If Ren had been a real main character—one of those overpowered time-traveling MCs from the Chinese web novels he devoured in his past life—he would have proudly charged the toll booth.
He could almost picture it:
Striding forward with a casual flick of his sword, effortlessly cutting down the Prosperous Guild goons, mocking them with a smirk, saying something dramatic like, ‘You are but ants before the heights of Mount Tai.’
Ren grinned inwardly at the thought.
He loved those cocky MCs.
But him?
In this lifetime?
He still had the memories of the world’s leading alchemist—sure.
But as a cleric?
He was about as threatening as a wet noodle.
And there was no technically real reason to start a fight with Prosperous Guild right now.
Besides, the guild had no idea it was him who had stirred up the riot at the Goblin battle.
Simms wasn’t with them now.
None of the original Wolf Bane Hunters were.
During the Goblin Field battle, they’d scattered like smart cowards and quietly turned off their titles. No flashy guild tags, no bold “Wolf Bane Hunter” flair floating above their heads—just a bunch of “randoms” doing their best to disappear into the crowd.
They knew the guilds would be furious after what happened. Someone had to take the blame for the missed opportunity, the barrage of spells, and the embarrassing amount of stolen gear that had mysteriously vanished during the mayhem.
And it wasn’t going to be them.
In Towerbound, you could toggle your title on or off depending on the moment. Sometimes you wanted the spotlight—like when you were trying to sell something big at auction or look impressive for a recruiter. Other times, especially after you’d made some very powerful people look very stupid, you wanted to be completely ignored.
The Wolf Bane Hunters had gone full rat mode.
No titles.
No tags.
No trail.
Just the way they liked it.
Ren let out a heavy sigh and glanced at his team.
After everything they’d done to avoid provoking the big guilds during the Goblin Fights—all the careful planning, the title-hiding, the sneaking around like rats—he wasn’t about to blow it all now just because his pride wanted a rematch and his vengeance was itching for blood.
He exhaled, forcing the words out.
“Look,” he said reluctantly, “I don’t think we should start a fight over one copper.”
Even if, deep down, part of him really wanted to.
The team didn’t like it.
You could see it in their faces.
They were flying high after their Wolfbane titles and the first successful Alpha clear.
Their pride was stinging hard.
The toll booth guards—the Prosperous Guild flunkies—laughed their asses off.
“So this is the big ‘Alpha Slayers’?” one of them jeered.
“Bunch of cowards! Looks like you don’t have the guts to take on someone truly powerful—like Prosperous Guild.”
Ren kept a straight face.
“Yep. That’s right,” he said flatly.
And without another word, he handed over a copper coin.
The others in his group grumbled, but followed suit.
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It stung.
God, it stung.
Sure, one copper wasn’t much.
Not compared to what they had earned.
But everyone knew it wasn’t about the money.
It was about pride.
Still, Ren knew something most of them didn’t:
Pride doesn’t feed the family.
Pride gets you killed.
Especially if you grew up in the slums like he had.
There, if you let pride rule you, you didn’t last long.
Gangs ruled everything.
Fights didn’t end with respawns—they ended with you bleeding out in some alley.
Prosperous Guild was just another gang, as far as Ren was concerned.
And right now?
They were the biggest gang in town.
They walked into town, quiet now, the air around them heavy and sober.
The adrenaline from the field had worn off, replaced by that dull, creeping ache that settled in when your pride took a hit and you couldn’t do anything about it.
Their boots scuffed against the cobblestones. No one spoke. Even Mira, who usually had a sarcastic remark locked and loaded, kept her mouth shut. Halt walked a little ahead, jaw tight, scanning everything like the act of staying sharp would keep him from thinking about the embarrassment.
It was hard to swallow their pride.
Harder still when they passed guild players lounging around the auction square, laughing and chatting like they hadn’t just spent the afternoon steamrolling solo players and charging tolls for sport.
Ren kept his eyes forward. His fingers curled slightly around his staff.
He knew the group wanted to fight. He wanted to fight. But fighting meant losing everything they’d worked for.
So they walked. Silent. Frustrated. Tense.
Ren kept his voice low as they moved through the worn streets of Greenwild Cross.
“Look, I know it sucked the way we had to pay that toll,” he said. “But if you look around—everyone’s feeling the same way.”
