A Necromancer's Guide to Clearing a Game Like Tower

Chapter 301: Chapter 292 — Learn the Formation II

**Rep four.**

She did exactly what she said she would.

Ronan came into her line to turn her and Alice turned — and then, with his weight fully committed forward and his shoulder behind the shield, she stopped turning and hit him instead.

Ronan went eleven metres across the sprung floor and hit the padding.

It did not injure him. Nobody was going to invent an injury out of a training hall. But he was on his back at the wrong end of the hall with his shield three metres away from him, and the formation had just lost its front.

For two seconds it was a shambles.

Then Finn stepped into the front position, because there had to be one.

Maeve came off her support mark and moved twelve metres to the right, because her old sightline had a wall in it now.

Cillian abandoned his lane entirely and set up on the far side, since his old one now pointed at Ronan.

And James, arriving at the opening they had been building, found no opening at all — and did not run into it anyway.

He pulled up, changed direction, and went wide to the left, which nobody had told him to do.

”He’s left,” Maeve called. ”He’s *left*, work off left—”

It took eleven more seconds, and it was ugly. Finn got shoved twice. Cillian nearly clipped James’s shoulder and had to kill a cast halfway out. Ronan came back into it from the wrong side and had to fight his way to somewhere useful.

But they got there. A worse opening, later than they wanted, in the wrong half of the hall.

James got inside distance.

”Rep.”

Finn was breathing hard and grinning.

”That’s the good one.”

Alice frowned. ”That was visibly worse than the last.”

”That’s the good one,” Finn repeated. ”Anyone can run the plan. Floor 30 is not going to let us run the plan.”

---

They swapped her round after that.

Guild Zero’s targets were the standard ones — four articulated frames on tracked bases, weighted to shove back, programmed to break left or right on contact and keep moving. Team Zero had been drilling against them since before there was a Team Zero.

First run with Alice on their side lasted about nine seconds.

Maeve spotted the target committing its weight. ”Right side — Ronan, turn it, Finn on the—”

Alice crossed twenty metres and put her fist through the frame.

The whole thing came off its base and slid.

Silence.

”...Grand,” said Cillian.

Finn walked over and looked at the wreckage.

”Stop. Everyone stop.” He turned round. ”Alice. There is nothing wrong with that.”

”Then why have you stopped.”

”Because it worked.” He nudged the broken frame with his boot. ”If you do that on Floor 30 and the thing dies, that’s the best possible outcome and I’ll buy you dinner. The problem isn’t you killing something. The problem is you *committing* to killing something.”

Alice waited.

”You crossed twenty metres to do that,” Finn said. ”Which means for about a second and a half you were nowhere, you were in the air, you weren’t holding any side of anything. If that had been Baldwin, and he’d survived it — and he would have — then the four of us are standing in a shape built around Maeve’s call, with a hole where you used to be, and something angry in the middle of us.”

Alice looked at the broken frame for a moment.

”Ah,” she said. ”Yes. That is a real problem.”

”Yeah.”

”I did not consider it because it has never been one.”

”I know,” said Finn. ”That’s why we’re here.”

---

**Reset.**

”Alice, hold left,” Maeve called. ”Left, no verb — pressure it, don’t cross it.”

The target broke and came round, and there was a moment — James saw it, everyone saw it — where its whole flank hung open in front of Alice for about a second.

Alice did not move.

Her hand had come up about four inches. It went back down.

Ronan hit it from the front and forced it across. Finn pressured the far angle so it could not turn back. Cillian sat on his cast with white running over his knuckles until Maeve said ”clear,” and then took the leg out from under it.

James came in on the opening while it was still forming, which was new, and got there just as it existed, which was newer.

”*Finish,*” said Maeve.

Alice crossed the last eight metres in under half a second.

The target did not get another movement. It did not get part of another movement. The whole frame folded in on itself and stopped being anything.

James stood there four feet away with Durendal still in his hand.

She had waited. Nobody had made her wait. There was a contract in the corner of his vision that could have made her wait and it had sat there doing nothing at all, the way it had been doing nothing at all since a field outside Caerleon.

He did not say a word about it.

Finn was already walking to the next target.

