SSS Unknown: Dark Knight's Legacy

"Alright, first I need to determine my attack strategy," Unknown muttered, narrowing his eyes as he gazed at the tower.

It loomed high into the sky, an imposing structure of ancient stone. The sheer height was enough to make his stomach churn, and the countless small floors gave it an air of mystery—and danger.

He focused his senses, feeling the "flow" of magic in the air. The presence of monsters was undeniable. There were dozens, maybe hundreds, scattered throughout the tower.

"At a glance, it seems like the monsters can't break out," he noted, relief mingling with curiosity. "But my arrows are running low, which makes attacking them directly... problematic."

Before making any reckless moves, Unknown decided to test the tower's defenses. He nocked an arrow onto his bowstring, aimed carefully at one of the small, shadowy windows, and let it fly. 

The arrow whistled through the air with precision—only to bounce harmlessly off the tower's wall. A ripple of magic shimmered where the arrow struck, revealing an invisible barrier protecting the structure.

"Good thing it didn't rebound straight at me this time," he muttered, recalling past experiments with magical barriers. "Actually... if it had rebounded, that might've been better. At least I'd have learned something useful."

He sighed, crouching down to rummage through his makeshift bag. The bag itself was a testament to his resourcefulness, crafted from processed rat hide and reinforced with spider silk. Inside, he meticulously sorted through his inventory:

Spider silk: Strong but limited. Could be useful for traps or reinforcing items.

Slime fluid: Versatile, though primarily for creating flammable surfaces or binding enemies.

Herbs: Useful for minor healing and replenishing stamina.

Spare food and water: Essential for prolonged fights but wouldn't help with his immediate problem.

Arrows and spearheads: Running low; not ideal for prolonged combat.

Rope and minerals: Handy for crafting, but not for offense.

He frowned. None of these would give him the edge he needed to conquer a tower brimming with monsters.

"Could I destroy the tower's foundation and bring the whole thing down at once?" he mused aloud, glancing at the structure.

The idea was tempting, but he quickly dismissed it. "The problem is... I don't have any magic capable of that."

His mana reserves had grown considerably since his encounter with the Death Knight, but his repertoire of spells remained woefully inadequate. 

The only offensive magic he could cast reliably was the basic fire-starting spell, Fire Spark. It was useful for igniting traps or creating distractions, but utterly insufficient for large-scale destruction.

"To use more advanced magic, I'd need to learn it first… and I'd need time for that," he muttered, frustration seeping into his voice. Time he didn't have.

He clenched his fists, feeling the familiar sting of limitations. His progress had been painfully slow, and the growing weight of survival pressed down on him like the air in this oppressive dungeon.

Adding to his frustration was the fact that he was running low on Skill Points. Sure, the temptation to directly ask the system to unlock new abilities was there—a shortcut to power—but he knew better than to give in so easily.

He'd learned the hard way that his body wasn't naturally compatible with most offensive magic.

"Dumping points into the wrong skill would just backfire," he mused, sighing. 

His compatibility issues had already made his journey far harder than it needed to be. Unlike others who might naturally gain impressive offensive spells by level 10, he had barely scraped by, relying on his wits and the system's passive buffs. 

The simple Fire Spark spell had been his only lifeline during critical moments. But in a place like this, where sheer destructive power might be necessary, he felt woefully unprepared.

Even so, Unknown knew that recklessly gambling his few remaining points was not an option.

He paused, glancing at the tower again. The structure loomed as if mocking his hesitation.

"Think smarter, not harder," he reminded himself.

He looked back into his bag, thinking carefully. If his body couldn't handle high-level attack magic, then perhaps he could focus on creating synergy between his existing abilities and his environment. 

The spider silk, slime fluid, and minerals might not be inherently destructive, but they could be turned into makeshift traps.

Besides, his recent battle with the shadow wolves had honed his melee instincts, and his combat movements were sharper than ever.

The Dark Blade had proven itself to be a weapon capable of devastating damage—if he could get close enough.

