The Red Zone.
The deepest, darkest heart of the Artificial Dungeon.
Here, the trees were twisted, their branches like skeletal fingers. The air smelled of ozone and blood, and the shadows themselves seemed to pulse with predatory intent. Every step felt like sinking into a nightmare.
Oliver's lungs burned. His golden armor was scratched and dulled with grime. Behind him, his elite party of five struggled to keep up, panting, coughing, and dripping sweat. They had barreled through packs of Level 5 and 6 monsters at a pace that defied sanity, desperate to reach the source of the chaos.
15,000 points.
That number scorched Oliver's mind. It couldn't be real. A system error. A glitch. F-Rank trash shouldn't—couldn't—achieve this. His thoughts raced, disbelief battling his instinctive fear.
"Oliver! Look!" his scout shouted, pointing ahead.
Through the oppressive darkness of the forest, a massive clearing appeared. And in its center... a nightmare.
Four meters tall. Armor dyed blood-red. Teeth like jagged daggers dripping corrosive saliva.
[Boss Monster: Blood-Iron Direwolf]
[Level: 15 | Tier: Elite]
But the wolf wasn't looking at them. Its massive, glowing red eyes were fixed entirely on a single figure thirty meters away.
Arthur Pendelton.
Oliver's jaw dropped. The boy—no, the force of nature—stood casually, hands in pockets. From his shadow darted a slender, toxic-green skeleton: the Plague-Bone Assassin. Slash. Pierce. Acid hissed against the Direwolf's thick, impenetrable armor.
It wasn't enough.
The Boss's defenses were a wall. The Assassin's daggers barely scratched the surface.
A wide, arrogant grin spread across Oliver's face.
Yes... yes! Finally, a chance!
His chest rose as confidence surged. The summon is fast, toxic, deadly—but against a Level 15 Boss? Pathetic.
"This is it!" he roared, drawing his glowing silver sword. "He's out of his depth! Formation! We take the Boss, we take the points, and we reclaim first place!"
His party rallied, morale ignited. They charged into the clearing like lightning.
"Pendelton!" Oliver shouted, aura blazing. "Step aside! The real Awakeners will—"
A deafening roar stopped him cold.
Not anger. Rage.
The Blood-Iron Direwolf's blood-red armor flared violently, an explosive, blinding light.
[Boss Skill Activated: Blood-Iron Shockwave]
A wave of concentrated, crimson energy erupted. Faster than the eye could track.
Oliver barely raised his shield.
BOOM!
The shockwave slammed into them. His silver shield cracked down the middle. He was thrown backward into a tree with bone-crushing force. His party members were hurled like ragdolls. Screams of agony pierced the air. Armor splintered. Bones fractured. Blood painted the forest floor.
Oliver coughed violently. Vision blurred. His heart hammered in sheer, unrelenting terror.
Level 15.
The gap was incomprehensible. This was no fight. It was execution.
He looked up, expecting the impossible: Arthur either dead or fleeing.
Arthur hadn't moved.
The shockwave tore up the earth around him, splintered rocks, uprooted trees. Yet, exactly one meter in front of Arthur, the blast... parted.
He sighed, bored.
Finally, he removed a hand from his pocket.
"You're taking too long," he muttered, his cold gaze sweeping the Enraged Direwolf.
The wolf's instincts screamed. Its massive muscles tensed for a charge. But Arthur didn't flinch.
From the shadow beneath him, something began to rise.
A tattered cape. Dark as void.
Jagged, purple-black crystal armor.
Three meters of pure menace.
[The Abyssal Crystal-Bone General]
The moment it fully materialized, the forest itself seemed to collapse under the presence. Trees shivered. The wind tore through the clearing. Birds screeched into the sky. The temperature plummeted.
The General didn't move immediately.
It simply looked at the massive, enraged Level 15 Boss.
And the Blood-Iron Direwolf... whimpered.
Its glowing red eyes widened in primal terror. Every muscle coiled, every instinct screamed: Run. RUN.
The General raised its colossal double-bladed crystal sword. Slow. Deliberate. Every movement warped reality. The very air cracked.
Slash.
No explosion. No flashy effects. Just a perfect, vertical line of condensed darkness that cut through everything.
The Level 15 Direwolf.
A massive boulder.
Dozens of trees.
All sliced cleanly, extended for over a hundred meters.
Silence.
Then... the aftermath.
The Direwolf's body slid apart. Crimson blood pooled. Trees fell, split perfectly. Dust, splinters, and shattered armor filled the air.
Oliver sat, frozen, against a tree. Mouth open. Sword broken. Breath caught in his chest.
The General knelt gracefully, planting its blade into the ground.
"My Liege," a deep, echoing voice said.
For a brief moment—
its crimson gaze flickered...
not with obedience...
but with dark, primitive awareness.
Arthur noticed it, his pitch-black eyes narrowing imperceptibly. He didn't acknowledge the monster's silent challenge.
Arthur simply stepped over the bisected corpse and claimed the glowing loot.
"Too fragile," Arthur said quietly, looking down at the pulverized remains of the Boss. "I expected more."
Oliver's mind shattered.
Golden armor, glowing sword, pride, points—all meaningless.
He stared at his trembling hands. He had trained his entire life. He had the best bloodline, the best instructors. He was the golden boy.
His breathing turned uneven, ragged.
"If he is a slum rat..." Oliver whispered, his voice trembling as his identity completely collapsed. "Then... what am I...?"
They weren't rivals.
They weren't playing the same game.
They were ants racing gods.
In the VIP stands, the live broadcast captured every moment.
Guild Masters paled. High-ranking instructors whispered frantically. Military officials gripped their rails, eyes wide. The entire city, watching in real-time, felt their collective jaws drop.
Reality itself had been rewritten in ten seconds.