Escaped Plot Bunny! (Patreon)

We've had a plot bunny escape! Check out the first chapter and please leave any feedback in the comments. I plan to share more chapters with you all. 

*Note this is an unedited version please excuse any spelling and grammatical errors.

Climbing the Ranks - A Tower Climber Cultivation LitRPG
Chapter 1

“Cendol! Best cendol in the city!”

It was always like this. Give Malaysians a big enough space in an event, and sooner later, roadside hawkers would appear. A lot might have changed ever since the advent of the towers, but the Malaysian love for food had not altered one iota. Even with the looming, semi pagoda like tower standing in the middle of merdeka square, the hawkers were all out, offering easy to consume, and all to tasty foodstuff.

Merdeka Square itself – once a giant square of concrete and grass with its singular claim to fame the second tallest flagpole in the world – had changed significantly since the appearance of the tower. Now, a wall blocked off access to the tower itself, bisecting the square and numerous guards with assault rifles stood on the wall and towers surrounding it.

Ringing the walled off tower was the various hawkers who sold food to the tourist, gawkers and tower climbing groupies, all of them doing a brisk business. The person sized hawker stalls were often backed up by additional moving vans which resupplied the busy carts, as they dispensed a variety of foods. In the small circle around Arthur Chua, he could spot cendol, fresh fruit, kuih and goreng pisang being sold for quick snacks and a char keoy teow man further away with small tables and chairs set-up for his customers.

Not surprisingly, the presence of so many people and food stalls made the air redolent with scents. Sweat, the smell of unwashed humanity, the omnipresent humidity and the overwhelming heat pressed down upon everyone as sunshine, unblocked by clouds, warmed the concrete floor.

Arthur drew another breath, enjoying the smells – even the acrid burnt smell of electric vehicles passing by on too hot rubber tires – and listened to the conversations that washed over him. The constant honking of electric motorcycles and self-driven cars driven to the extremes of their software combating the careless nature of Malaysian drivers. It was all a reminder of what he was about to leave behind and he wanted to enjoy it, just for a few seconds more.

“Aiyah! I tell you, my cendol is the best. Better than that Sungai Besi fella!”

Then, the moment was over, as the hawker bickered with one of his customers. Arthur briefly considered eating, just to see – the Sungai Besi cendol-maker was very good – and then his stomach twisted in knots further, reminding him why he was here.

Right.

Food… later. He had packed his favorites anyway since once one entered the tower, you couldn’t leave. Not until it was cleared. If you cleared it.

That was the other group, the last group of watchers that no one wanted to really remember, that everyone ignored. The hopeful, the desperate, the abandoned. Parents, brothers and sisters, wives and children; all staring at the tower gates, hoping that it’d open and their loved ones would exit.

Occasionally, someone would; but rarely would it be those who were waiting and watching. Those who came by every day, they had little hope left; but what little they had, they clung to with all their might. No one knew how long it would take to clear the tower. It could be weeks, it could be years. Just the other day, a climber had finally exited after twenty years.

And so the crowd hoped, watched and wait.

No one watched them for long, not even Arthur. They were a stark reminder that all the riches, the promised strength and opportunities within the tower came at a price. One that took nearly nine in ten of those that went in.

But still, people got into line just like Arthur, shuffling forwards to be inspected at the gates. What else could you do, when the world was as it was and the rich held all the power and most of the well paying jobs. Everything else, well, the robots did it and you had to survive with whatever odd jobs – dangerous, disgusting or humiliating – was available.

Especially in a country like Malaysia.

Sure, some of the Western countries had concepts like the universal basic income or the daily living stipend. Malaysia was not that rich, not since it had wrecked all its chances with its foolish policies and drove the smart, the driven, the connected away.

Not when tower technology and enchantments drove so much of the world now, when magic replaced a fifth of the world’s technology and updated technology from the towers sent whole industries into tail spins.

“Nama?” the guard standing before the gate barked at Arthur in Malay, forcing his attention back to him. “IC?”

“Arthur Chua.” Arthur handed over the identification card without a word, watching as it was scanned. The guard eyed Arthur, verifying it was him then looked him over with a considering gaze. Arthur made himself stand up a little straighter, his five foot ten frame putting him on the taller side for a Chinese Malaysian. He was, he knew, well proportioned too; though nearly all the hopefuls were the same. One of the secrets that had been revealed early on was that whatever body you came in to the tower with, was what you started. So everyone tried to improve it, long before they entered.

“That your only weapon?” the guard asked, still speaking Malay. Even if English was an official language, the Malays who made up the majority of the government positions and population would rarely deign to speak it. Not when they could afford to shove it in someone like Arthur’s face.

“Ya.” Arthur nodded in acknowledgement as well, hefting the simple wooden staff. There were others in line, like the one right beside him, who were carrying real weapons. A spear and sword in that man’s case, though the mixed race man – Chinese and Malay would be Arthur’s guess if he had to, though it was often hard to tell – was juggling the weapons as if he was not used to carrying them. Another rich Datok probably who could afford the bribes needed to get proper weapon permissions.

Theoretically, you didn’t need to bribe to get the permits, so long as you put in the right forms. And show that you were going to be joining the tower. However, Arthur’s first two applications had mysteriously been lost, before he had given a sufficiently large bribe to ensure that the paperwork did not just disappear. But, no matter how often he went, they still hadn’t approved his permit, leaving him to wait. So here he was, carrying one of the approved weapons for general use by the populace, while he was fully trained in a variety of melee weapons.

“Okay. Go.” The guard waved at Arthur, sending him in after returning his IC. Arthur walked past the looming walls, glancing backwards at the long line of hopefuls, many of them dressed and armed just like he was, with only a few standing out with their real weapons.

He could even see a couple of people, and their bodyguards who were carrying guns cases. Rifle, pistols, even bows worked in the tower. But getting a gun license Malaysia required the prime minister to sign off on it, and that kind of clout only the riches had.

It mattered not, once they started in the tower. In the end, you could only rely on yourself, and whatever advantages these people bought by being born to the right parents, would be ground away.

Arthur believed that. He had to. Otherwise, there was no other reason to keep going on. And hope, no matter how thin had arrived with the towers as well.