Alessio Leone's Perspective
Alessio had noticed it for a while now: all of his companions seemed to think this wasn't his first time in this dungeon.
Even Matteo — who had spent the entire day at his side — seemed to share the same misunderstanding.
Maybe he simply believed Alessio had come here on the very first day of the Black Tower, back when he was still level 1, before they even met — which would have been such an absurd idea that not even Alessio would have tried it.
But honestly, Alessio had no intention of clearing it up.
If everyone believed he had already beaten this dungeon, then let them.
In the end, it wasn't exactly a lie.
Just a small confusion of dates.
He hadn't cleared this dungeon in the past two days of the Black Tower.
But in his previous life.
And that was a fact he had no intention of sharing with anyone.
Not even with family or close friends.
After all, he had no desire to end up in a psychiatric hospital.
Only after half an hour of rest did Alessio finally rise to his feet.
His muscles were still heavy, his shield still smeared with blood, but his mind was steady as ever.
Seeing him stand, his companions began to get ready as well.
An almost automatic reflex.
Alessio studied their faces one by one.
He saw the tension in their eyes.
The anticipation.
And at the same time, that spark of hope only rookies carried before a final boss.
He hadn't lied to them.
The boss really was a mage.
A goblin shaman, packed with dangerous spells but physically fragile — less resilient than any warrior.
And precisely because of that fragility, easier to kill.
But that weakness was exactly why the two guards were there.
Two warriors nearly as strong as the sub-bosses they had already faced.
And they would be the first obstacles.
Guards that Alessio would have to face alone, until his team defeated the shaman and came to his aid.
The plan was simple.
But in practice, it meant one thing:
He was deliberately increasing the difficulty for himself so the fight would be easier for his companions.
But that was simply inevitable.
The roles of Tank and Support had always been this way.
The heaviest.
The least glamorous.
The ones who carried the burden so that others could shine.
Alessio knew this better than anyone.
And even so, he never hesitated to shoulder it.
Because this was his path.
The boss chamber resembled a throne hall.
On the far side of the room, raised on a crude stone platform, stood a chair crafted from dark wood and bones, twisted as if ripped straight out of a nightmare. Upon it sat the boss: a human-sized goblin, gray-skinned, eyes burning red, a twisted wooden staff in hand. At its tip, an irregular stone pulsed with a vivid crimson glow, like an exposed heart.
On each side stood two guards.
Equally tall goblins, clad in crude armor made of poorly forged iron plates, adorned with fangs and tiny skulls. Each carried a massive greatsword, thick and heavy, its blade still dripping with dried blood from past battles.
The chamber itself was a portrait of brutality.
In the corners, human and animal bones were piled haphazardly, remnants of endless feasts. On another side glittered heaps of gold coins, broken goblets, and battered pieces of armor — loot stripped from fallen adventurers. Scattered among bones and treasure lay lost items: shattered shields, rusted spears, torn backpacks with supplies spilled across the floor.
The stone floor was stained with blood in every shade, from fresh crimson to dark brown, proof of deaths both recent and ancient. The walls were scarred with claw marks and blade cuts, as if carrying the dungeon's very memories of slaughter.
Black candles burned in makeshift holders, filling the air with a nauseating stench of wax mixed with rusted iron. Among them sat small improvised altars of skulls, ritual symbols painted in red — likely fresh blood. Strings of feathers and teeth dangled from the jagged ceiling, swaying slowly with the cold draft that swept through the chamber, as if alive.
With every step closer to this hall, the group could feel the pressure intensify.
It was as if the walls themselves breathed in rhythm with the goblin shaman on his throne, patiently waiting for them to draw near.
This wasn't the most grotesque scene Alessio had ever witnessed in the Black Tower.
Nor the most impressive.
If asked to rank it, he would be blunt: this was nothing more than a beginner boss chamber.
Nothing more.
And that was the most literal explanation possible.
Because in the end, that's exactly what it was.
But Alessio knew well that this was a perspective only he could have.
A vision shaped by ten years of experience that no one else in this group possessed.
All it took was a glance at his allies to see it clearly.
Matteo and Ember had their eyes glued to the piles of gold and scattered loot.
Natural, of course.
Until now, nothing they'd faced had given them any rewards.
No items, no coins — only fight after fight.
But now, finally, before their eyes, the promise of riches appeared real.
It was inevitable that their eyes would shine.
Only bosses dropped loot in the Black Tower — a truth players would take time to grasp.
Hana and Eleanor, however, focused on something else.
They didn't see gold.
They didn't see spoils.
They were fixed on the old marks etched into the stones of the hall.
The stacked bones, the bloodstains, the walls scarred by massacres that had happened long before they arrived.
Their gazes wavered between fear and anger.
Fear at the brutality on display.
Anger at knowing that fate could just as easily have been theirs.
Alessio inhaled deeply, pulling in the cold, heavy air of that space.
Then, unhurriedly, he opened the system window.
14:00.
That was the time.
Only two hours remained before the end of the Black Tower's second day.
He closed the window.
He had enough time.
Only one fight remained.
And with it would come a title.
Another advantage gained.
One more step ahead of the rest of the world.
That was where his focus needed to be now.
With that certainty locked in his mind, Alessio advanced.
And took the first step into the boss's chamber.