System Synergist (OP MC/Skill combo LitRPG Tower-Climber)

[IronLung]

Synopsis:

They say no single Class can clear the tower.

So he'll master them all.

Ark.

A tower over 10,000 feet tall, with ten deadly floors—each a pocket dimension filled with monsters, hidden relics, and power beyond imagination. At the summit, a prize awaits: a single wish, granted to the one who reaches the top.

For centuries, warriors, mages, assassins, and crafters have challenged the Ark. None have reached the pinnacle. Many believe the Wish Granter is just a myth, a lie to keep challengers climbing.

But then Ryn Calder enters the tower.

His Class? The Synergist.

A fighter without limits. A strategist who wields the best of every Class path—Warrior, Mage, Rogue, and Craftsman—to forge the ultimate way forward. With every battle, every floor, he grows stronger.

His mission is simple: Conquer the ten floors. Claim the wish.

And crush anyone who gets in his way.

 

[IronLung]

He arrived in darkness, and in rain.

He walked alone, a dark cloak covering his broad shoulders, his heavy boots knocking against the cobblestone path that led into the city of Arkona.

The guards at the stone watch towers that flanked the city gate saw him approach. They hailed him, asking what business he had to attend to here.

They asked him half-jokingly, for they knew why he'd come. They knew why any traveler came to these parts.

But when he looked up and fixed them with his one good eye, all laughter stopped in their throats.

"The tower," was all he said.

They let him through without another word, and he walked through the city streets, paying little heed to the rowdy adventurers hanging around outside the tavern, nor most of the merchants setting up their stalls nearby.

He walked right up to only one of them – a stout, elderly man by the name of Gallus – and stopped before his meagre weapon's stall.

"Eh, anything I can get you, mate?" Gallus asked warily.

The stranger nodded at the array of weapons behind the vendor's back. "A spear."

From the look on Gallus's face, it was like he'd seen a ghost. He nodded once, producing a few different polearms, halberds, and spears for his newest, dark-toned customer.

The stranger pointed to one of them – a shorter Iklwa of [Uncommon] quality. It was the best the old blacksmith had.

"Ever since the party of Sir Gaius went upstairs," he explained sheepishly. "I ain't got much in the way of fresh blades. Maybe I can –"

"How much?"

The words caught old Gallus by surprise.

"Eh, fifty Gald."

The stranger grunted.

"How about 40, and I give your store a personal endorsement to my fellow Climbers?"

Old Gallus scoffed. "Listen, son, if you think I haven't heard that line before, you're in for a surprise. Last lad that came here and thought he had a 'special' Class turned out to be just a [Vagrant] with a silver tongue, nothing more! Tried to tell me the Gods had given him some special secret class. My ass! I'll accept 47 Gald and not a penny le-"

Suddenly, the stranger reached out and palmed the arm of the merchant – a gesture that all the townsfolk who were watching nearby knew almost intrinsically. It was the way one Climber identified their [Class] to another.

And from the way Gallus was practically shaking, what he'd just seen must have been something impossible.

"B-but that's-" he mumbled.

"Forty Gald," the Stranger repeated. "And I'll give your shop my personal recommendation."

Nobody saw if the stranger smiled when he said this, but Gallus began nodding his head like some puppet on loose strings.

"Alright," he said. "I think I can accept that…"

The stranger deposited his Gald in Gallus's hands and then walked away briskly, hefting his new weapon over his shoulder and leaving the Blacksmith in disbelief.

"Hey, old Gallus?" one young [Baker] barked as he left. "Who was that guy?"

Gallus looked at the coins in his hands in disbelief. He couldn't hide the smile that had crept onto his face.

"Someone we're all gonna know sooner or later," he said.

Rain continued splashing on the cobblestones of the city as the morning drew on, and those adventurers who hadn't drank their wounds and woes away in The Tipsy Troll or the Fluttering Fishmaiden taverns made ready to commence their daily grind.

Before them all, in the very center of the city, rose the great Ark – the white-gold tower that pierced the heavens and, some said, actually ended within the realm of the Gods themselves. Built to test the faithful, and the worthy – for the legend known to all people of Arkona was that he who challenged the tower and reached the peak of its tenth floor would be granted a single wish: anything their heart desired.

