limbs through the moss-laced soil. Their bodies were tall and skeletal, but grotesquely stretched—spines twisted unnaturally, shoulders uneven, as if something had forcibly reshaped them long after death. Patches of rotting flesh clung to their gray, sinewy muscles, flaking off with every jerky movement. Parts of their ribcages were fully exposed, jutting out like rusted prison bars that once caged a human soul.
Their limbs were too long, disproportionate—arms that hung past their knees, fingers ending in cracked, bone-like claws that clicked together in a sickening rhythm. Their jaws dangled open, crooked and twitching, revealing rows of shattered teeth lodged in blackened gums. Maggots writhed lazily in the cavities of their cheeks.
What made them unbearable to look at were their eyes—or lack thereof. Hollow sockets leaking viscous black sludge, glowing faintly red, as if something inside still remembered what hatred was.
And the smell… it was the reek of graves torn open too soon.
Kazui's heart pounded in his chest as his eyes darted from one twisted creature to another. There were ten of them—ten Dead Fiends, surrounding him like predators closing in on helpless prey.
His right leg instinctively shifted back, his cyan sneakers scraping against the moist soil, leaving behind dragged patches of earth. Every breath he took grew heavier, shorter. Panic clawed at his throat.
This wasn't a game. In the Tower, death was real.
One of the Dead Fiends suddenly bolted toward him, its jagged claws slicing through the air. Kazui's instincts screamed. He spun on his heel and took off in the opposite direction—but even behind him, more of the creatures emerged, limbs jerking unnaturally as they pursued.
His reflexes were sharp. The one ahead lunged, its mouth stretched unnaturally wide, but Kazui sidestepped just in time, slipping past it and sprinting deeper into the forest.
But they were fast. Too fast.
They gained ground rapidly, and within seconds, one of them leaped—its mangled body collided with Kazui's back, knocking him down hard onto the dirt.
Kazui's vision spun. He tried to crawl, to push himself up, but the monster was already on top of him. Its breath reeked of rotting flesh, and thick drool dripped from its broken mouth onto his chest.
More shadows closed in. The other fiends towered above him, their eyeless sockets fixed on his face as if savoring the sight of his fear.
Pinned beneath rotting flesh and clawed limbs, Kazui stared up at the sky. His body froze.
He could see it—his death, staring right back at him.
In the Tower, death was always around the corner. Every step forward was a gamble with your life.
So why did people climb it?
The answer was simple.
The rewards.
Each completed quest offered items and treasures that fetched absurdly high prices in the world outside. Those who climbed the Tower were showered with fame and wealth. Some did it for power, others for wisdom, but the majority chased money and status.
At the peak of the Tower sat individuals who held everything—power, influence, gold, knowledge, and respect.
Greed was the fuel that drove the masses.
And Kazui Kurota was no exception.
Suddenly, his relic glowed and opened on its own. A message floated before his eyes in bright, golden letters:
"You have 500 souls in storage. You may summon your first maiden."
Kazui stared at it.
This… this was his only power. Maiden Gacha.
Luckily, he was no stranger to gacha systems—he had played countless video games built around them. He knew how they worked. The rates, the RNG, the thrill of a pull.
His breathing calmed as he stood up on one knee, ignoring the Dead Fiends still creeping toward him.
With a determined voice, he declared:
"Roll the Gacha."
A pulse of radiant light burst forth in front of him. A golden sphere shimmered into existence, its glow blinding even the monsters.
The Fiends paused, transfixed by the sudden brilliance.
Then, from within the sphere, a silhouette formed.
And out stepped a woman—mature, divine, and breathtaking. Her figure was the very embodiment of perfection: large, soft breasts, elegant curves, and hips that swayed with a confidence that melted the air around her.
Kazui's eyes widened.
He didn't know her name.
He didn't know her strength.
But one thing was certain—
She was his.
She emerged from the golden light like a goddess wrapped in shadow.
The glow slowly faded, revealing a woman clad in a tattered black kimono-style outfit, clearly designed for battle. The deep neckline exposed the soft swell of her cleavage, while wide sleeves flowed with each breath she took. The lower half of her garment was shredded and open for easy movement, revealing toned thighs and combat-ready legs. A dark sash at her waist held not just one—but two katanas, the second hinting at mastery beyond ordinary swordplay.
She was beautiful. No—she was breathtaking.
Her black hair was tied into a high ponytail that whipped gently behind her. Pale, flawless skin gleamed in the dim light of the forest. She stood tall at about 5'10", her posture poised with grace and power. Her eyes were the same deep black as her blades' sheath, but her katana's exposed steel shimmered with a chilling white glint.
Then the relic in front of Kazui opened again.
"You have successfully rolled the Samurai Maiden: Saya
Rarity: Rare."
Kazui blinked. The words blurred as something stirred in him.
Even with death looming all around—fiends snarling, eyes glowing from the darkness—he couldn't help the reaction his body had.
His pants felt… tight.
A rise.
A twitch.
His heart raced, but not from fear.
Just one look at her—those mature curves, that exposed chest, the way she carried herself—and his perverted mind had already gone places.
He didn't even need to imagine anything.
She was enough.
Saya turned her head toward him, her voice like velvet, soft and controlled.
"I'll take care of them, Master."
Her tone carried affection, but also confidence—unshaken and lethal.
The air around them changed, thickened.
Kazui barely managed to nod, breath caught between awe and arousal.
The monsters didn't know it yet—
But the predator had just stepped onto the battlefield.
The forest pulsed with tension.
Kazui lay pinned beneath the weight of death itself, surrounded by a ring of rotting flesh and hollow, snarling mouths. The Dead Fiends were close—too close. Their milky white eyes reflected only hunger, and their grotesque limbs twitched with anticipation.
