On the ramparts of the small frontier town, twenty-five guild leaders stood tall, each flanked by their most trusted lieutenants. A hundred elite players in total crowded the wall, their eyes fixed on the battlefield outside.
Across the dark hills, a fiery, starlit silhouette flickered against the night—Ethan, in the form of a blazing panther, carving his way through over a hundred rogue players.
"Is that the Druid from the Survivor Faction?" one of the guild bosses muttered, squinting. "I remember him looking different."
"Doesn't matter," another leader snorted. "This so-called Druid God is just some rookie who got lucky. Probably only famous because the Survivor Faction has no one else."
"Oh really? Why don't you go fight a hundred men by yourself?" a third voice cut in, laced with disdain.
"Hmph. Brute force is meaningless if you lack foresight. Look closer—he hasn't even noticed we've surrounded him. This is the so-called Druid God? A fool blinded by his own hype."
