Thalion soared through the night sky, utterly unseen thanks to his passive skill that rendered him nearly invisible high up in the sky. The wind whispered past him, cool and steady, and for a brief while, he allowed himself to enjoy the sensation. Flying was like gliding through a dream, a soft detachnt from the weight of the world. Up here, above the clouds and concerns, nothing else mattered. The half-hour journey back to base passed in a blur of moonlight and shadow.
Soon, faint lights shimred on the horizon—the flickering torches atop the guard towers, the ethereal glow of blue runes etched into the stone walls. The sight was srizing, like sothing pulled from an ancient tale. A pang of regret struck him. They couldn’t take this fortress to the new world. How long would it take to rebuild sothing like this by hand? And from where would they even source the materials, with no system shop to provide?
The tutorial had taught them little about survival without the System. There were blacksmiths, alchemists, even a few builders, but hardly enough to house thousands. Who among them knew how to construct walls strong enough to withstand monsters? Or how to defend against creatures that tunneled beneath? The shielding do—yes, they had an idea how to replicate that but the resources and know-how were still scarce. The tokens would vanish too, their functions tied to this base. Everything they’d learned here seed temporary, hollow. Perhaps the tutorial was never ant to teach sustainability, just combat—because in this world, maybe that was all that really mattered.
Still, inconsistencies gnawed at him. Skill descriptions varied wildly—so were walls of text, others barely a sentence. Beast skills seed impressive at lower levels, but higher-tier monsters had oddly lackluster abilities. And yet, that lightning manta had offered so of the best skills he'd ever absorbed. The whole thing felt… unfinished. Random. Or simply flawed.
He forced the thoughts away. Now wasn't the ti for philosophical wandering. Ankhet’s resurrection lood ahead, and Thalion’s mission was clear: destroy the pillars before the fallen god could rise again. If he could claim the treasure in the palace afterward, all the better. One general of the undead had already fallen which was a impressive start.
But who were the real monsters here? He’d been granted both a divine skill and a bloodline, rewards that ca with a heavy price. The vampires, the bloodwitch, the red orc—none of them seed like true threats. No, the real danger might not even co from the undead. Perhaps it was the elves, with their suspicious offer of cooperation. Thalion didn’t trust them for a second. They’d claid neutrality, but only now—at this late hour—did they move against the undead? If they’d been present since the fifth stage, why had they remained silent for so long?
The elves were only part of the problem. Jim and Amalia still lived and that was an issue he intended to correct. He'd tolerated their existence for too long. Opportunists, feeding off the weak, never contributing aningfully to the city’s survival. He despised them for it. Back then, he'd chosen to focus on himself, ignoring the corruption festering in the city’s heart. No longer. He’d aligned with them once, but that loyalty was dead. They would not return from this mission. Not if he had anything to say about it.
This was the endga and Thalion intended to win.
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