Alessio Leone's Perspective
Tanks were, without a doubt, one of the classes most dependent on the Strength attribute.
That was an undeniable fact within the Black Tower.
After all…
A shield only did its job if there was enough arm behind it to hold.
An axe—or sword, depending on taste—could only stop enemies if there was enough impact to break their charge.
The living wall everyone expected from a Tank only existed because behind it were muscles capable of bearing the challenge.
And yet, ironically, Tanks were also the class that most often fought opponents with superior strength.
The reason was simple.
In the Tower, bosses were never designed for a single player.
They always carried attributes far beyond the average of any class.
From the start, they were creatures meant to be faced by groups, with pressure shared among multiple roles.
That's why it was almost impossible for a Tank to reach the same level of strength a boss possessed.
Almost impossible.
But "almost" didn't mean "never."
Alessio remembered that after the first evolution, a few rare classes would emerge in the game with the potential to compete in raw strength even against bosses. These classes were rare and unique, but their power truly allowed players to face bosses on equal footing, blow for blow.
Unfortunately, he had never been lucky enough to experience that in his past life.
He had never known what it was like to crush a boss through sheer brute force.
But precisely because of that, he had gained vast experience in something even more important: facing opponents stronger than himself.
And of course, as someone who pursued the path of elegance…
He never felt there was any real need to crush his enemies with brute strength alone.
After all, the elegant path of a Tank…
Wasn't about rivaling in brutality.
Wasn't about pitting muscle against muscle.
It was about knowing the right moment to absorb and the right moment to evade.
It was about redirecting violence, turning impact into opportunity, returning pressure multiplied in efficiency.
It was dancing on the edge between resilience and motion.
It was fighting enemies who, in theory, should never be defeated by a single wall of flesh and steel.
And ironically, it was in precisely that scenario that Alessio felt most alive.
That was why, even when he was left alone against the sub-boss…
And the creature charged at him with a savagery he hadn't yet seen—roaring, raising its colossal axe in an arc capable of splitting solid stone…
Alessio didn't flinch.
He stood his ground.
Shield steady.
Axe ready.
And their duel began anew.
The first strike came down like lightning.
The goblin warrior's curved blade tore through the air, closing the distance in a single second.
Alessio didn't wait for contact. He pivoted to the side, letting the edge scrape against his raised shield, redirecting the impact diagonally.
The crash rang through the hall like metallic thunder.
An instant later, his boot was already stepping forward, his axe biting into the creature's side—not deep, but precise. A light cut.
The sub-boss roared and swung again.
Another wide, savage arc.
Alessio lowered his body, rolled to the side, shield moving with him to deflect the path of the blade.
The force of the strike was redirected, not resisted.
He wasn't meeting the sub-boss head-on with strength.
He was using his long years of combat experience to impose his own rhythm.
And the rhythm took shape.
Axe against shield.
Strength against calculation.
The goblin pressed forward in brute charges, trying to smash Alessio into the ground.
And Alessio answered with short dodges, angled deflections, cold redirections.
Each time the sub-boss lunged, Alessio's feet moved in a circle, never staying in the same spot.
A constant orbit, forcing the creature to turn with him, to expose its flanks, to tire itself little by little.
And whenever the slightest opening appeared, Alessio's axe struck.
Not devastating blows.
Light cuts, successive, tearing thick skin and accumulating damage at strategic points: joints, tendons, muscles already strained.
Small cuts.
But each one drained the enemy's life.
The creature roared louder with every failure, every frustrated swing.
The giant axe carved the air in devastating arcs, but met only stone or shield.
Alessio circled, retreated, dodged, struck.
He was like a patient predator, waiting for the right moment.
With each minute, the sub-boss seemed slower.
With each second, heavier.
The hatred still burned in its eyes, but its body was beginning to betray its fury.
Then came the final blow.
The goblin warrior raised its axe with both hands, pulling every ounce of strength left in its body.
The air vibrated with the weight of the blade.
It was a last attack, desperate—the purest savagery concentrated in a single movement.
Alessio drew a deep breath.
His eyes locked on the descending arc.
Time seemed to stretch.
At the instant the blade came down, he advanced.
His shield slammed into the base of the axe in a lateral impact, knocking its trajectory aside with a metallic crack.
The edge gouged the stone floor, scattering sparks and rubble—but missed him entirely.
And before the sub-boss could react, Alessio turned his body.
His axe traced a perfect arc.
A clean, controlled, elegant motion.
The blade cut through the goblin warrior's neck and exited through its back.
For a moment, the monster remained still, yellow eyes wide with fury and disbelief.
Then, slowly, its body gave way.
The giant fell to its knees, then toppled onto its side, spilling green blood across the stone.
Silence.
Only Alessio's heavy breathing filled the hall.
He raised his bloodied shield, axe steady in hand.
There was no audience, no applause, no recognition.
But for him, it was enough.
Once again, he had proven that his path to the Black Tower's peak was no theory.
It was reality.