Chapter 174
Meanwhile , back in the Merchant Kingdom of Solnara Cererindur, before the sun rises on the horizon and start the next day, at the vast courtyard of the cathedral church tower lay heavy with silence, its marble floors glowing faintly beneath the torchlight. Two guilds had gathered in tense anticipation, their banners snapping in the cold wind that swept down from the high spires.
The East Lazarus veteran Guild members stood unshaken, a wall of armor and discipline, their formation as precise as a blade's edge. Then the hush deepened, for their matriarch had arrived. Addison Lazarus, fifty-seven years of age, mother of Charlotte and Jacob Lazarus, strode across the the central Cathedral tower elevated open courtyard with the slow, commanding presence of someone who had walked through fire and survived.
A retired ranker, she was no ordinary woman her name etched in history as the only recorded warrior to have slain a dragon with her own hand on the first year the tower manifested on earth, five years has passed Her frame was tall yet lean, her back straight despite the weight of years, and her silver-streaked black hair was bound into a braid that fell like steel down her cloak. Her face bore sharp, weathered lines, not of frailty, but of battles won and sacrifices endured.
Her eyes, pale gray and unyielding, seemed to strip the soul bare, daring none to meet her gaze for long. A scar crossed the right side of her jaw, the last gift of the beast she had slain, and her presence alone felt heavier than the cathedral stones.
Addison's legacy was not just her legend but the skill tree she had carved into herself, each ability honed in the crucible of war. Her five signature attributes were whispered like scripture among the guilds. Dragonbane Strike, the technique that felled the unkillable, a single strike capable of breaking even enchanted scales. Iron Willa mental fortress, granting resistance against curses, charms, and fear itself.
War Mother'sAura, an ability that extended beyond herself, bolstering allies with heightened morale and physical endurance simply by her presence. Weapon Sense the instinctive mastery of any weapon she held, as if she becomes the owner of the weapon, though its countless practice guided from the weapon memory on her hand.
And lastly, her most feared gift, Death's Patiencea state of unnatural calm where time itself seemed to slow for her alone, letting her read an enemy's intent before they struck. Together, these skills were not merely tools but the living testament of a woman who had risen beyond mortality and carved her name into legend.
As Addison stepped into the center of the courtyard, the air itself seemed to tighten, as though the cathedral tower held its breath. The other guild's captains exchanged uneasy glances, their confidence wavering beneath the weight of her presence. Tonight was no mere gathering of warriors; it was the meeting of powers whose choices would ripple across Solnara itself.
Soon after, another figure entered the courtyard, and the atmosphere shifted once more. It was Alexsei Sokolov, the guild leader of the infamous White Devil Guild. Though his body was bound to a wheelchair, none dared mistake him for weak. At forty-one years of age and Level 30, Alexsei carried with him the weight of blood and iron, a man whose very name was spoken with a mixture of fear and respect. His wheelchair rolled forward with steady precision, pushed by his towering companion a seven-foot-tall golem marionette dressed in immaculate butler's attire, its polished frame gleaming faintly in the torchlight. The golem was more than servant; it was guardian, weapon, and shadow, a symbol of Alexsei's power and resourcefulness.
Alexsei's physical presence was striking even without the use of his legs. His frame, though lean, spoke of years hardened by combat and strategy. His once-warrior's build had thinned with time, yet the tension in his arms and the scars peeking from beneath his cuffs showed a man still sharp and dangerous. His face was pale, angular, with high cheekbones and a strong jawline that gave him a cold, aristocratic air.
A neatly trimmed beard framed his mouth, streaked with silver that mirrored the frost in his piercing blue eyes. Those eyes were infamous, calm, calculating, and merciless like shards of ice that saw through lies and measured men as one would weigh coin. His hair, black turning to gray at the temples, was swept back in a style both dignified and severe, completing the image of a man who ruled not with brute force, but with intellect sharpened to a blade's edge.