"And that's the plan," he decided. "Work with what I have. No shortcuts."

He glanced at his Skill Points one last time. They sat there, glowing faintly in his vision, tempting him.

Five points. Just enough to unlock something potentially game-changing.

"No," he muttered, shaking his head. "Not now. Not yet. I'll save them for when I really need them."

The decision solidified in his mind. If this dungeon had taught him one thing, it was patience. And patience, combined with strategy, and risk-taking had kept him alive this long.

Gathering his gear, he turned toward the tower, his jaw set with a false sense of determination.

"Let's see what you've got, then," he muttered, stepping forward.

Unknown stood before the massive, pitch-black door of the tower, his gaze fixed and unyielding despite the trembling in his body. Every instinct screamed at him:

"Once you go in, there's no way out. Think carefully."

The warning echoed in his mind, sharp and insistent. The sheer presence of the door—its ominous aura, its towering height, the weight of the unknown it concealed—was enough to paralyze him.

It wasn't wrong to hesitate. The chances of stepping inside and surviving were slim, and the idea of conquering whatever horrors lay within seemed laughable. But he had no other choice.

This was his only path forward.

He swallowed hard, the sound audible in the suffocating silence. 

He tried to steady his breathing, to bury the gnawing fear deep within himself, but it refused to be subdued. Cold sweat drenched his tattered shirt, his hands trembled uncontrollably, and his chest heaved with labored breaths as his heart pounded erratically.

"What's there to be afraid of?" he muttered, forcing a weak, crooked smile.

His voice was shaky, the words barely convincing even to himself. Yet he knew that if he waited a moment longer, his resolve would crumble entirely.

Summoning what little courage he had left, Unknown placed his hands against the ancient door. With a grunt, he pushed.

The door resisted at first, groaning under the strain, before it finally began to creak open. The sound echoed ominously, each movement sending shivers down his spine.

And then, it came.

A wave of malevolent energy surged outward the moment the door opened. It swept over him, cold and oppressive, brushing against his face like a phantom's touch.

The energy coiled around him, slithering down his spine, wrapping around his limbs, and tightening its grip with every passing second.

The air felt alive, suffocating and heavy, as if testing his resolve. His legs threatened to give out, every fiber of his being urging him to flee.

But there was no turning back now.

"Let's go!" he shouted, forcing the words out through clenched teeth.

With a deep breath, he clenched his fists, shut his eyes, and threw himself forward, crossing the threshold.

The moment he stepped inside, the world shifted. It felt as though the darkness itself had swallowed him whole. The oppressive aura closed in, and the very air seemed to pulse with ancient malice.

When he opened his eyes, he was met with an otherworldly sight.

A dense, shimmering mist filled the space, laced with faint streaks of violet and black. The walls seemed alive, pulsing faintly, their surfaces shifting in a grotesque rhythm.

Distant growls echoed through the darkness, low and menacing, each sound sending a chill through his already trembling body.

"I'm in," he whispered to himself, though the words barely broke the silence.

Behind him, the heavy door groaned once more. It slammed shut with a thunderous finality, the sound reverberating through the tower.

He was sealed inside. Alone.

"It's not moving..." Unknown thought, his voice low and cautious as his gaze fixed on the ominous armored figure before him. He had braced himself for it to spring to life, charging at him and cutting him down in a flurry of brutal strikes. Yet, to his surprise, it remained utterly still.

It was strange—too strange.

"Is it a trap?" Doubt crept into his mind like a whisper, persistent and unnerving. The idea gnawed at him, his thoughts racing as he tried to predict what might happen next.

The first possibility was obvious. If it is a trap, then the moment I approach that door, it'll activate and attack me. But as he mulled over the scenario, a flaw in the theory became apparent.

"Why hasn't it attacked already?" he muttered under his breath. If its purpose was to surprise him, wouldn't it have struck the moment he opened the door?

That led him to a second possibility. "This thing might not be a trap."

