Towerbound Book 3: Super Ren (A GameLit Novel | OP MC + Dystopian + Time Travel) (Towerbound (LITRPG + REGRESSOR + OPMC))

by Samson Chui

This was no longer a standoff. This was going to be known—‌officially and forever—‌as the Battle for the Dungeon of the Lore. 5535756320 5535856768 5535856810 As the fight dragged on, raid leaders from different guilds across the battlefield started getting slammed with messages. STOP THE FIGHT. RIGHT FUCKING NOW. DO NOT LOSE THAT GEAR. BACK OFF. PULL OUT. NOW. The orders came in hard from up top—‌guildmasters watching from map feeds, war rooms, and distant HQs. No one wanted to lose their elite gear in a messy pissing contest over dungeon positioning. The raid captains were great at fighting. Strategy? Long-term planning? Less so. Kael from Crimson Pact was screaming at his frontline. “What the fuck are you doing?” he snapped over a voice call. “Why are you brawling over a lore dungeon entrance? Do you seriously think our +10% buff makes us invincible? It doesn’t.” One of his reps tried to justify it. “We had numbers—” Kael cut him off. “How many have died already? Check your logs. How many?” Silence. Then a quiet,

I like.” They didn’t want to admit it, but even with the 10% bonus from being in a recognized guild, the casualties were still stacking up. “Then go get their gear back. All of it. If even one piece of elite or set gear gets looted, you’re benched. I swear.” That was the real fear—‌gear loss. Class-specific items. Multi-piece bonuses. Bonus effects that took weeks to grind. If someone looted it before you made the ghost run back? Game over. Across the battlefield, guild teams began pulling back. Some quickly, others with bitter looks. Shields lowered. Mages dropped out of combat stance. Order returned—‌but tension still hung in the air. Meanwhile, the scavengers got busy. Rogues. Tricksters. Shadow Blades. They swept across the fallen, grabbing whatever hadn’t been claimed. Light armor. Rings. Trinkets. One even snagged an entire mana cannon and

Choi screamed at the air, at nobody in particular. Just because he was thinking the answers didn’t make it any less of a pain in the ass. And every time he reset it, he had to re-send invites. And wait for them. “This is so tedious,” he said out loud. The other Scrap Rats laughed at him. “Seriously—‌accept the damn invites already!” He sped through the fields. Guild name—‌correct. Yes. Mira—‌guild leader. Yes. Whatever. Invites—‌done. He double-checked and counted. Yes. There were twenty. Confirm choices? “Yes,” he said aloud, with pride. Mentally clicking yes at the same time. Then he looked up at the guild leaderboard to admire their spot. And froze. There it was.

No way. He spun around and looked at the rest of the team. Everyone had their new official guild tag floating above their heads now—‌red text, glowing bright, system-locked: Crap Rats “No,” Choi whispered. “No, no, no—‌no.” But the System did not care. The typo had been made. The title was locked. They were now the second-ranked guild in the world. And their name…‌was Crap Rats.

Ren glanced up, still smug. “What are you doing here, Crap Rat?” Choi didn’t smile. “Oh, you think this is funny, huh?” “I know it’s funny.” “Well, guess what,” Choi said, stepping fully into the room. “Mira just assigned me and Marlow as your official trainers for Operation Super Ren.” Ren’s face fell. “Aw, crap.” Marlow poked his head in behind Choi, already cracking his knuckles. “Aw, Crap Rats is right.”

5535856810 It turned out Marlow and Choi had been waiting for this exact moment. While Ren was off wiping down his helmet and wondering why the power was out, they were putting the final touches on the next test. This one, according to them, was to “further refine Ren’s response to stress, fear, and unexpected environmental variables.” Which, in plain language, meant they were going to scare the absolute hell out of him. They called it “Haunted Hall version 2,” but what it really boiled down to was this: Ren had to escape the murder hospital. Lights off. Power out. No map. No allies.

