Alessio Leone's Perspective
Fighting multiple opponents was always a complex matter in the Black Tower.
Numbers, on their own, meant nothing.
They could be an overwhelming force… or a fatal weakness.
It all came down to one variable: coordination.
With enough coordination, twenty players could defeat an enemy a hundred times stronger than any of them.
Without it, ten people could be slaughtered even by a foe ten times weaker, simply because they'd trip over each other more than they'd help.
That was the rule.
Cold, simple, immutable.
Unfortunately for Alessio, those two guards knew how to coordinate.
Even after being driven into rage by his initial roar, even reduced to beasts that saw only him as an enemy, they still moved in sync.
When one strike failed, the other immediately covered the gap.
When one pulled back, the other pressed forward with double strength.
Alessio's axe was forced to swing, his shield to shift in fractions of a second, because every strike was followed by another, and another, leaving no room to breathe.
It was like fighting two blades of the same warrior.
And for that reason, the battle was far from easy.
Even so, Alessio had no intention of giving ground.
Even at an absolute disadvantage, he was certain he would not fall anytime soon.
Not while he had a healer dedicated solely to him.
The steady glow of Eleanor's hands enveloped him at every wound, closing cuts, sealing gashes, restoring his breath whenever an impact threatened to knock him down.
A wall constantly repaired in real time, blow after blow, scar after scar.
That was why, even while under relentless assault from the two guards, Alessio still found time to glance at his companions.
And honestly, he had to admit: when they didn't have to worry about defending themselves, those girls turned downright violent.
Ember unleashed spell after spell in a constant cycle, as if she had transformed into living artillery. Fireballs, arcane missiles, icy blasts — her staff never stopped for a second. The chamber flashed red and blue, and each impact made the goblin shaman stagger under the bombardment.
Hana wasn't far behind.
Her arrows flew with terrifying rhythm, each shot loosed almost as naturally as breathing.
The bow seemed an extension of her body; the string snapped with constant twangs, and every second another projectile punched into the boss's flesh.
The goblin shaman wouldn't last much longer.
Not against that barrage of damage.
And that was the green light Alessio had been waiting for.
He wasn't watching his allies out of curiosity.
He didn't have the luxury of wasting focus on distractions.
He was watching to confirm the situation on the other side was stable.
Only then could he start fighting in earnest.
And that was exactly what he intended to do now.
It wasn't as if Alessio had been holding back until now.
Since the very first clash of blades, he had been fighting seriously.
Veteran or not, his stats were still far too low to allow for half-measures.
Every block, every dodge, every counterstrike had been delivered with maximum efficiency.
But there was a point — a line.
A thin line separating fighting seriously from giving everything.
Fighting seriously meant splitting his mind into fragments.
One part focused on the enemies before him.
Another on his allies, gauging if someone fell into danger.
Another on predicting upcoming challenges.
Another calculating the durability of his shield, his axe, his armor.
It was technical, controlled, rational combat.
And it worked against most enemies.
But giving everything… that was something else.
It meant clearing the mind of anything except the fight itself.
Forgetting allies.
Forgetting plans.
Forgetting even his own body.
It meant letting go of cold calculation and surrendering to instinct, to reflex, to the savagery carved into bone.
Fighting as if there were no tomorrow.
As if every second might be the last.
Either win.
Or die.
Holding nothing back.
Saving no strength for later.
Not even thinking about what came after.
And that was exactly what Alessio intended against those two guards.
Air filled his lungs in a deep breath.
His heart thundered, pumping blood like liquid fire through his veins.
The beats pounded in his ears like war drums.
And in an instant, everything else vanished.
Only he, the two goblins, and the fight deciding who would still be breathing at the end remained.
Alessio raised his shield.
His entire body seemed to expand in strength as the skill activated.
Bastion.
Vitality multiplied fivefold surged through his veins like molten steel.
His muscles burned not from strain, but from raw energy reinforcing every fiber.
He felt the weight of the world on his shoulders — and at the same time, the certainty that he could bear it.
The two guards charged together, their blades descending like executioner's axes.
He did not back down.
He twisted his body and unleashed Shield Impact.
The concentrated force cracked like thunder, throwing one goblin several steps back.
The second's blade still tore into his side, opening a deep gash, but Alessio didn't even flinch.
Blood poured hot, but his mind had already abandoned self-preservation.
He wasn't here to retreat.
He was here to crush.
His axe rose in a wide arc, and the skill was released.
Power Strike.
The blow slammed into the goblin's crude armor with the force of a warhammer.
Metal shattered with a screech, bones splintered beneath like dry twigs.
The guard howled, but before he could recoil, Alessio was already pressing forward.
Again the shield slammed, again the axe came down in a savage arc.
There was no fixed rhythm, no calculation — only raw brutality, primal instinct, fury unleashed without restraint.
He knew he was taking damage with every exchange.
Blades carved into his arm, sliced his thigh, even tore into his collarbone in a near-fatal sweep.
But Alessio never stopped.
He didn't defend to survive — he defended only enough to strike again.
The entire chamber shook with each collision.
The sound was steel on steel, bones breaking, blood splattering in waves.
A feral clash, where even the enraged guards seemed to falter before the savagery of this man.
This was a different Alessio Leone.
A Tank who didn't just protect.
A Tank better described as a machine of blood and steel, built to destroy his enemies.