I had no roles to fill this time.
Traps are set, terrain terraformed, soldiers ready.
Might as well watch from the sidelines.
From last wave's results, it's clear: aiming for elites or the boss nets more merit than mowing down the normies.
"LEGIONARE! FORMATION!"
"LERRROOOYYY JENKINSSS!"
"GOD DAMNIT LEROY!"
"SHOULD WE GO AS WELL? WE SHOULD RIGHT"
"*Sigh*"
Ah yes.
**Raids.**
**Jokers.**
The timeless dance of hype and regret.
Reminds me exactly why I never got into MMOs.
---
The melee had begun.
I jumped into the fray.
My flag — like a soccer referee's — didn't just strike, it established a line. A front.
**Us vs them.**
A visual anchor, making sure no one overextended.
"HEY YOU THERE FALL BACK DON'T GET SURROUNDED!"
"Aye aye sir!"
"Move around the demon king!"
"Look at his flag that's our side."
"He a creep now? ah! I got it! Lane maangement"
Wait.
Hold up.
Did they just call me a **melee creep**?
Really?
Before I could process that existential insult, I saw **her**.
The whirlwind.
The Sovereign.
The princess knight herself — Sofia.
She danced between enemies, her fists moving like twin hammers of divine judgment. Each strike had rhythm. Each movement — grace sharpened by fury.
But what the others didn't see?
**Maria.**
Always two steps behind.
No — two steps ahead.
Positioned perfectly.
Targeting any threat that might disrupt Sofia's rhythm.
Eliminating outliers, flanks, anything that broke the tempo.
A ghost.
A guardian.
A silent metronome in the chaos of war.
Not to be outdone, I push deeper, fiercer.
"The demon king's advancing! Stabilize the line!"
"Should we dive the backline?"
"You want the ticket? You do right? then go ahead! I'm perfectly fine beeing here throwing these seals!"
*Boom*
I almost forgot about the granadiers.I got some myself, courtesy of a loot goblin.
"Elites!"
"Pair up!"
"Let's surround it"
What was once a challenge in the first wave — now?
Just a tougher mob.
The strategy?
Simple.
"BOOM! GERMAN SUPLEX YOUR ASS!"
"STAB IT HURRY! IT'SSTAGGERED!"
Poor elites.
They never stood a chance.
---
The battlefield, which had clearly been tipping in our favor…
**shifted.**
The air chilled.
I looked to the side.
===
Number of Enemies : 76.482/100.000
Number of Elites : 10/10
Number of bosses : 0/1
===
A boss?
Definitely.
We felt it before we saw it — the momentum, the **weight** in the air.
"Huh is that the boss?"
"WHO CARES! MILLION OF DOLLARS HERE I COME"
"God damnit leroy!"
"Don't break formation follow that fool!"
Same old plan:
**Surround. Collapse. Wrestle.**
And then—
***SLASH***
One swing.
**Five players down.**
Gone. Just like that.
===
Respawn Disabled – Boss Phase
===
"Eh?"
"What was that!?"
But the boss didn't stop.
***Slash***
***Slash***
Each strike was a death sentence.
"Noted: Each kill increases speed, stride length, attack range. Damage output irrelevant — one-hit kill confirmed."
Someone said it out loud — exactly what I was thinking.
I turned.
It was **her** again.
The girl with the brush and parchment.
Calm. Focused.
**Logging death like a librarian.**
---
Sovereign glanced my way — the smirk on her face practically radiating through her avatar.
"Watch this you second-rate chef!"
The battlefield seemed to mute.
The **boss** — a corrupted figure draped in purple robes, sabre in hand, straw hat casting shadow over glowing eyes — oozed Wuxia.
He turned to face her, relaxed.
Two fingers raised.
A classic **"come at me"** pose.
Sovereign took the bait.
She surged forward — fast, hard, direct.
Textbook Sovereign.
The sabre came for her neck — a slash that had taken out dozens before.
But this time, the expected **respawn shimmer** never came.
Instead—
Her **fist**, glowing **brilliant blue**, met the blade mid-swing.
"EAT THIS!"