Adventurers had come from all over to this place – the birthplace of their glory – and tried their luck with the threats within. Some had gone away with great treasures – strange, alien artifacts that could bend the laws of reality themselves. Others had found weapons of all stripes, and armor that they sold on the Black Market across Arkona. Most, however, had found nothing but despair. Ark giveth, and Ark taketh. Most of the time, entering the great tower meant one thing for certain: death.

So, when the new spear-wielding adventurer entered the Guild of Ascension and asked for official System Verification to register as a Tower-Climber, the spectacled Elven clerk who greeted him treated him like any other newbie.

"Welcome!" she chirped, brushing a thread of crimson hair out of her eyes. "I'm Stephanie, and I'll be your Guild Receptionist today."

In response, the stranger simply nodded.

A quiet one, Stephanie thought, her Elvish eyes quickly running up and down the man. He's a little older than most. Maybe around 25. Gruff and…not entirely unattractive for a human guy. Makes a change from all those hyped-up youngsters we get nowadays, I guess…

"Just fill in this form," she said cheerfully, handing him a thin sheet of paper. "Sign here, here, and…here. Oh, and please remember to read over subsection B5, the part regarding your safety and possessions once inside Ark itself. We cannot be held legally responsible for any loss of weapons, armor, limb, or your mental stability when you traverse the inner floors. Subsection C4 also stipulates that –"

Before she finished her usual spiel, the new adventurer had already handed her back the form fully filled out.

"Done," he said simply.

She twitched her ears and blinked twice. In the air, she could sense the essence of faint magical energy.

A spell of Deft Hands? she thought. She looked at the strange, cloaked adventurer with new eyes now, desperate to [Appraise] him just to satisfy her curiosity.

No, she thought. That would be against Guild regulations. But…still. How did he cast that spell without me even seeing him do it?

She nodded once, politely.

"This looks all above-board," she said with a smile, checking over the papers and seeing nothing out of the ordinary at first glance. "Now, we'll just mark you as a [Bronze] adventurer. In case you aren't familiar with our Ranking system, your rank will remain [Bronze] until you clear level 1. Then you'll progress to [Silver] until level 3, [Gold] till level 5, and [Celestial]", she added with a scoff of disbelief, "if you manage to reach level 8. That's the highest anyone's ever gone."

The stranger nodded, accepting her hand and the bronze rune she etched into his palm.

"You'll have access to all our [Bronze] level services here at the Guild for now. If you're ever in need of Recall potions, Brunhilde, our resident alchemist, can help you stock up. Now, if you'd like to buy some preliminary equipment, I'd recommend –"

She froze. Her eyes had just glided over the [Class] of the stranger.

A solid lump formed in her throat. Her mind fumbled, trying to find new words…

"I'll head in with what I've got," the stranger said. "Heard there's plenty of basic loot on the first floor. Thanks for the tips."

He hefted his spear over his shoulder and walked back outside without turning back once, leaving Stephanie staring blankly after him.

"It…can't be…" she whispered.

"Hey!" the next adventurer in line shouted. "Hey, hey, Miss Steph? I got some loot to bank here!"

She barely paid him any heed. The word she was quietly mouthing was a word she never thought she'd ever see written down on a Guild form. Let alone one that she'd just drafted up.

"…Synergist."

Back outside, the great tower of Ark watched impassively as the first Climbers of the day readied themselves for their ascent.

Before any ascension began, it was common to offer a prayer at the local chapel to one's Patron deity. Every adventurer owed their [Class] to a different God, and as the Gods were often fickle beings, it seemed proper to offer them proper prayers before battle. It was thought by most that the Gods looked kindly on those Climbers who brought home excellent loot in their name, and decorated their temples with treasures from the Ark that dared to defy their heavenly home.

But one man – the newest adventurer among in the city – did not participate. Instead, he walked right by every chapel on the final street that led towards Ark, ignoring those worshippers who watched him with disdain from inside their Gods' domain.

However, another man watching him from within a darkened alley was of a very different breed.

"Boys, lookie what we got here – a heathen."