His traits and personality were as formidable as any weapon. Alexsei was known for his strategic genius, able to dissect an enemy's plan with frightening precision. He possessed an aura of authority that demanded obedience without raising his voice.
Calculated and methodical, he rarely acted on impulse, preferring to move pieces like a chess master, each decision pushing his enemies toward inevitable ruin. Yet beneath that cold exterior burned a relentless will a man who had once fought a criminal ranker and emerged victorious, even at the cost of his ability to walk.
That sacrifice had not broken him; it had refined him. His enemies often mistook his wheelchair for weakness, but Alexsei turned it into a symbol of survival and defiance, a reminder that even crippled, he remained untouchable. Unlike Addison Lazarus, whose presence radiated raw power, Alexsei embodied control, manipulation, and the quiet terror of a man who never forgot and never forgave.
And it was for this reason that Natasha, his younger sister and right hand, was often seen actively managing the White Devil Guild in his stead, not because Alexsei lacked the will, but because every move he made was deliberate, his appearances rare and always meant to shift the balance of power.
The courtyard seemed to still as Addison Lazarus and Alexsei Sokolov faced one another across the open stone floor. The gathered guilds whispered among themselves, expecting rivalry, tension, or even open hostility. Instead, the air carried something else, something quieter, heavier, forged from years of shared battles and scars.
Addison's boots echoed against the marble as she approached, her silver braid swaying against the back of her cloak. She stopped a few paces from Alexsei's wheelchair, her stern gray eyes softening ever so slightly.
Addison: "It's been too long, Alexsei. Still letting that walking pile of iron push you around, I see."
The massive golem butler bowed stiffly, as if acknowledging the jest. Alexsei's lips curled into the faintest of smiles, though his gaze remained sharp.
Alexsei: "And you're still as sharp-tongued as ever, teacher. If I recall, you were the one who ordered me to build this 'pile of iron' in the first place. Said it would save my pride."
A low chuckle slipped past Addison's scarred jaw. She folded her arms, the gesture less a defense and more a sign of familiarity.
Addison: "And it did, didn't it? You've carried yourself better than half the fools still walking. You didn't let the loss take you."
For a moment, Alexsei's blue eyes softened, the icy weight behind them giving way to something warmer, respectful.
Alexsei: "I had no choice. You wouldn't have allowed me to wallow. You dragged me back when I was nothing but anger and pain. For that, Addison… you'll always be my mentor."
Addison's gaze lingered on him, her stern features breaking into something rare,a look almost maternal, though she would never admit it aloud.
Addison: "Then listen to your teacher one last time. The world is changing. The graves are spreading faster than any guild can handle alone. Our people, your Natasha, my Charllote and Jacob, they're bold enough to think unity will carry us through."
Alexsei leaned back slightly in his chair, the golem behind him standing immobile, its glass eyes fixed ahead. He exhaled slowly, his voice measured.
Alexsei: "And you? Do you believe in their plan? In this… united front?"
Addison's gray eyes hardened, but there was no hesitation.
Addison: "I believe in them. And I believe in you. If we keep to old grudges, the Empire of Graves will consume everything. Better to die standing together than be remembered as leaders who let the living rot apart."
Alexsei studied her for a long moment. Then, slowly, he extended his gloved hand. The gesture was not dramatic, not meant for the crowd, but a quiet pact between two veterans who had already lost too much.
Alexsei: "Then let it be as they wish. A united front. For once, Addison, let's give them the future we never had."
Addison clasped his hand firmly, her scarred grip steady as iron.
Addison: "For them. And for all that's left worth saving."
The courtyard, hushed in silence, felt the weight of their pact settle over it. What began as a meeting of two guilds had now become the forging of an alliance—the first stone laid against the encroaching darkness of the Empire of Graves.
The cathedral courtyard held its breath as Addison and Alexsei approached the priest's tower. The coordinates had been given, the payment sealed, and now all that remained was the act itself. Addison lowered her claymore until its tip rested against the flagstones, and the silence that followed felt like the pause before an avalanche. Beside her, Alexsei's chair rattled to a halt, the golem mannequin settling its bulk behind him with a sigh of grinding joints. For a long beat, neither spoke. They simply stared at the artifact laid out before them, a squat, rune-etched machine of brass and glass that seemed to hum faintly as though remembering thunder.
