Alessio Leone's Perspective
Alessio still remembered the day he typed those words on the forum for the first time, almost as a provocation:
"The Elegant Path of a Tank."
The response was immediate.The forum exploded in laughter, jokes, and tasteless memes. Veteran players mocked him with cheap comparisons: a tank was nothing but an iron wall. A block of stone planted in the ground, incapable of expressing anything remotely close to grace or refinement.
"Elegant?" they sneered. "Elegant is a mage casting spells like a symphony of light. Elegant is a swordsman gliding across the front lines like a dance. But a Tank? What could possibly be elegant about a punching bag that only knows how to raise a shield and take hits?"
And, in a way, they were right.Back then, in any other game, the image of a Tank was nothing else.
A Tank wore heavy armor, every piece designed to endure, not to charm the eye. Even when adorned with gold ornaments or shining crests, they could never compete with the gowns of nobles or the refined beauty of digital ballrooms.
A Tank's movements were harsh, heavy, without harmony.A Tank didn't dance—he endured.His motions were hammer strikes on an anvil, not steps of a waltz.
Nothing, absolutely nothing, about his identity fit society's idea of "elegance."
And yet, Alessio insisted.
He believed, with every fiber of conviction, that there was indeed an elegant path a Tank could walk.
That's when he made the comment that sparked the second wave of ridicule.His idea of adding more agility to a Tank's attributes.
"Are you insane?" they scoffed. "A Tank needs vitality. Vitality, vitality, and more vitality. That's the only way he stays standing, the only way he protects the party. What use is agility to a wall? What's he going to do—dance instead of taking hits?"
The logic seemed unshakable.A Tank had to be unyielding.Pure steel, pure flesh, pure shield.
And at the time, Alessio hadn't had many arguments to counter them.
In the context of old games, it really did sound like wasted points.Boosting dodge rate, attack speed, or movement? Insignificant compared to the raw value of enduring unavoidable blows.
But then came the Black Tower.
And in the Tower, everything changed—for everyone.
But in Alessio's eyes, it changed especially for Tanks.
Here, numbers weren't just statistics on a screen.Every point spent on agility wasn't a mathematical abstraction—it was real.It was reflex.It was speed.It was reaction time.
All of it alive, added to a real body, to real senses.
And with that, the Tank stopped being a motionless punching bag.Now, he could move.He could dodge.He could counter.He could deflect blows the instant they came, turning defense into offense.
Everything was possible.
That was why Alessio had fallen in love with the Tower the day it launched.It gave him something no other game ever could: the chance to turn his dream into reality.
The dream of showing that a Tank didn't have to be grotesque.That he wasn't just the silent wall absorbing pain.
A Tank could be more.
He could be a machine of flesh and blood—unstoppable, brutal, violent, resilient, fast, and powerful all at once.Not a caricature of dead weight, but an armored predator moving with the same lethal elegance as a feline, even when clad in iron.
In high society, at gala parties, he would never have a place.There was nothing in his figure that could compare to silk dresses or tailored suits.
But on the battlefield… ah, the battlefield played by different rules.There, elegance wasn't the polite smile of a noble or the clink of crystal glasses.
There, the most elegant thing was exactly this:A Tank charging like a controlled avalanche,shielding like a divine bulwark,and crushing like the perfect engine of war.
And that was what Alessio, in his heart, longed to become.That was the path he had named, even amid laughter and insults, The Elegant Path of a Tank.
The first impact came like thunder in a closed space.The goblin warrior's massive axe swung down in a devastating arc, ripping the air apart, and Alessio raised his shield just in time to block. The shock surged through his arm like electricity, muscles straining, bones shuddering under the pressure.
This monster wasn't like the common goblins.It was a warrior.Every movement carried intent, calculation, controlled brutality.
And still—Alessio smiled.
As he traded strikes, blocks, and dodges against that level 20 enemy, his heart pounded like a war drum inside his chest.There were moments when the goblin's strength overwhelmed him, forcing him back—one, two steps across the damp stone floor.
But he never yielded in spirit.His smile—even if he hated to admit it—was almost manic.
Because everything, absolutely everything about this battle, was too extraordinary.
Blade against blade.Flesh against flesh.Steel against steel.
Each clash resounded like music, a brutal symphony that could only be heard within the Black Tower.There was no other place left in the world—not anymore—where he could taste adrenaline this pure, this real.
This was the stage where his "elegant path" found purpose.Dodging at the limit.Countering at the exact instant.Deflecting blows not just to survive, but to return the pressure multiplied.
The goblin roared, lunging with the ferocity of a predator.Alessio answered with restrained laughter, firm steps, precise strikes.His movements were heavy, yes—but also fluid. A wall that didn't just endure—it danced with the storm.
He could only hope this goblin warrior lasted as long as possible.But unfortunately, the cuts piling up on the creature's green flesh foretold the opposite.
With every counter, with every repelled strike, the enemy bled more—and Alessio felt the inevitability of victory drawing closer.
And deep inside, he lamented.Because never before had brutality looked so beautiful.