But if that were true, then what was its purpose? Why was it just standing there, motionless? To understand, he needed to scrutinize it further.

Placing a hand on his chin, Unknown studied the figure from a safe distance. The armor, at first glance, looked formidable and heavy, as though designed for a warrior of immense strength.

But a closer inspection revealed otherwise. The segments were thin, lightweight even, and intricately joined with an almost unnatural precision.

Its helmet was tightly sealed, concealing whatever lay within. Adding to its eerie presence was a black cloak draped around its frame, the fabric billowing faintly as if moved by a phantom wind. The overall aura was suffocatingly menacing, radiating a silent but palpable threat.

But what truly unsettled him wasn't its appearance—it was the presence emanating from the armor.

Despite being fully encased, he could sense something alive—or at least alive in some unnatural way. It reminded him of a nuclear core, its energy humming with a quiet but terrifying intensity. The sensation chilled him to the bone.

"This has to be the boss of this floor," he concluded, his voice just above a whisper. But the mystery remained: why hadn't it attacked yet?

Had he not triggered the conditions for it to engage him? Or was there some other rule to this place that he simply didn't understand yet?

For now, the figure wasn't moving, and Unknown wasn't eager to push his luck.

"Alright, let's keep moving." He cast a quick glance behind him, noting that the door he'd entered through had already shut. There was no point trying to open it again; he knew instinctively it wouldn't budge.

His only option was to press forward.

Deliberately avoiding the armored figure, Unknown edged toward the next door. His muscles were tense, every step slow and deliberate, his senses hyper-focused on the unmoving entity. Reaching the door, he pushed it open, only to freeze at the sight that greeted him.

"What the hell is this?" The words slipped out, unbidden, as cold sweat trickled down his cheek.

What greeted Unknown's eyes was a nightmare so grotesque it made his skin crawl.

A twisted spiral staircase stretched upward, resembling a massive, distorted spine that coiled from the floor where he stood all the way to the top of the tower. 

But what surrounded it was far worse: human skeletons, hung by nooses, dangled from every wall of the tower. Their bones clattered together softly, swaying in an unseen breeze. Their hollow mouths gaped open as if frozen mid-scream, silently lamenting their tragic fates.

The most chilling detail? Each skeleton had its hands clasped tightly together, as though in desperate prayer.

A cold knot of dread formed in his stomach as he stared up at the macabre scene. Something was deeply, deeply wrong.

"Why is the tower designed like this?" he whispered to himself. "What are these things? Why are they praying? And... how can there be so many of them?"

As the questions raced through his mind, he felt the suffocating weight of the place bearing down on him. The air seemed heavier, each breath harder to take. But before he could think further, a terrifying realization struck him.

"They're... looking at me."

His body tensed as he froze in place. The skeletons—those ghastly, unmoving figures—had turned their faces toward him. Although they lacked eyes, he could feel an invisible, piercing gaze burrowing into his very soul.

The air grew colder. The sound of creaking bones echoed through the chamber as the skeletons abandoned their prayerful poses. One by one, they raised their hands, their bony fingers twisting unnaturally.

Unknown's breath caught in his throat. 'What are they doing?'

And then he saw it. Their fingers bent backward grotesquely, merging and elongating into grotesque shapes that resembled crude bows.

"What the hell!?"

Before he could process what was happening, the skeletons released their attack.

A glowing arrow—ethereal and translucent—hurtled toward him with blinding speed. Unknown's instincts kicked in. Eyes wide, he swung his sword with all his strength, deflecting the projectile in a flash of sparks.

The force of the impact sent vibrations up his arms, rattling his grip.

Panting heavily, he staggered back, his mind racing.

"Did they just shoot at me? But... they don't even have arrows!"

He glanced up again. The skeletons had no quivers, and no physical arrows to draw. Yet somehow, they conjured the glowing projectiles from the void itself.

This was no ordinary trap. Whatever this was, it was alive—malevolent, relentless, and ready to kill.