Chapters 46-48

Since some asked, the release rate is the same I follow on RoyalRoad, one chapter a day for now. I just release them in batches as I write. My writing schedule is not one chapter a day. I might spend two days plotting three chapters and then writing them out in one go.

Chapter 46

The Adventurers’ Guild hall goes silent. Every voice dies as the Dungeon Map pulses overhead. Jacob’s green dot and the mimic’s purple dot crash together in a corner of the fourth floor. The two marks overlap, and nobody breathes. Every gambler who was jeering ten seconds ago now stares up, knuckles white on the tables and coin trays. No one is placing new bets. The odds are gone, replaced by raw nerves.

Guildmaster Dorn stands behind the betting pit, arms crossed. His clerks stand frozen, eyes wide, betting slips forgotten. The crowd leans in, half of them holding their breath, the other half gripping silver or scribbling frantic notes. A single mug falls over and rolls across the stone, but no one moves to pick it up.

Felisia’s jaw stays clenched. She watches the map and says nothing. Sir Greyson stands behind her, face carved from stone, his gaze fixed on the screen and nothing else.

On the map, the green and purple dots press together. Someone whispers, “This is it. It’s over.” Another voice answers, “No way he’s beating a shadow mimic.”

Guildmaster Dorn does not move. “Any second now. Just watch. The green dot is going to blink.”

But it doesn’t.

Instead, the two dots start to slide apart. First by a hair, then by the width of a finger. Jacob’s marker edges away, then closes again. The two dots circle. Sometimes Jacob’s dot gives ground, sometimes it presses in, then backs away, then closes again. They twist and spiral, never quite separating, but never staying stacked for long.

A hush falls over the entire room. The crowd leans closer, pressing shoulder to shoulder. The two dots flicker and slide, trading position back and forth.

Someone mutters, “What’s happening? Why isn’t the mimic finishing him?” A Silver Rank shakes his head. “He’s holding out. He’s actually holding out!”

The guild clerk with the betting slips gulps. “They’re not just standing still. They’re moving—he’s dodging. He’s—he’s pushing the mimic back!”

Felisia’s fists tighten at her sides. Sir Greyson leans forward and lets out a slow breath. He says nothing, but the look in his eyes says everything.

For the next minute, nobody in the Adventurers’ Guild speaks. Nobody places a single bet. The green and purple dots on the map slide back and forth, weaving through the floor, until, at last, the gap between them closes one last time and the two shapes overlap for just a second.

Everyone in the guild holds their breath. The map hangs, flickering.

The next instant, one of the dot greys out.

I stand over the glass floor, watching the mimic reform its white mask and grip Hell’s Sword again. My chest burns. My mana is low. I know that my Skills don’t have flaws anymore. I brought every one to max level, and the Grimoire hasn’t shown me a real defect in months. Still, I see the limits. Even perfect Skills can only do so much. They have a shape—a path—just like any tool or blade.

I watch the mimic. It’s quick. It has every Skill I have. The way it swings Hell’s Sword shows it learned fast. It’s creative, more creative than most Knights. It feints, it slides, it even improvises, trying new angles and patterns I’ve only barely tested myself. But every attack it throws has a rhythm that I know in my bones. The monster copies my Skill, but it doesn’t have my instinct. It has none of my history. I can see every move it tries because I made those same choices to survive.

The Grimoire flickers behind my eyes. At first, there are no flaws to list. Then Architect’s Insight activates, pages of diagrams turning in my mind. I remember every time I’ve used Architect’s Insight—back when I cracked the glass golems, when I saw the flaw in their knees, when I broke through their core shields, when I mapped the pattern behind a perfect defense and found the gap. Now, that same blue overlay slides over the mimic’s body. Every swing, every turn, every breath, every flicker of mana is highlighted, lit up with patterns I can read.

The mimic attacks with both Hell’s Swords. I keep my stance tight and bring up Fire Shield. The mimic sends a volley of Fire Slashes at my head, tries to cut off my escape with Fire Walk, then pivots for a double-bladed strike. I see the mana drain. I see the way it burns through reserves like it has infinite stamina. If I try to match that, I will lose. I let everything else drop. I hold only two Hell’s Swords, Fire Shield, and the smallest pulse of Fire Walk for movement. Nothing else. I need to conserve every scrap of mana.

I focus on the Grimoire’s overlays. Patterns start to appear—tiny delays between the mimic’s attacks, micro-hesitations when it chains Skills together, little flaws in the way it guards high but leaves its left side weak every third strike. 