[Rising Azure FIst]
===
Fist Dao Detected
===
A radiant uppercut exploded against the boss's shin, launching it into the air in a trail of blue streaks.
[Azure Hurricane]
She twisted midair and kicked — right in the solar plexus.
The impact? Cinematic. Clean. **Flawless.**
"Did you guys see that !?"
"Is that QI!?"
"No did you not see a SXX XXX XXX ? and a XXXXXXX"
"YOU CAN'T SAY THAT! COPYRIGHT!"
The crowd went wild.
And me?
I finally got it.
The difference between those trying to play a game...
And those who were truly **living** it.
But—
**Too fast for celebration.**
Sovereign was still smirking at me when I saw it.
A blade—poised behind her, ready to finish what the boss had started.
**Clang.**
Maria.
A perfect riposte.
Precise. Clean.
But the sabre broke right through.
Maria managed to push Sovereign out of the way of the first slash.
Meaning...
She took the hit **for her**.
Sovereign rolled, body reacting on instinct.
Not fast enough.
Another blade came down—
No.
**Not this time.**
My flag — thrown like a javelin — **intercepted the strike mid-air**.
**Clang.**
Parried.
An opening.
Sovereign took it without hesitation.
**[AZURE RISING FIST]**
But—
The boss **caught it**.
A smirk.
And then a **counter-kick** — same form, same technique, but infused with a **dark purple aura**.
That's when it clicked.
**That's Qi.**
Not just energy.
Not just stats.
Sovereign was blown backward.
Other players surged in—
Trying to capitalize.
Instead?
A disaster.
The field became a **brawl**, chaotic, uncoordinated — the perfect fuel for the boss.
"Confirmed: Each kill increases the boss's range, speed, and unlocks new moves."
A boss that grows stronger the more it kills...
Like a **player.**
**Interesting.**
"FALL BACK! ENEMY MECHANIC — EACH KILL EMPOWERS IT!"
I shouted.
People listened.
They tried to pull back—
But the unlucky ones were already caught in the boss's **AoE sweep**.
"How long is its range now?"
"From what I can tell — eleven feet."
"My pole's ten. And it's way over there."
"Any reset for the buff?"
"One minute cooldown between empowered phases."
That's what Sovereign bought us.
I scanned the ground — saw discarded weapons, spears, blades.
Grabbed both.
The boss locked onto the **closest threat**.
That was me.
A blur. A slash.
**Clang.**
I met it — perfect interception.
But no riposte window. Just redirection.
"I'll buy us one minute. Heal up and get ready for an opening"
---
Honestly, I never liked fighting fair.
All my favorite heroes?
The ones with **high skill ceilings**, **mobility**, **misdirection**.
Not the tanks. Not the swordsmen. The clever ones. The impossible ones.
A horizontal sweep came my way.
I **threw my sabre** — not to hit, but to interrupt. To distract.
Then I **slid low**, spear in hand, driving upward toward the boss's gut—
**Clang.**
Qi again.
Of course.
A sabre came down in response — vertical, clean, deadly.
I caught it with my spear —
**Clang.**
But not enough power to redirect.
So I **slipped beneath**, rolling toward his back, snatching my **flagpole** from the dirt.
Another attack.
**Perfect parry.**
Another.
**Parried.**
Another.
A downward swing —
**sidestep.**
I swung the flag wide — horizontal, fast — the banner **unfurling mid-motion**, blinding him just for a breath.
He flinched, leaned back to avoid what wasn't coming.
And that's when I **let go** of the pole.
My hand dipped into my back pouch —
Another strike came — where he thought I was.
But I was already **in the air**, leaping over him.
Nine explosive tags.
All I had.
Primed.
Stuck to the flag.
Flag stuck in the ground.
And with a final vault — I stepped on his head like a springboard.
**BOOM.**
A flash.
A shockwave.
A silence.
And what was once a boss...
Now a **headless corpse**, crumpling in the dirt.
But then—
That **stance**.
The way the body landed.
The curve of the spine. The open hands.
Not limp.
Not ragdoll.
**Set.**
I felt something sink in my chest.
A bad feeling.
A very bad feeling.