From Alessio Leone's Perspective
Alessio stood with his shield propped like a staff, watching. Matteo, planted at the edge of the pit, was hurling spells down at the trapped beasts like a kid let loose in an amusement park.
The roars below mingled with the crack of magic.Sharp snaps, muffled blasts, ice splintering into shards.
Impressive—and at the same time, predictable.
Mages were unlike any other class. They were true area-damage dealers. While fighters began with four fixed skills, exclusive casters—mages and healers—started with five. Matteo was now unleashing most of that starting arsenal.
The most basic was Magic Missiles: raw mana condensed into pure matter. Translucent bolts of energy shot at their targets without the need for complicated calculations. Simple, but brutal. A mage's intelligence was doubled with each cast. For someone like Matteo, trained in formulas and algorithms, precision was practically second nature.
On top of that, every mage received one spell from each major element:— Earth Wall, an improvised defense against charges.— Ice Lance, a sharp strike to pierce a single target.— Wind Step, quick movement for either escape or repositioning.— Fireball, the classic area attack, devastating against clusters.
It was the last one that lit up the pit. Each flaming sphere plunged among the monsters like a falling star, erupting in firestorms that charred fur, flesh, and bone. The smell of burning rose thick and metallic from the abyss.
That was the natural, common path for a mage's growth: choose an element and push it to its limit—Ice, Fire, Earth, or Wind. Eventually, they would specialize, shaped by the element they mastered.
As for Matteo… Alessio had no idea what awaited him. His friend didn't seem like the type to take the ordinary path.
Alessio let himself wander in that thought—future choices, class paths, possible destinies—until the translucent panel flashed before his eyes.
[Level Up: 4]
He blinked slowly, taking in the plain message.
This wasn't the first time they had used the trap. On the contrary—he had already run through the forest dozens of times without armor, bleeding to lure the beasts, herding them like cattle to their improvised slaughterhouse. They'd been at it for over eight hours.
And the result was undeniable: accelerated progress.Leveling up far faster than the Black Tower's cruel pace normally allowed.
But nothing lasted forever.
Alessio's ears caught footsteps on the horizon. Not paws, not beasts. Human steps—measured, deliberate. People.
Players.
He lifted his gaze and spotted figures approaching between the trees, silhouettes armed and inevitably curious about the scent of massacre.
Alessio didn't hesitate. He returned to the tree where he had hidden his armor hours earlier. Piece by piece, the steel awaited him like an old companion.
After all, they had company now.
Alessio's experience—ten years in the Black Tower and countless hours in other virtual worlds—always led him to the same conclusion: no matter the game, the most unstable element was always the players themselves.
Beasts followed instinct.NPCs followed their programming.Players, on the other hand, were unpredictable. Greedy. Dangerous.
That was why he would no longer bother with politeness.
The group that drew near was the most classic rookie lineup: three players barely acquainted, thrown together to balance out basic roles.
The first was a Warrior, hauling a longsword too big for his skill and a poorly fitted dagger on his belt.The second, an Archer, flaunted a golden cloak billowing in the wind. Alessio suppressed a smile—the choice screamed ignorance. Archers wore cloaks for survival, not fashion. A flashy color was nothing but a death sentence disguised as flair.The third, a Mage, donned red robes like Matteo's, though more ostentatious. He carried a plain staff and the same hungry look Alessio had seen a thousand times before—the gleam of greed at the sight of unearned opportunity.
The trio spotted the trap. They saw Matteo raining fireballs on the penned-in beasts, heard the muffled roars, smelled the charred meat. Their eyes lit up, and soon they were whispering feverishly to each other.
Alessio didn't move.
His armor was already strapped back in place, each plate firm against his body. The shield rested on his left arm, heavy and familiar, while the axe hung at the ready, one motion away from a strike.
When the trio drew close enough, the Warrior was first to speak, trying for friendly:
"Friend, how about we form a party? We've got an archer and a mage—together we could clear these beasts faster."
Alessio couldn't help but laugh inwardly.Three thousand gold coins spent. Hours running bare, bleeding to draw the monsters in. Matteo casting non-stop. And now these rookies thought it fair to "split" the spoils as if they had put in the work.
Before Matteo could answer, Alessio's voice cut the air—dry as a legal verdict:
"That is, of course, impossible."
The Warrior blinked, baffled. The reply didn't compute in his head. From his perspective, they had the numbers: three against two. To him, offering a partnership was being "generous."
The red-robed Mage didn't share the hesitation. His voice rang sharp, almost impatient:
"Enough. Let's just kill them and take their spot."
His companions nodded in agreement, without fuss.
Alessio couldn't help but respect the bluntness.At least this mage didn't waste time on false friendship. Cutting straight to the point was a precious savings of minutes.
He felt Matteo's gaze on him, his friend adjusting his glasses, preparing to intervene. Alessio raised a hand, eyes never leaving the trio.
"Keep killing the beasts," he ordered firmly. "I'll handle our guests."
It would be his first PvP since returning to the Black Tower.
A three-on-one.But they were rookies.
Honestly, they barely qualified as a warm-up.