The Realm of Mitsal contains worlds whose Fate is nearly exhausted. Their chances of stabilizing again are very small. The souls born there generally possess merit near zero, or are souls capable of surviving only one more purification cycle before risking erasure.
The consequences were clear.
Worlds in Mitsal could no longer rely on the "initial capital" of vast merit brought in by superior souls. They could only absorb Fate from the merit actually generated during the course of a lifetime.
Because their Fate was limited, these worlds tended to conserve its usage. Manifestations of mystic or supernatural powers were almost non-existent. Systems of magic, extraordinary blessings, or individuals with absolute power rarely appeared because such things consumed vast amounts of Fate.
In their place, technology and science flourished. Sentient beings in the Mitsal worlds studied the laws of nature through observation and logic. Civilizations were built upon shared social structures, laws, and morals, rather than the dominance of individual power.
Of course, inequality remained. There would always be individuals or groups more powerful than others. But without unrivaled, absolute power, that authority had limits. If oppression became too extreme, there was always the possibility of resistance.
In such a structure, the opportunity to do good was relatively more even. No single individual could absolutely shut out others' opportunities to act. Even though the amount of Fate that could be collected per cycle remained small, at least the world had a chance to prolong its existence.
The Mitsal's worlds lived on borrowed time.
They survived as long as their morals and social cooperation remained stable enough to produce collective merit. But when that structure collapsed—when conflict, distrust, and moral decay surpassed a certain threshold—the remaining Fate was no longer capable of sustaining their existence.
That was when the final countdown began.
When Mujun appeared in the Realm of Mitsal, his presence was felt instantly. He did not hide himself. Amidst the expanse of dim and exhausted worlds, his existence blazed like a sun suddenly rising in a dying system. The amount of merit he carried was not just vast—it felt dense, heavy, tempting. Even worlds that were relatively stable could be enticed, let alone those just one step away from the apocalypse.
Invitations emerged without pause. Calls to be reborn. Offers of privileged births. Smoothed-out destinies. Lifelines filled with ease. Some even offered central positions in their history—kings, prophets, genius scientists, leaders of revolutions. The facilities provided were enough to shake even the coldest soul.
But Mujun did not budge. He had lived too long to be charmed by such promises. Some of the worlds now calling to him were perhaps younger than he was.
Instead of choosing, Mujun broadcasted his will. His plan was projected to every world in the Realm of Mitsal without exception.
He intended to form a connecting dimension. A neutral space that linked all Mitsal worlds into a single competitive system. Within it, worlds could share—and seize—Fate from one another. The world that lost would lose its remaining Fate. The winning world would absorb it.
In the end, only one world would remain.
Worlds could send their inhabitants to compete in that dimension. Not a direct war between worlds, but a selection procession through their representatives. He named that dimension: The Procession Tower.
In return, there was only one condition. The last surviving world must facilitate his marriage to the winner, whom he called the Bride. That world would act as the guardian, legally recognizing the bond, and marry Mujun with a sacred vow spoken consciously.
Once the broadcast ended, all invitations directed toward him were cut off. The Realm of Mitsal suddenly fell silent. It was as if someone had pressed the mute button on the universe.
But the silence did not last long. Reactions began to emerge.
More than seventy percent of the worlds immediately blocked communication with him. They retreated instantly, as if Mujun carried a plague that could accelerate their destruction. There were no negotiations. No follow-up questions.
Mujun had expected this. Hope binds not only souls but worlds. Following his plan meant gambling their existence on one brutal game. If they failed, they would perish far faster than waiting for a natural apocalypse. Meanwhile, if they remained passive, there was always a possibility—no matter how small—that another miracle would appear to save them from Mitsal.
However, the remaining thirty percent did not immediately close themselves off. They calculated.
If they won—even by absorbing Fate from fewer than a hundred worlds—it would be enough to escape the Realm of Mitsal. Even more so if the competition expanded and they managed to absorb from millions, or even billions of involved worlds. Not just escaping Mitsal; they could surge into becoming a mid-tier world. From there, they would begin to attract souls with high merit. Their cycles would improve. The chance of becoming a powerful world would no longer be a distant dream.
Most of the worlds considering this offer were those already in decline. The morals of the sentient beings within them had degraded. Social inequality widened uncontrollably. The desire to do good had almost been extinguished. They no longer possessed enough Fate to fix their situation through ordinary means.
For them, stagnation was equivalent to waiting for death.
Yet still, no one wanted to be the first to step forward. They waited. Waiting for another world to take the risk first. Waiting to see if the Procession Tower would truly manifest.
And amidst that silence full of calculation, Mujun only observed.
But Mujun did not observe for long. He merely gave a soft snort at the worlds that chose to distance themselves. Without waiting for anyone's approval, he began to move.
Using his own merit, Mujun formed a separate dimension—a space that stood outside the laws of the Realm of Mitsal. The cost was immense. The merit he released evaporated like fuel burned without pause.
But he didn't mind. Separating the laws of the Procession Tower from Mitsal meant that no other entity had jurisdiction within it except himself. He did not want a world to one day try to break the agreement by exploiting a loophole in Mitsal's laws to attack him.
The dimension stood alone. Independent. Closed.
Once the basic framework was formed, he began to arrange the laws and facilities within it. This stage was actually easier. Mujun had spent far too long observing various types of worlds. From weak worlds waiting for the end to powerful worlds with beings capable of destroying planets with a mere thought.
He understood patterns. He understood efficiency. Because of that, the merit he used in this stage was not as large as it should have been.
The next stage was far more difficult.
He had to create connection points between the Procession Tower and the worlds willing to join. These points he manifested in the form of cities he called The City of Beginnings.
Each city was a gate. Within them, he created helper creatures—soulless entities. They possessed no true consciousness. Only a rigid series of commands, like artificial intelligence. He intentionally did not give them souls to conserve merit.
Worlds that agreed to join could connect to one of the Cities of Beginnings and form their own city design according to their world's character.
Then, as the primary mechanism for seizing Fate, Mujun created dimensional spaces within those cities.
Dungeons.