But they had made one mistake.
They ignored the woman behind them.
A gust of unnatural wind swept through the clearing. The golden light from the relic had barely faded before Saya moved. She didn't run. She didn't scream. She walked—slow, deliberate steps on the dead leaves. Her presence was silent, but sharp. Like a blade drawn against the soul.
One of the fiends twisted its mangled neck, its spinal bones audibly creaking. It turned to her—eyes empty, mouth leaking drool.
Saya didn't blink. Her right hand rose to the hilt of her katana.
A moment later, the blade was unsheathed.
The motion was so clean, so fast, that Kazui didn't even register it—until the fiend's head tilted unnaturally sideways. Then—thunk—it slid off its neck with a wet squelch, black blood spurting from the stump in grotesque arcs.
The body collapsed.
9 remaining.
The others turned instantly, snarling, gurgling, their hunger shifting to this new, elegant threat.
"Stay still, Master," she murmured, just loud enough for Kazui to hear, voice calm and deadly.
The Dead Fiends charged.
The first leapt from her left. Saya shifted her stance, twisted slightly, and stepped past it. Her katana followed with a clean diagonal slice, severing the creature from hip to shoulder. The two halves of its body spun apart midair, intestines unraveling like ropes, splattering the mossy ground in purple-black gore.
The next came from behind—claws aimed at her spine.
She didn't turn.
Instead, she dropped low in a sweeping crouch and spun, her katana arcing in a graceful half-circle. It met the fiend's knees—and removed them. The monster screamed as it dropped to the forest floor, its stumps twitching, until Saya pivoted and drove her blade down, impaling its skull clean through.
7 remaining.
Kazui could only stare, stunned. He'd played games with sword-maidens and samurai skins—but this... this was another level. There was elegance, yes—but also ruthlessness in every move Saya made.
The forest echoed with the wails of the dead.
Three fiends came at once now—two flanking her sides, one from the front, jaws open wide, revealing broken yellow fangs. They coordinated like feral wolves. One aimed for her throat, the other at her thigh, the third straight for her face.
Saya exhaled—and her blade became a blur.
The one in front? It lost its face.
Not just sliced—erased. Her katana split it down the middle, a vertical cut that ran from skull to crotch. Blood exploded outward, drenching her kimono. The two side fiends managed to get closer—but Saya ducked, twisted, and used her scabbard in her left hand to bash one in the jaw.
The crunch was like a tree branch snapping.
Then she pivoted, used her katana in reverse grip, and stabbed backward—driving the blade through the fiend behind her, straight through its chest, and out the other side. It convulsed, spraying blood from its mouth.
The third tried to claw her, but she gripped her blade, yanked it free, and decapitated it in a single swift motion. Its head rolled past Kazui's boots, expression frozen in hungry agony.
4 remaining.
They hesitated now.
Even in their animalistic madness, the remaining fiends sensed something wrong. This wasn't a weak human. This wasn't prey. This was the predator. And she had barely broken a sweat.
Blood stained her kimono. Her long ponytail was wet with dark ichor. Yet her expression remained composed. Calm. Beautiful.
Kazui couldn't help it.
His heart beat faster again.
And lower down… something else twitched.
But he snapped out of it as the remaining four fiends let out a synchronized screech and charged together, abandoning all strategy. Claws slashing, mouths gaping, all aiming to overwhelm her with brute force.
Saya closed her eyes.
Then moved.
She stepped into the middle of the charge—into the heart of death. One fiend raked her sleeve, shredding the fabric—but not flesh. Another tried to bite her throat—she ducked, spun, and the katana carved a clean circle around her body.
It was like a cyclone of steel.
One fiend was sliced across the abdomen—its guts spilled out like wet snakes. Another lost both arms in a spray of black blood before Saya kicked it back, sending it crashing into a tree with a sickening crack.
The third? She disarmed it—literally.
Both arms gone, it flailed helplessly before Saya drove her sword into its mouth, blade erupting out the back of its skull.
Only one remained.
The last fiend trembled, hunched over, drooling, its body twitching as if unsure whether to run or die trying.
Saya slowly walked toward it.
Each step echoed through the clearing.
Kazui swallowed hard. Even he was intimidated now. The way she moved, covered in gore, that beautiful face stained with death, eyes cold like moonlight—she was like a wrathful ghost in a samurai's body.
The fiend screamed.
It leapt high into the air, claws aimed down at her skull. A final desperate strike.
Saya raised her katana upward—
And met it mid-leap.
Steel pierced flesh. The fiend landed on her blade like a fish on a skewer. Saya didn't flinch as its full weight crashed down, impaled clean through the chest. The monster twitched, gagged, then fell limp.
She slid the corpse off with a flick, blood spraying the ground in wide arcs.
Zero remaining.
Silence.
Not even the wind moved now.
Saya exhaled softly, returning the blood-soaked blade to its sheath with a clean, fluid motion. The click of the katana locking in place echoed like thunder.
Kazui still lay on the forest floor, breathing heavily.
She turned to him, her face slightly flushed but serene.
"Are you hurt, Master?" she asked, voice soft again—almost warm.
He blinked, his mouth slightly open.
"No," he said after a pause. "Just... stunned."
Saya offered a hand. He hesitated only a second before taking it. Her grip was firm—strong, yet gentle.
As she pulled him up, Kazui couldn't help but glance at her cleavage again, the way her kimono clung to her curves even stained in blood, how the fabric had torn around her thigh, revealing creamy skin beneath.
She was death.
She was desire.
And she was his.
The relic on his wrist pulsed faintly again.
"Battle Complete. Souls Earned: 20."
Kazui's heart thudded.
If this was just the beginning—
Then the Tower was going to be far more insane than he ever imagined.
And he was ready.