The teleportation gate lay bare between them: a pale imitation of Daniel's true mana engine, clever yet crude, ugly in its honesty. Where Daniel's creation bent chaos-energy to shape reality itself, this device did not create, it consumed, converting mana and will into one brutal trick: distance devoured in a single blink. Addison's calloused fingers brushed its cold flank, and a whisper of power slid beneath her skin. She did not trust it. She respected it the way a soldier respects a loaded cannon dangerous, unforgiving, absolute.
"It will buy us five minutes," she murmured, voice low as a war drum. "Fifty thousand mana to wake it, and five minutes to pour one hundred and twenty through before the channel snaps shut."
Alexsei's pale eyes flicked over the runes, his expression that of a man tallying lives against numbers. "One hundred thousand gold," he replied flatly, "already buried in the cathedral's vault. Paid in blood, paid in coin. We burn wealth to defy distance."
The golem's massive hands tightened around his chair, a gesture that mirrored its master's resolve. Addison drew her cloak tight, the cold weight of reality pressing into her chest. Fifty thousand mana to open. Five minutes only. A hundred and twenty souls. No second chances.
When the artifact shuddered to life, the courtyard trembled with it. Brass plates rattled, glass veins glowed like captured lightning, and the runes bled silver fire. Space folded in on itself, opening like a wound, and a circle yawned wide, its rim alive with fire, its center dark with storm. The air bent sideways, snapping Addison's cloak toward the gate.
"Line them!" Alexsei's voice cut sharp against the roar. The golem obeyed instantly, herding the first squads toward the light. One by one they vanished, bodies dissolving into blurs of flesh and brilliance, devoured by the machine's hunger. The portal screamed louder with every passage, as though resenting the burden it was forced to carry.
Addison stood as anchor at the edge, claymore steady at her side. She would be the last through, or she would not go at all. When a soldier froze at the threshold, terror locking his knees, she seized his collar and hurled him forward. He vanished, breath stolen from his lungs, but alive.
"Three minutes!" Alexsei barked. Dials spun wildly on the machine, their needles dancing like mad compasses. The mana storm raged hotter now, burning across Addison's skin like forge-fire. The gate was no true child of Daniel's genius, but even in this bastard form it was terrifying. Beautiful. Lethal.
A hundred gone. Twenty left.
The courtyard was chaos inside order, boots hammering stone, sweat dripping beneath helmets, the bells of the cathedral tolling as though mocking the coin already sacrificed. Two minutes.
The last line stumbled forward. Fear stripped their voices to silence. Ten remained. One minute.
Addison exhaled once, a steadying breath, and stepped toward the burning circle. Beside her, Alexsei's chair rolled forward, pushed by the tireless golem. No speeches. No last words. Only the certainty of command.
The last soldier disappeared.
Addison looked once at Alexsei. No need for words—just a glance, the weight of a pact sealed long ago.
Together, they crossed.
The gate snapped shut behind them, and the world bit down.
transition was never clean.
The world folded inward, and for a heartbeat Addison felt her bones peel from her flesh, her flesh from her will. Colors bled together—white fire, black void, a storm of screaming light and silence so deep it deafened. Breath failed her lungs; heartbeat failed her chest. For a single staggering instant, she was everywhere and nowhere, stretched between the courtyard of Solnara and the unknown waiting on the other side.
Then the world spat them out.
Stone cracked beneath her boots, not cathedral marble but blasted earth, churned mud, and the scorched remnants of a battlefield. The taste of iron flooded her tongue; the air was thick with ash and the reek of burned oil. Addison's eyes adjusted at once, years of battle honing her senses even as her head swam.
Merfleur. The City of Silent Bells.