The 'boys' chuckled as their leader nodded at the wanderer. Each of them wore a set of leather armor, and kept some blunt cudgels at their sides. Bloodied cudgels.

"You know me, boys," their leader continued. "I like to think that, as a God-fearin' man of the world, I should be my Brother's keeper."

His three comrades-in-arms laughed again.

"Seems like this guy don't need the Gods, don't it, Kharek?"

The leader smiled thinly, stroking his grizzled chin-beard as the thought occurred to him.

"Perhaps we should take a little donation from this lone wanderer," he said. "Up and attem, lads. We got our mark for the day."

The three leather-clad men nodded, each one ascending a different roof and taking up their positions. Kharek, meanwhile, sauntered out into the open sun, right behind the stranger.

He gave a little whistle before he addressed the dark-cloaked fellow. He and his boys had practiced this little script many times. New adventurers were easy marks, and as [Vagrants] it was practically in their blood to take them down on their way to Ark. This city was where the real treasure was, safe from monsters, and with plenty of hiding spots for a shrewd bandit. Why climb the great tower of death when you could ambush stupid adventurers here? The tower would take their lives eventually. All Kharek wanted was their loot, and he was low-level enough that the city guards mostly didn't care about his little operation. The Merchant's Guild who practically owned Arkona weren't bothered who spent money in their city or where that money came from. Just so long as all the [Merchants] could stay in business.

"Ahem," he coughed. "Good day to you, sir. I'm afraid I have to stop you right there."

The stranger kept on walking, eyes set on the looming tower above.

Kharek bristled. This fucking berk needs to learn some manners.

He took a throwing knife from his belt and tossed it with precision at the stranger's back, aiming for the neck. His [Artery-Shot] Weapon-Art never failed to incapacitate a newbie. It always found its mark. And even if it didn't outright kill his prey the skill gave him a 35% chance to paralyze his target for ten seconds straight. More than enough time to loot the body.

So, when the stranger turned swiftly and the knife merely grazed his shoulder, Kharek double blinked, making sure he was seeing things right.

"Apologies, my good sir," he said, regaining his composure and taking a bow. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Kharek Gaveston, [Vagrant] by the Path of Lokir, and I – hey!"

The stranger had simply continued walking.

"You – boys!"

Without missing a beat, his comrades loosed a volley of crossbow bolts at the stranger's feet, stopping him in his tracks.

"Now now," Kharek tutted. "We don't want any accidents, do we? We're all good citizens of Arkona here, traveler. And the problem is, you haven't paid your God-tax today."

The stranger sighed, dropping his satchel and craning his neck. He turned to look at Kharek with eyes that displayed nothing but total boredom.

"The Gods aren't here," he said.

Kharek scoffed. Impudent little shit. The look on his face pisses me off enough that I oughta just kill him and stuff his body in the Tower base. Let the Guild guards find his corpse there…

"Good fellow, I'm a reasonable man," he laughed. "Just 80 Gald and we'll allow you passage to the great Ark, where all your dreams come true. Refuse, and, well, we of the Ark anti-Heathen association can't let a subverter of the faith through…"

He signaled for his boys to ready another volley.

Meanwhile, the stranger stared him down, unblinking.

"Call your men off," he said. "Or I'll have the tip of this spear lodged in your throat before they can take their next shot."

Kharek wanted to burst into hysterics. This grubby looking foreigner really did have a death-wish.

"Sir, we don't wish to be forced to take your coin. If you'll just comply-"

"I don't have anything to give you but your life, bandit. Put down your weapon and I'll let you keep it."

Fucking hubris, Kharek thought, spitting and gripping the daggers at his side.

"We warned you," he said. "Boys, time for-"

It happened in a flash. A brilliant, dazzling light shone in the street, like a lightning bolt, and the stranger was suddenly gone.

"Wha-"

Kharek's word never left his mouth. Instead, a long stream of blood gushed from his throat – at the place where the stranger's spear had pierced it clean through from behind.

"H-ho-"

The stranger withdrew the weapon, kicking Kharek away like he was a ragdoll.

"Boss!" his comrades yelped. "Motherfucker!"

Rain danced along the bloodied edge of the stranger's spear, and with another flash of light, he was up on the first roof, right beside the first crossbowman.