I parry, deflect, and dodge. 

Every time I move, I push a bit further, nudging the mimic back, making it work for every inch. My own body grows sharper, my arms move cleaner, and I feel the rush of new growth—Intermediate Endurance levels up, Intermediate Strength ticks higher, Bronze Grip strengthens my hold. 

Notifications slide past my vision as I focus.

The mimic tries to break the stalemate. It feints high with Hell’s Sword, fires a Fire Slash for my ribs, and jets past me on a burst of Fire Walk. I see the move with Echo Pulse. The world overlays itself in hard-edged lines and movement arcs. At first, Echo Pulse isn’t enough. The mimic is too fast, its pattern too wild, and my own reaction is a step behind. 

But I sync Echo Pulse, Architect’s Insight, and the Grimoire’s flaw detection together. Suddenly, every opening is mapped in front of me—weak knees, a rising elbow, the slow wind-up before a double slash. Every fake and pivot is there, clear as day.

I score a cut on the mimic’s thigh with a tight swing. I block its counter with Fire Shield, push it off balance with my own Hell’s Sword, and chip away at its defense with a flick of fire. Each time the mimic tries to overwhelm me with more Skills, I just wait, see the pattern, then counter. I don’t burn mana unless I have to. I keep my attacks clean, my steps precise. I press it back, one strike at a time, never letting it regain control.

The mimic grows more desperate. It burns mana faster, swinging harder, throwing more Skill combinations at me. Its strikes lose precision. The flaw in its guard grows. I see my moment.

I slide in close, using Fire Walk for one last burst. I drop low under its guard. I let both Hell’s Swords spin up, and I hear the surge in my core. Echo Pulse shows the opening—Architect’s Insight draws the weak line through its ribs. The Grimoire flashes—“NOW.”

I dodge its last strike. I step into its guard, shove my blade straight through its side, and lance the mimic from hip to shoulder. The mimic stares down at the sword buried in its body. I don’t let it react. I lock my grip, bare my teeth, and roar, “Break—” then rip Hell’s Sword out, splitting the mimic in two.

The monster’s body cracks, splits along the line, and collapses in a shower of glass and burning shadow. 

The flames die out. 

The only thing left is silence, and my own ragged breathing.

The last echoes of battle fade. I keep my sword drawn and back away from the heap of black glass and burning shadow. The pieces twitch and shift, never settling. My chest heaves. Mana smoke curls up from the cracks in the floor.

Then, the darkness on the ground thickens. The mimic’s shadow pours out across the glass, rolling over every broken shard. I brace for another attack, but the shadows only crawl together, dragging the splintered glass with them.

A shape starts to form at the center of the room. The darkness folds in on itself, gathering up every last trace of the mimic’s remains. Shards click and scrape, bones of shadow clattering as the heap takes shape. The glass starts to pulse with dull, purple light. The whole mass twists and bends. In seconds, the wreckage and shadow fuse into a single, solid shape.

A treasure chest stands in the ruins.

Its lid is forged from black glass, marked by a ripple of dark veins and a single lock that glows faintly with purple fire. 

I feel a small pull from the bracelet that formed around my wrist after the meeting with King Baalrek. 

Chapter 47

Guildmaster Dorn presses his fingers to his temples. His scowl deepens with every coin that clinks onto the table. He lowers his hand and speaks loud enough to cut through the noise. 

“No more bets unless you’re gambling on the boss,” he says. “Everything else is closed. This has gone on long enough.” 

His tone is sharp, carrying over the crowd. He does not want to lose more money, and the regulars are aware of this.

A Gold-ranked adventurer calls out, 

“Did the kid really kill the Shadow Mimic?” His voice cuts through the noise. The others turn to look at the projection, waiting for confirmation.

Felisia lets out a long breath. She presses her palms flat against the table and shakes her head, finally relaxing her grip. 

“He did it,” she says, not quite believing her own words. The tension leaves her shoulders, and she slumps a little.

Sir Greyson watches the map, silent, but the way his mouth sets shows a hint of satisfaction. The crowd erupts in low conversation, people repeating the same question again and again—how did the kid survive, and what comes next?

A merchant’s son elbows his way forward. 

“He killed it, but how strong is he now? That’s a level seventy-five monster.”

A scribe pipes up from the back.

“He fought in there for hours. If he beat a mimic, what does that make him? Some kind of prodigy?”

Guildmaster Dorn rolls his eyes, but he does not look away from the map. 

