Alessio Leone's Perspective
Alessio had told Eleanor he was fine.
That it was just paralysis caused by his reckless actions, and that it would pass in a few minutes.
It wasn't a lie.
But it wasn't the whole truth either.
Because right then, every cell of his body was screaming at him.
The pain wasn't localized.
It wasn't a cut or a fracture he could ignore or stitch up.
It was something diffuse, absolute, spreading through muscles, nerves, bones — even his very skin.
It felt like being consumed by a field of invisible thorns.
Every movement, every attempt to trigger a muscle, brought the same sensation: being pierced by countless fine needles, digging deep, prodding into the very fibers of his body.
And Alessio knew exactly what it was.
He had felt it before.
He had endured this pain in his past life.
And just like back then, he knew there was no resisting it.
The body simply shut down, forcing him into immobility.
The difference was that this time, surrender wasn't an option.
Not here, not in front of his allies' eyes.
Normally, Alessio would never allow himself to fall into such a state.
He knew the simple, cruel truth of the Black Tower: when the Tank went down, the party almost always went down with him.
It was an unwritten rule, repeated in every dungeon, in every boss fight.
The shield was the central link — if it broke, everything else collapsed.
But this time, he simply hadn't had a choice.
The most dangerous part of this dungeon wasn't the boss itself.
Not its spells, nor the brute force of the curses it hurled through the hall.
The real danger came when the boss went berserk while its guards were still alive.
Yes, the guards could be hit by the shaman's indiscriminate attacks too.
But they knew their master in a way players never could.
They moved through the chaos with disturbing familiarity, like trained hounds that understood every posture, every rhythm.
And while players would cower, trying to survive the storm of crazed spells, the guards would do the opposite:
they would attack.
They would advance on the weakest allies, tearing the party apart in the confusion players couldn't even process.
If that happened, it would be a massacre.
That was how countless teams had fallen in this very dungeon in his past life, until the right strategy was discovered.
That was why Alessio knew: if there was any chance of clearing this dungeon without losing anyone, the guards had to be eliminated before the boss went berserk.
And that was exactly what he had done.
He had thrown his body into the frontlines.
Sped up every strike.
Accepted every cut, every wound, every bone-shaking blow, just to open space for the next attack.
Turned his fight into a savage spectacle, holding nothing back, until both guards lay as corpses on the floor.
The price for that choice, however, was inevitable.
Now his body screamed.
Every muscle burned like fire, every nerve throbbed like molten iron.
The paralysis wasn't a glitch — it was the bill, the price collected for the risks he had taken.
And at this point, there was nothing to be done about it.
Lying there, paralyzed, Alessio could clearly see the eyes on him.
Four pairs, each carrying something different.
Hana and Cassandra didn't bother to hide their interest.
But their interest wasn't the same.
Cassandra watched him with predatory eyes.
There was something in her gaze like a beast savoring a wounded prey — not because she wanted to attack, but because she enjoyed seeing the invincible lose his composure.
Her lips even curved into a thin, cruel almost-smile, as if amused by the sight of a stone wall finally cracking.
It was a silent satisfaction, the kind taken from watching masks fall.
Alessio could only sigh inwardly at the girl. She was truly competitive — but not evil.
Hana, on the other hand, looked intrigued.
Her interest wasn't mocking or predatory; it was analytical.
Her eyes traced his fallen body as if trying to decipher the system's gears behind it.
She seemed to absorb every detail — the paralysis, the irregular breath, the state of shock.
It was as if she were studying the price the game exacted from reckless players, curious about how far the Tower would let them go before crushing them with consequences.
It was natural. She had already tasted collapse from overusing her mind. Now, seeing a similar case before her, anyone would examine it carefully.
Matteo and Eleanor, however, were completely different.
Matteo stared with almost childlike fear.
His wide eyes revealed the terror of losing someone he had barely rediscovered — a childhood friend who had suddenly become the central piece of a fight that seemed impossible.
It was the expression of someone who, for a moment, feared that reunion might end as quickly as it had begun.
And Eleanor… well, Eleanor couldn't hide anything.
Her eyes shone with an almost painful unease, a concern that went beyond logic, beyond the game.
She looked as if she carried his fate as her own burden, as though simply seeing him fallen made her feel guilty for no reason.
It wasn't just the concern of a party member — it was something deeper, more intimate, something even she didn't seem to understand.
Perhaps that was what had made her such a renowned healer — a genuine concern for her companions, beyond mere duty.
And yes, the rule about keeping real names secret had already been thrown out the window within this group.
The only one Alessio hadn't known before entering the boss room was the fiery redhead's — but even that had slipped when Hana shouted it mid-fight.
Even Matteo, in his panic, had blurted out Alessio's real name in worry.
Now everyone knew everyone's names.
Alessio could only accept it.
He wasn't truly worried — these girls didn't seem dangerous, nor tied to anything that was.
But he would need to change their attitude about exposing names so carelessly.
He sighed inwardly.
Promised himself that before leaving this dungeon, he'd give them a proper lecture on the importance of hiding their identities.
Not because it was vital now… but because in the future, when the Tower revealed its true face, such details could save lives.
But at the moment, that mattered little.
Because something far more important had just happened.
The system finally showed itself.
And it brought exactly what Alessio had been waiting for: the reward that justified every drop of blood and every second of pain.