The group glanced around.
Sure enough, the atmosphere was tense, heavy with frustration and quiet resentment.
Dozens of players trudged through the cobbled streets, their faces sour, shoulders hunched, and moods clearly ruined. Some were still in partial gear, others had the telltale “respawn shuffle”—walking stiffly, moving just a little slower, like they could still feel the sting of their last death.
A few were complaining loudly to the town guards, voices raised in heated protest.
“That’s not even a legal toll!” one shouted.
“I had tagged that mob! He stole the drop!” another snapped.
But the guards?
They didn’t care.
They just stood there like oversized mannequins, arms crossed, expressions bored beyond belief. One of them yawned. Another picked at his fingernail like he wasn’t three feet from a screaming argument.
It wasn’t their problem.
Not the guild drama.
Not the loot disputes.
Not the mess the players made of each other.
And everyone walking those streets—Ren’s group included—knew it.
It was the kind of mood that sat in your gut. Not quite rage. Not quite defeat. Just that quiet, simmering unfairness that told you the system was rigged, and you’d better figure out how to play around it or get crushed.
Mira scowled, still furious.
Torren’s fists were clenched tight enough that his knuckles had gone white.
The only players walking around Greenwild Cross who didn’t look completely miserable?
Guild players.
Especially members of Prosperous Guild.
They strutted through the streets like kings, laughing loudly, clapping each other on the backs, spending coins for food and supplies without a second thought.
Ren watched them with narrowed eyes.
It was obvious what had happened.
Prosperous Guild had made deals—quiet, under-the-table deals—with the other big guilds.
The smaller guilds that didn’t want to get their hands dirty had stepped back from manning the illegal “toll booths” at the town’s entrances.
But they still didn’t have to pay any tolls themselves.
Technically, they hadn’t broken any rules, or became bullies.
They just benefited from letting Prosperous Guild do the dirty work.
Meanwhile, every solo player, every newbie group, every unaffiliated scrapper had been forced to cough up copper just to walk back into town.
Ren ground his teeth, keeping the anger hidden behind his easygoing smile.
‘Figures,’ he thought bitterly.
‘Even in a brand new world, the assholes find a way to rig the game.’
But he shook it off.
He hadn’t survived the slums—and he wasn’t going to survive Towerbound—by getting mad over things he couldn’t immediately fix.
He had a bigger plan.
And it was already in motion.
Ren smiled lightly and said, “Cheer up, guys. We’ve successfully cleared the mission.”
“We have?” Mira said, blinking.
“We have,” Ren said, grinning.
That perked the group up a little.
Even Torren cracked a reluctant half-smile.
“Alright,” Ren said, adjusting the strap of his starter cleric’s staff. “I’m gonna go turn it in. Meet you all back at the inn afterward.”
They nodded, some already peeling off toward the town’s ramshackle tavern.
Ren made his way through the slightly crooked streets to the widow’s little house on the edge of town.
The same creaky door.
The same sad little garden of dying flowers.
Widow Shelly was waiting for him, her hands folded neatly in her lap.
When Ren turned in the final quest item to Widow Shelly, the usual scripted dialogue began—her thanking him for helping an old woman, the faint mistiness in her eyes as she clutched the bundled herbs to her chest.
She thanked him helping saving the child. And gave him the rewards.
The rest of the Scrap Rats wouldn’t get anything besides a minor healing potion and a pat on the back.
But Ren?
The system chimed softly in his ear with a very different message.
[System Notification]
Hidden Quest Chain Completed!
Reward: +1 Alchemical Insight (Passive)
Effect: +5% success chance when crafting potions.
Ren felt his heart skip.
‘There it is,’ he thought, a grin tugging at his lips.
‘The first step.’
A 5% bonus to potion crafting didn’t sound like much.
But it was huge.
In Towerbound, crafting success wasn’t guaranteed—even basic potions could fail. Most alchemists spent fortunes just trying to hit higher consistency rates.
And for high-level potions later?
Every single percent counted.
With this passive now active, Ren knew his future potion production would be faster, cheaper, and more reliable than anyone else’s. Even more than in first life.
It was the kind of hidden edge that could make a fortune over time.
He bowed politely to Widow Shelly, still hiding his excitement, and then casually turned away.
Time to meet the team back at the inn.
Time to move on to the next step.