What should have been a jewel of the empire lay under siege. The towering walls still stood, iron-banded and stubborn, but fire streaked their parapets. Siege engines groaned like dying beasts, and above, the long, terrible shadows of power ballistae cranked back and loosed. The first volley screamed overhead, massive steel-shafted bolts trailing sparks as they arced down upon the attackers. Earth erupted where one struck, men and women tumbling, crushed or scattered.
On the field below the walls, a hundred and ten united players clawed at the fortress like ants at a lion's hide. War cries and magic flares split the smoke, banners of half-formed guilds snapping in the chaos. Some worked ladders to the walls, others hurled spells in cascading bursts, but the defenders were merciless, their arrows like black rain.
The transfer gate burned bright at the edge of a ragged camp site, and one after another, Addison's reinforcements spilled into the dirt—armor clattering, weapons raised, eyes wild from the disorienting leap across the world.
Bonnie was the first to see her.
From behind a barricade of shattered wagons, the girl's wide eyes caught on the tall figure stepping through the last coils of lightning. Cloak torn by the transit, claymore steady in her grip, Addison Lazarus emerged like the anchor of a breaking tide. For a heartbeat, Bonnie froze, her chest caught between disbelief and relief.
"Aunt…" the word broke on her lips.
Behind Addison, the full force of one hundred and twenty fresh bodies surged onto the field, their arrival announced by the dying roar of the gate collapsing behind them. Alexsei's wheelchair rattled forward, his golem pushing through mud and fire, pale eyes scanning the battlefield with the unshaken calm of a man who had already priced the cost of every life here.
The walls of Merfleur thundered again as another ballista loosed. The arrow's scream tore the air, landing just shy of the attackers' lines, dirt rock and debries hurled like dust. Panic rippled through the siege lines until the sight of Addison's claymore raised high steadied the hearts that saw it.
No speeches. No time.
The reinforcements had arrived.
The battlefield erupted into chaos the moment Addison's reinforcements poured through. Siege lines faltered, ballistae screamed, and for an instant the defenders of Merfleur looked down at the sudden shift in numbers with unease. Addison wasted no time. Her claymore rose high, catching the dying light of the flames, and her voice bellowed across the mud.
Addison:"Form ranks! Hold steady, this field bends to us now!"
Alexsei was no less commanding, though his words came quieter, clipped. His pale eyes tracked the enemy's movements with cold calculation. Seated in his chair, the golem looming like an armored phantom above him, his voice cut like a blade across the reinforcements.
Alexsei:"Pairs and trios. No lone charges. Shields to the front, ranged to the rear. You bleed in order, not in chaos."
Their presence steadied the field. Reinforcements fanned into position, blades flashing, staves glowing, bows lifted to the burning wall.
From the rear lines, a young woman pressed two fingers to her temple. Brie, her dark hair braided close against her head, closed her eyes as the shimmer of her gift unfolded. Her skill, Whispermind, stretched like a net through the battlefield, casting her thoughts into the minds of their scattered allies.
"This is Brie. The reinforcements have landed, one hundred and twenty strong. Aunt Addison is here and Alexsei Sokolov lead the vanguard. All main force members, regroup. Fall back to the hidden camp."
Her message reached the strike team of fifty, who had been driving their desperate assault at Merfleur's unbroken wall. Through smoke and blood, they pulled back in formation, guided by the words threading into their minds. Among them, the heirs of the Lazarus line answered with grim precision.
At the fore was Charllote Lazarus, blades glowing with fire as she cut a burning path back to her kin. Every slash of her twin weapons left arcs of flame, her strikes sharp and furious, a storm barely held in check. By her side moved Jacob Lazarus, her younger brother and vice-leader of the East Lazarus Guild, molten light pouring from his palms as he wielded the Magna Lava skill, streams of liquid fire that hardened into stone when he willed it, shaping the battlefield itself.