He just kept moving cautiously. A scream rang out from the left. A whisper from the ceiling. The hallway tilted. Or maybe his balance did? Every door he passed was either locked or slightly ajar, hiding nothing or worse than nothing. He knew this layout. He knew this place. So why did it feel so wrong? Footsteps behind him again. He subtly increased his pace. “Okay, okay, okay, screw this.”

The whole thing was underwater. No air pockets. No dry routes. Just open swim from start to finish. Towerbound let you move like real life—‌which meant it let you drown like real life. Fast. And unlike classic games that pretended water physics didn’t exist, Towerbound took them personally. Swing a sword? Good luck with that drag. Shoot an arrow? It drops after three feet. Even Whisperstrings, those bow-happy thieves with full agility builds, got embarrassed here. Only water mages and ice specialists seemed to enjoy themselves. Brawlers too—‌bare-chested lunatics with no armor to slow them down. Tanks? Tanks were in hell. Even with weight reduction enchantments, full plate turned you into a drowning tutorial. And in Veilwater, drowning wasn’t

Silk hovered nearby, watching Ren like a hawk, his floating cameras circling for every angle. He wasn’t just here to “document history” like he’d claimed—‌he was hoping Ren would slip up. A panic moment, a missed heal, anything juicy enough to cut into a highlight reel for the Scrap Rats’ MetaTube channel. Mira had already told him to stop. They were catching enough heat from Prosperous over the flood of unofficial Crap Rat merchandise clogging the markets. But Silk couldn’t help himself. This was entertainment, and even if it caused trouble, it was good trouble. Besides, he’d been spending so much time buried in Bank of Coin schemes lately that joining the group for a raid felt like a vacation. A fun one.

Davon handed out soup from a dented cauldron, dipping with the same chipped ladle until his wrist ached. He never rushed anyone, even when the line stretched halfway down the row. People liked that about him. The kids especially—‌they knew if they lingered, he might slip

5535756320 5535856768 5535856810 Water came from an industrial siphon half a klick out, the hose snaking through alleyways and over rusted fencing like some lazy steel serpent. The sand filtration rig had been bartered off a drunk engineer in exchange for a patch kit and two cases of Krud—‌one for now, one for when he sobered up and pretended he didn’t make the deal. The water that came out was still murky, catching the light with a faint brown swirl, but it was drinkable. Which made it premium. People filled bottles like it was treasure,

5535856810 The Patch wasn’t paradise. But it was safer than it had any right to be. People had roofs. Names for the places they slept. Hot food once a day. And a reason to wake up. Kids walked barefoot without slicing open their feet. Teenagers had school. Nobody had died since the project began. It had been brutal work—‌but with all hands on deck, and Simms and Davon promising real Towerbound jobs, housing, and security, the volunteers came fast. Some were from the old shantytowns. Others were new. But everyone wanted in.

Oliver and Eva had both lost their jobs at McWendy’s.

“Hahhh—‌hahh—” The sound broke out of him, sharp and incredulous, before fading into a slow exhale as the absurdity of it all washed over him. “Where the hell did you hear about hot pink gun paint?” “MetaTube sponsored tutorial.” She held up her wristband. “It was called ‘Ten Ways to Express Yourself Through Ballistics!’”

Rocky stopped at the corner ahead, glanced back, and padded to her side as if to remind her there was still a job to do. “Oh,” she said, way too loudly. Ren was frozen. Like a rat. Holding cheddar. “Hi,” Lorena said, way too softly. Ren nodded slowly. “Lorena.” She smiled, too wide, and cursed herself internally. ‘Cool. Cool. Say something normal. Not weird. Not stalkery. Not like that last time.’ “I see you found your cheese.” He didn’t answer right away. Just stared at her, cheese still halfway between the tray and his mouth. “Yeah.” “I remember you liked cheese,” she added, her voice going a little airy. “I remember that you remembered that,” Ren said warily. Rocky, by her feet now like a judgmental cat, blinked slowly between them. Ren said, “Is that a raccoon?” Lorena replied, “This is Rocky. He also lives here.” “What do you mean he lives here?” Ren asked. “I don’t know. Ever since I got here, he’s been here—‌sharing the food, keeping me company. He’s my buddy.” Ren’s eyes widened slightly. ‘Since when was there a raccoon living in the murder hospital?’ he thought. “Rocky here thinks there may be something wrong, so he was leading me somewhere,” Lorena said. “But I think I should go find Simms.” “That’s a good idea,” Ren said. “If there is a problem, I don’t think me, you, and a raccoon could deal with it.” “Oh yeahhhhh, I didn’t even bring my gun,” Lorena said. She’d left that in her small room, and Ren was only armed with his cheese tray. That broke the spell. “Gre...