”Right — same again, Ronan front, Alice you’ve got right this time, Cillian flip your lane, James start earlier than feels sensible. Go.”

And Alice went and stood on the right without anybody explaining anything to her.

---

The last rep took nineteen seconds and nobody had to say anybody’s name twice.

Maeve called it. Ronan turned it. Finn adjusted before he was asked. Cillian held, and held, and fired when the lane went clear. Alice took the side she was given and stayed on it.

And James saw the opening beginning to exist and was already moving toward it, three steps early, on nothing but the shape of what everyone else was doing.

He got there as it opened.

”That’ll do,” said Finn.

No panel came up. No experience. No skill notification, no rank increase, nothing at all — because sparring in a padded hall against your own undead is not a floor, and the Tower does not hand out anything for effort.

They had spent four hours getting slightly less bad at one specific thing.

That was the whole return.

---

They ate upstairs.

The building went on around them. Somebody was still drilling in the residential wing. Two of the screening staff went past the door with a printout arguing about whether a Bureau registration counted if it had lapsed. Ronan had a folder in front of him he had not opened, thick, with ASSESSMENT — DEFENSIVE ROLES on the front, and Cillian had one exactly like it with combat trials on the tab, and both folders sat there while the two of them ate chips.

”I’ll do it Thursday,” said Ronan.

”You said Thursday last Thursday.”

”I did, yeah.”

Nobody talked about the red.

They had done that. There was nothing new to say about it and saying it again would only have been fear wearing a hat.

Then Finn put his fork down.

”Tomorrow?”

James looked round the table properly before he answered.

Ronan’s arm was fine. Cillian had slept and looked it, and his ceiling was what it was and was not going to get better whether they waited a day or a month. Maeve had eaten. Finn was Finn. Alice was drinking tea she did not need with her wings folded in the doorway of a guild office in Dublin.

Nobody was hurt. Nobody was tired. They had fixed the one thing that was fixable.

Everything else about Floor 30 they were going to have to learn in the room.

”Tomorrow,” said James.

”Right.” Maeve was already writing. ”I’ll set the broadcast up tonight. Standard start, no pre-show, I’m not doing an hour of speculation before we go in.”

---

He told them at home before the schedule went up anywhere.

His mother stopped in the middle of setting the table.

”Tomorrow.”

”Tomorrow morning.”

”And do you know what’s up there?”

”No,” said James.

He did not soften it, because she would have heard the softening.

Nyra was standing at the end of the table with a fork in each hand.

”Is the red thing there?”

”We think it went there. That’s all we’ve got.”

”But you don’t *know*—”

”We don’t know.”

Nyra took that in. Then, ”How long?”

”I can’t tell you that. Some floors are three hours, some floors are eight days.” He said it the way it was. ”But the second we’re out — the second, before the debrief, before anything — I’ll message. That one I can promise.”

Nyra looked at him for a while.

”Half five,” she said, ”was on time.”

”It was.”

”Right,” she said, and set the forks down.

Alice stood at the counter through all of it and nobody asked her for anything, and James’s mother did not turn to her and ask her to bring her son home, because James’s mother had raised a Challenger and knew better than to ask anybody for that.

She just said, ”Sit down, the pair of you, it’s going cold.”

---

He checked the kit late, on his bedroom floor, the way he always did.

Durendal, cleaned and edged.

The coat with the new shoulder in it. Straps, buckles, the belt with the split in it that he kept meaning to replace and never did.

Nothing new. He had thirty-two thousand Tower Credits sitting untouched from Floor 29 and he had not bought a single thing with them, because you cannot buy a counter to something you cannot name.

And the scythe.

He laid it across his knees and put his hand flat on the broken length of it.

Three times now. A prince in the mud, a Heavy Floor Soldier in a dry valley, a captain in front of a door. Three times he had put this thing into that light. Twice it had broken the host entirely, and on Floor 29 it had forced the red to abandon the body and run. It had never failed to break the hold.

And tomorrow, for the first time, they were walking into a floor already knowing the red had gone in ahead of them.

`[FLOOR 30 AVAILABLE]`

The prompt sat in the corner of his vision, exactly where it had sat for two days.

James did not open it.

He had already decided.