Behind them, their cousins struck with equal ferocity. Oliver Lazarus, poison-hunter, loosed dart after dart from his wrist-rig, toxins blooming in the veins of those unlucky enough to be struck. Farrah Lazarus spread her arms wide, and from the churned earth erupted walls of twisting vines, catching arrows midflight, buying her kin space to retreat. Rainey Lazarus whispered a command, and the sky thickened with wings—the shrill swarm of millions of insects blotting out torches and choking soldiers in a curtain of stings and bites. Sabine Lazarus, caught halfway in transformation, tore through enemies in the form of a striped humanoid beast, her claws dripping, her speed and agility monstrous.
At the center, the unyielding bulk of Noah Lazarus stood as bulwark. His skin rippled into metal, his body gleaming like living steel as he caught arrows on his chest and turned aside blades with his forearm alone.
Among them strode Mary Kaye Lazarus, leader of the High Strategy Guild, her weapon nothing more than a simple archaeologist's shovel glowing with earth-sigil etchings. Every strike cracked stone, every sweep raised barricades of rock to shield their retreat.
Cody Lazarus closed the rear, his palms glowing wide with white-hot force. Each time enemies pressed too close, he unleashed shockwave bursts, concussive blasts that sent men and siege engines alike tumbling backward in broken heaps.
And shadowing them all was Natasha Sokolov, vice-captain of the White Devil Guild, her crossbow raised and runed bolts shimmering with ice and water. Each shot landed with frigid precision, one enemy froze in place, another collapsed choking on water drawn into their lungs.
Brie's whisper kept them moving as one, guiding them back toward the hidden camp behind a veil of retreating illusions and stealth spells. Smoke and phantoms cloaked their movements, and though the enemy walls bristled with power, something strange occurred, the undead force that had stalked the city did not give chase. As soon as the retreating guild crossed out of its range, the skeletal masses froze, returning to stillness like puppets with their strings cut.
That silence was worse than pursuit.
Addison's gray eyes narrowed at the unnatural halt of the dead, even as she cut down another foe with a sweep of her claymore. Alexsei's gaze flicked toward the walls, pale and calculating, and his words reached only Addison's ear.
Alexsei:"They're waiting. The dead are leashed, not free. This siege isn't the fight,it's the warning."
And as the last of the strike team slipped into the shadows of the hidden camp, Addison raised her blade toward the firelit wall of Merfleur.
Addison:"Then we'll tear the leash from the master's hand."
The City of Silent Bells groaned under the weight of its silence, and the true battle had yet to begin.
The hidden camp was a mess of movement and hushed voices, the smell of charred soil and blood still clinging to the night air after their retreat. Torches flickered low, casting uneasy shadows across the makeshift barricades as the exhausted guild members regrouped. Many sat on overturned crates or directly in the dirt, clutching canteens, weapons, or each other's shoulders for comfort. The silence of Merfleur beyond the tree line was worse than the battle—no footsteps, no scraping of armor, no rattling of undead bones. Only the far-off creak of the fortress walls, like an old beast waiting to exhale.
Natasha Sokolov, her white cloak torn and streaked with ash, raised her crossbow and gestured for silence. "Scouts. Report."
The returning team looked pale, their faces slick with sweat as if they had stared too long into something unnatural. The leader, a younger mage named Clerris, swallowed hard before speaking. "We reached the outer perimeter of the castle wall. There's a massive breach—open enough to march an entire unit through without scaling. But… the undead ignored us. We walked within range of the ballista line, and nothing moved. Not even their heads turned."
Murmurs spread, nervous and low. Brie pressed her fingertips to her temple, linking her thoughts telepathically to Addison, Alexsei, Natasha, and the key captains for clarity. He's telling the truth. Their minds, or what's left of them didn't register our scouts at all.
Clerris' voice cracked as he continued. "We tested it. One of us dropped a stone. The sound echoed and that's when the nearest ballista swiveled and fired. They're blind. They're using sound."
That sent a shiver through the entire camp. The younger fighters instinctively checked their boots, weapons, anything that might give them away with a scrape or clatter.