things. “I am not stalking him,” she said quietly. Rocky, still on her shoulder, made a skeptical noise and stared

Ren stepped up and pressed his palm against it. [System Message] CONGRATULATIONS! You have discovered the Mine of Coinage. You are now registered as its official owner. This mine produces multitudes of units of rare ore daily. Would you like to begin operation? Ren mentally slammed YES. Then again. And again, just to be sure.

‘I mean, I like being number five,’ he thought. ‘I wish I was a little higher. No—‌wait. I don’t.’ That was the thing about Ren’s brain. Or maybe just humans in general. One moment, he was all in on staying low profile. The next? ‘Why am I not famous?’ ‘Humans

Mira messaged: There are rats here. Ren replied instantly: Perfect. No one’s caught on yet. Check if they’re neutered. Mira: How do I check that? Ren: Er…‌either look at their genitals or ask the pet shop owner? Mira: I’m going with asking 5535756900

folio with his back to the door. “I have found something,” Herald said, smoothing down the lapel of his jacket as if that might make his presence more acceptable. “Something quite serious. A corroboration, in fact. Physical proof that Towerbound…‌is not merely entertainment. It is real. Or—‌at the very least—‌it is drawing from a history older than the districts themselves.” Knight did not look up. “No one asked you to look into that, Herald. We shelved that project three votes ago.” “I know,” Herald said, keeping his voice low. “And I did not mean to subvert protocol. But the discovery was…‌accidental. Unavoidable. To disregard it entirely would have been—‌well, it would have been a dereliction of the very purpose of our work.” Knight finally turned, arms crossed. “The purpose of our work is to prevent history from becoming ammunition. We exist to preserve social continuity, not to ignite speculation. That is in the charter. ‘Historia non agitatur sed componitur.’ History must not move the world. It must soothe it.”

Kanuka stepped out of his room quietly. Gina was still napping, and he didn’t want to disturb her. She’d been cranky lately—‌which, for once, was a good thing. Not because he liked a cranky wife, but because it meant the hormones were real. She was pregnant. They’d both been stunned when it happened, thrilled after. She’d stopped chewing the contraceptive gum—‌the kind handed out for free at every Vitalis clinic in District 1. The official slogan was Stay Safe, Have Fun. The unofficial one floating around bars? If she’s chewing

Varkarth Bilewing was having the time of his life. This was his first sanctioned strike. Normally, the elders told him not to bother with the humans. Too stringy to eat. Too loud and runny away. Too…‌beneath notice. They were like a nest of bees—‌annoying if provoked, but not worth the sting unless they started buzzing where they didn’t belong. But this? This was different. He wasn’t just hunting. He was declaring. Dominance.