"Ah!"

The lad fired his bolt, clipped the stranger in the shoulder, and then watched in horror as the spear tip flew towards him with unnatural speed.

He brought up his weapon to block it and felt it splinter apart in his hands. The stranger's thrust went straight through his heart and he watched his HP trickle down to 0 before his eyes.

"B…boss…"

"Vesyr!' came the call of his two fellows from the other roofs. With cries of vengeance on their lips, they brought their crossbows to bear, and both fired a poison-tipped bolt infused by [Venom Coating] – one of the special Mystic Arts afforded to their Class.

But the stranger merely brought his spear to bear, still with their friend impaled on it, and used him as a shield to block the hits. They watched in horror as Vesyr was pierced by their poison bolts, his body twitching in death-spasm.

Then, in a flash of dazzling white light, the stranger was right in front of them.

One of them dropped his weapon and drew his dagger, while the other one produced a shortsword that he brought to bear with the speed that all [Vagrants] were known for.

Both of them knew that their slash attacks would land at this short distance. There was no way any spear-wielder could deflect both blows at once. From the way this stranger had moved, it looked like he walked the Path of the [Sentinel] and used some narcotic to increase his movement speed.

But when the shortsword-wielding bandit felt intense heat building up below his abdomen, he realized how wrong he was.

He looked down, saw the stranger's fist there, and managed to [Appraise] the spell before it fired off:

[Firebolt, Novice Level] + [Unarmed Strike, Novice Level]

[SYNERGY CHANNELED]

[Synergy: Flaming Fist (Unarmed strike + Pyromancy)]

ACTIVATED

Next thing he knew, there was nothing but a flaming hole where his guts once were. He flopped like a fish and then fell from the roof, while his friend grappled against the stranger's spear-arm.

"How!?" he exclaimed. "W-what the fuck are y-!"

With a masterful pirouette that sent raindrops flying from his bloodied cloak, the stranger brought his [Flaming Fist] to bear against the wailing boy, striking him in the jaw and tearing through the entire lower half of his skull.

The boy fell then away from the stranger, who finally let the last bandit slide off his spear and fall in a bloody heap from the roof.

As he did so, he nodded approvingly at his System Notification:

Ding! Spear Proficiency increased from 10 -> 13

Ding! Pyromancy Proficiency increased from 10 -> 12

Ding! Unarmed Combat Proficiency increased from 10 -> 12

Kills and corresponding level increases, he thought. His first gains since he'd got his Class. The bandits weren't of the Tower, so they wouldn't give him any EXP towards a level up.

It wasn't how he'd wanted to start this journey. But he despised those who preyed upon lower-level adventurers. It betrayed nothing but their sheer incompetence as Climbers. Plus, he wasn't about to fall to petty robbers before he'd even properly started his ascent.

His mission was far too important to fail before it began.

By this point, a crowd of worshippers had gathered – men and women who had heard the commotion and found Kharek and his goons up to no good again. They emerged from the chapels and nearby shops to try and catch the scoundrels before they slunk away into the shadows but instead found the gang dead, and Kharek coughing up blood on the ground.

The stranger jumped back down, dusted off his cloak, and nodded to the first guardsman patrol on the scene.

"Vagrants," he said. "Took care of most of them. Might want to question this one. He's probably got more boys hiding to ambush first-time Climbers round these parts."

The guardsmen nodded, staring blankly at the stuttering mess that Kharek had become. Slowly, they moved to pick up the bandit leader by the scruff of his bloody hair. The stranger simply hefted his spear, wiped it clean of crimson stains, and continued his trek towards Ark's base.

Meanwhile, whispers ran up and down the crowd of Climbers.

"Did you see how fast he was?"

"Never mind that – did you watch what he did on the roof?"

"He cast a firebolt with a punch – all while wielding a spear in his other hand."

"What? But – but that's impossible. He shouldn't be able to-"

One voice, shrill and panicked, suddenly cut through the murmurs of the crowd:

"W-who are you?!" Kharek wailed as he was taken away.

The stranger turned before he stepped into the tower, answering the question as simply as he could:

"Ryn Calder," he said. "I'm here to claim my wish."