"And one more thing." Clerris hesitated, his eyes darting to Addison before he forced himself to finish. "On the inner side of the wall, we found layered explosives non active traps. Precise, freshly placed. And at the heart of it all… a crater."
Addison slowly leaned forward, her hands tightening on the pommel of her sword as though she already knew what he would say.
"Yes," Clerris whispered. "A massive impact crater, torn into the earth where Daniel's attack struck. And below it… an opening. We saw supports collapsed, like an entrance to something underground. An entire facility beneath the castle. And the undead inside were still moving."
The words hung heavy. For a moment, no one spoke. The fire cracked. Someone coughed. But every gaze slid toward the matriarch.
Addison exhaled slowly, her voice calm but lined with steel. "I've walked this path before. In the game, Merfleur was always a trap, layers of bait and punishment. The Silent Bells, the ballistae, the undead rotations. I know the script." She shook her head, eyes narrowing toward the dark horizon where the dead city brooded. "But this isn't the game. The moment we stepped through that gate, the rules shifted. I can guide us through what I remember… but whether it holds true here?"
She let the silence linger deliberately, her gaze sweeping over every face, Charlotte, Jacob, Oliver, Farrah, Rainey, Sabine, Noah, Cody, Mary Kaye, Natasha, and finally Alexsei, who watched her with grim patience.
"…That is something we will find out together. What we face now isn't scripted. It's alive. And it's listening."
The camp fell still, the crackle of the fire suddenly too loud in their ears. Every guild member's breath seemed to echo, as if the city itself was already straining to hear them.
The fire in the center of the camp had burned low, its embers glowing faintly against the dark veil of the night. Everyone was gathered close now, their breaths fogging in the cool air, waiting on Addison Lazarus. She stood with her back to the flames, her scarred silhouette almost larger than life, her voice steady and sharp as the steel she once plunged into a dragon's heart.
"You're all wondering why this feels different," she began, scanning the young faces of her kin and allies. "When I first played through this scenario with your parents, yes, every one of them we went chamber by chamber. Each floor was a labyrinth of traps: some as simple as pressure tiles, others woven with spells so cruel it took three of us to disable them without losing limbs. We earned our way through those five floors."
Jacob crossed his arms, his molten eyes flickering faintly with his [Magna Lava] affinity. "And now it feels like all of that is gone. Just like that noble's shortcut."
Addison nodded. "Exactly. That blast what Daniel did broke more than stone. It shattered the design itself. All five floors… exposed. The cursed core should be down there, vulnerable. But that makes it worse."
Mary Kaye raised her hand, tilting her head curiously. "Worse how? Aunt, I thought the cursed artifact was just an item. You're saying it's something else?"
Before Addison could answer, Alexsei Sokolov cleared his throat. Seated in his chair, his eyes glinted with old soldier's clarity. His golem attendant stood silently at his back, looming like a watchful guardian.
"The hole changed everything. It bypassed the intended trials. That means the curse isn't bound by the chambers anymore. It's free to bleed outwards. No more gates. No more locks. Just a straight path downward. And yes Bonnie," he turned slightly toward her, a ghost of dry humor in his tone, "you don't kill an object. Which means the curse is something alive. Or close enough to it."
"Huh?" Bonnie's brows shot up, her daggers tapping nervously against her thigh. "Wait so it isn't an artifact? Like a jewel, a crown, or some stupid glowing orb?"
Addison's lips curved into a knowing smile, though it carried no warmth. "No, girl. The curse was never an object. That was only the excuse the game gave us. In truth, it manifests as a being one that adapts, shifts, and feeds on every mistake you make. That's why the survivors called this place The Empire of Graves. Not just because of the dead city… but because of what was waiting under it."
The younger guild members shifted uneasily.
Charlotte, her blade still scorched from the earlier clash, spoke up first. " mom, If you knew that, why didn't we ever hear of it before? Why didn't we"
Addison's eyes flicked toward her daughter, sharp as a blade's edge. "Because you weren't meant to. The Empire buries its truths deep. Every expedition that came before us thought the curse was a relic, a chain, a token. Easier that way. Easier to believe you can break an object than face something alive. Something that learns."