“Tea here’s not as good as in-game, but I wouldn’t mind.” Reed muttered, “I’m gonna need something stronger than tea. These idiots—” He gestured at the patchies. “They’re screwing up basic lines.” He barked again. “CLEAN. SIMPLE. IT’S NOT THAT HARD.” They headed to the lounge and poured themselves drinks. Reed took a big swig. Silk said, “So, I’ve got pretty big news. I talked to Mira and Ren, and…‌we’re kicking you out of Scrap Rats.” Reed exploded. “WHAT?” He spat a full mouthful of Krud beer across his own chest. Silk kept a deadpan face. “Sorry,” he said. “But, y’know. That’s how things shake out sometimes.” “Fuck you,” Reed growled. “This better be a joke.” He was already spinning, thinking about how he’d been one of the original ten. ‘The badges, the crafting, the logistics, the meetings. And this was how they repaid him?’ “Fuckers.” Silk cracked a grin. “And…‌we’re making you the leader of our new sub-guild.” Reed blinked. “What?” “Yeah,” Silk said. “You’re in charge. Chief of CraftNest. Boss of all the crafters. King of the Recipe Rats.”

Reed, who wasn’t stupid, had made sure there was a nonstop supply of food and drinks on hand, all courtesy of former Scrap Rat bakers and brewmasters. Honestly, those guys might’ve been the MVPs of the entire meeting. One of the ales even had a passive -5% Stress buff baked in. Kept the tempers low and the laughs rolling. By the time the contracts were finalized, the common room had become a chorus of slurred declarations. “I love you, man.” “No, I love you, man.” “No—‌you’re the best tailor in game, don’t let anyone tell you different!” They were wrecked.

Cheezenado surged through the smoke like a rat-shaped missile. He sank his teeth into one caster’s shoulder, dragging him down with a shriek. Ren was right behind, swinging that oversized two-handed sword with wild precision. The blade connected. Clean decapitation. The second mage collapsed in a heap. ‘Hey,’ Ren thought, ‘it actually works as a sword too.’

Ren smiled happily and said, “Here you go, your dragonness.” The female dragon thought, ‘Dragoness. That is a good name for me’. “You’re very polite for a little creature.” “Thank you, your dragoness,” said Ren, still shivering from the dragon fear. NOM NOM NOM. The cookie was delicious. It was probably one of the tastiest things she had eaten. As a dragon, her meals consisted mainly of meat, and cookies were definitely not part of her diet. But, if someone were to compare dragons to humans, it would be like telling humans that snacks weren’t good for them. And the first time they had a snack—‌just like the first time this dragoness had a snack—‌it was a mind-blowing experience. What was even more mind-blowing? The Draconip baked inside. Due to the high levels of Draconip, it started kicking in immediately. The dragoness said with a smile, “Whoa, these cookies are amazing.”

Mira blinked. “I…‌that’s in the First Ring, isn’t it?” “Indeed,” the king said. “One block from the Royal Auction House.” A scribe stepped forward and unrolled the decree. ROYAL DECREE—‌ISSUED BY REGINALD CARPETBALL III AWARD GRANTED TO: THE CRAP RATS GUILD TYPE: Capital Guild Headquarters LOCATION: Plaza of Silver Spires, First Ring of Kaidaros TIER: Level 5—‌Maximum GRANTED BENEFITS: +5% EXP bonus every 8 hours logged out +12 hours Rested Buff duration +15% crafting success for alchemists, smiths, and tailors Capital Prestige Aura—‌Improves reputation gain with all NPCs World Teleport Beacon—‌Teleport from anywhere, no hearthstone fee First Ring Status Access—‌Political voice, Royal Dungeon contracts, black-card auction invites

down. Oliver, the human currently being eaten, had set his pain settings as low as possible—‌though these days, the System didn’t let anyone drop below 40%. His robes shredded instantly, torn apart by claw and fangs. But as his legs disappeared past her teeth, he still managed to throw his head back and yell: “Guild points!” The rest of the Patchies erupted in cheers. “Did you see that? He went down in one bite!” “Oliver’s in! Oliver made it!” “Dibs on next!” Skubara paused mid-chew, eyes narrowing slightly as she mulled the strange taste of spiced human. Not bad. A little dry. But certainly enthusiastic. She swallowed, then tilted her head toward the remaining crowd. “…‌You all want to be eaten?” “Yes!” “Absolutely!” “Take me next, mighty dragoness!” “I’ve marinaded myself!” One kid held up a little sign: Certified Organic.