Addison let the words hang in the smoke-stained night before she continued, her tone measured but edged with something heavier than memory.
"Yes… and no. Listen carefully. The Arcane Crusade wasn't generous, it was cruelly fair. Each server had one million slots, no more, no less. The first sanctioned batch, the ones who cleared The Empire of Graves, they were the only ones who touched the real rewards: relics, title-buffs, permanent skill evolutions. When they succeeded, it triggered shortcuts for every player that followed, but"
She raised a gloved hand, pointing toward the dark silhouette of Merfleur's walls.
"those shortcuts weren't gifts. They were the scraps left behind by victors. You didn't earn them, you simply inherited the aftermath. That's why I say the rewards were gone. The prestige, the artifacts, the legacy, that belonged only to the first wave. Everyone else was climbing a hollow tower."
Charlotte frowned, her sword tip dragging a faint line into the dirt. "So… when we trained, when we thought we were closing the same distance as you and father… we were just walking the road you'd already paved?"
Addison's smile was thin, not unkind, but sharp enough to cut. "Exactly. You fought, yes. You bled, yes. But you never faced what we faced. Not the chambers. Not the curse's true form. You thought leveling and duels were the summit, but they were only the foothills. By the time you were ready, the mountain had already been moved."
Oliver's dart stilled in his hand, his hunter's pride prickled raw. "Then what are we doing here now? If the rewards are gone and the path is broken, why risk everything?"
Alexsei leaned forward in his chair, his pale gaze steady as frost. "Because this is no longer a game, boy. Whatever rules once governed it have shattered. The curse is awake. The walls are bleeding. And if you're still thinking in terms of leaderboards and shortcuts, you'll be the first corpse it claims."
The fire snapped, throwing sparks into the air, and the camp fell quiet as Addison's shadow stretched long over them.
That's why the guild leaders fought tooth and nail to be chosen. Fifty days of preparation, thirty days to complete it. Fail, and the contract dissolved. After that? It became open season. No rewards, no glory just corpses. Do you understand now?"
The silence that followed was broken by Rainey, her voice cool but laced with unease. "So… if this isn't a game anymore, does that mean those limits don't matter either?"
"That's exactly what I'm afraid of," Addison admitted.
Jacob cracked his knuckles, his temper simmering. "Then the only path forward is simple. We go down there, floor by floor if we have to or straight through the crater if it lets us and burn out the curse at its source. Isn't that right?"
Alexsei gave a dry chuckle. "Straightforward as always. But yes. With the walls compromised, we can strike directly. Just remember… the curse listens. It adapts. What was once a scripted enemy is now a living one. Treat it like a beast, and never give it the sound it craves."
Addison Lazarus, your parents and I were part of the third batch that managed to clear the server in our country. Five hundred players had battled relentlessly over the course of three days. The rules were brutal yet forgiving: the moment a player died, they could return after twenty-four hours. The difficulty back then was intense, but it was still a game, and dying didn't mean the end. Now… it's different. Now, there are no second chances.
Natasha leaned against her crossbow, her expression unreadable. "Then our first challenge isn't in the fight itself. It's getting in without announcing ourselves. Every step, every breath, could be the signal it waits for."
Cody slammed his palm into the dirt, sparks of shockwave energy rippling faintly from his skin. "Then let it hear us. I'll blow the damn thing apart myself."
"No," Addison's voice cracked like a whip, silencing him. "That's exactly what it wants. Impulsive noise, reckless strength. That is how it wins."
Sabine, her tigerish eyes glinting in the firelight, grinned dangerously. "Then maybe it's time to hunt it on its own terms."
Addison raised her chin, her voice carrying finality. "This isn't just about brute force. It's about discipline, patience, and knowing when to strike. We're walking into a graveyard where the enemy controls every shadow. If you want to live, if you want to win, you will listen. And you will not repeat the mistakes of those who thought this was still a game."
The fire popped. No one argued.