“Doesn’t matter how strong he is. Surviving a mimic fight means you've got Skills, but it doesn’t mean you can walk out alive. There’s still a boss between him and the exit. Don’t count your coin yet.”

Someone else calls out, “What do you get for killing a Shadow Mimic? Does it always drop something good?”

Everyone turns to Guildmaster Dorn, waiting for an answer.

Guildmaster Dorn snorts. He scratches the side of his nose, then leans on the table so everyone can hear. 

“Nobody can say for sure. Shadow Mimic chests are always unpredictable. Sometimes you get trash, sometimes something worth more than everything in the Dungeon. I’ve seen mimics spit out Skill Crystals, cursed weapons, rare loot, or just shards and nothing else. Most of the time it’s random—so random that even the best Knights can’t plan for it.”

A Silver Rank interrupts. 

“But I heard some knights train for these things. Isn’t there a way to force a better drop?”

Guildmaster Dorn shrugs. 

“There are a few, yes. Some Knights spend years learning how to bait horror drops out of those chests. They use special rituals or enchantments to pull something rare, but you need real training, and you need the right build. Nobody gets that kind of loot by luck alone. If the kid pulls anything more than shards or junk, he’s luckier than any of us.”

The crowd mutters, weighing the odds. Some hold out hope, but most know how Dungeon luck works. 

One merchant grumbles, “So, Jacob Cloud just risked his life for a chance at garbage?”

Guildmaster Dorn shrugs again. 

“That’s how it goes. If Shadow Mimic chests always dropped something good, every Knight in the world would hunt them. But it’s mostly disappointment, and the rare lucky strike just keeps the stories alive.”

A junior clerk steps up to Guildmaster Dorn. 

“Should we start taking odds on the boss fight?”

“Yeah,” the grizzled man clenches his jaws. “Do that.”

But even if that ratty bastard gets killed against the Boss, the losses I’m incurring…

He cleaned up a Secret Room, a Shadow Mimic…

What else is he going to do? I should hire someone to…

Before Guildmaster Dorn can finish the thought, the door of the Adventurers’ Guild opens, and the most oppressive aura has everyone silent in the blink of an eye.

“Sir Renquell,” Guildmaster Dorn scrambles up to his feet and goes to greet one of the famous Wandering Knights. “What brings you here?” 

Sir Renquell takes out a chair and sits in it, ignoring the man and instead looking around the whole room.

“I’m here for the show. I like the kid. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to him.”

The message rings loud and clear among those who had already been thinking of robbing Jacob Cloud blind as soon as he comes out of the Dungeon. 

*

The chest sits at the center of the wreckage. Its lid is forged from black glass and marked with veins that pulse with faint purple fire. I watch the glow move in time with my heartbeat. My bracelet, cold and heavy on my wrist, starts to pull. The sensation is not painful, but it drags at my attention and drags at my mana.

I step closer, drawn by the pull. 

Every shard of broken glass on the floor points toward the chest for some reason as if there was a magic pull from it. 

I crouch down and touch the lid. The surface is slick and cold, and the purple fire runs down my arm in thin threads. 

The lock clicks open.

Inside, I see only one thing. A jagged crystal shard sits at the bottom. Black lines run through its core, twisting into patterns that make my skin crawl. The bracelet on my wrist pulses in time with the light inside the shard. I reach in and pick it up.

[Skill Crystal Shard (1/2) – ???]

The system does not give a name. My heart starts pounding harder as the bracelet tightens, squeezing my wrist. The Grimoire flickers in my mind, and a fresh page tries to load. At first, only static fills my vision. Then the Grimoire locks onto the shard and pushes through.

[Analyzing…]

[Skill Crystal Shard (1/2) – Ancient Signature Detected]

[Legacy Skill: Dark Blade (Gold – Offensive Skill)]

[Warning: Crystal is incomplete. Absorption not possible. Seek the second half.]

[Skill Effect: Data Corrupted. No records available.]

I stare at the shard, feeling the weight of something much older than this Dungeon. I have never heard of Dark Blade. 

Is this an Infernal Skill? Is that why the bracelet from King Baalrek was reacting?

The bracelet cools down. The pull fades. I tuck the shard away, and I run my thumb over the bracelet’s markings, wondering if it will react again if I get closer to the other half.

I scan the chest again, but there is nothing else inside. The system message blinks out. Only the faint light from the veins remains.

Dark Blade? But… even if it was an Infernal Skill, why is it Dark Blade? Don’t I have Hell’s Sword for that already? Would they, what, combine? 

And what does Legacy Skill even mean? 

“A mystery for another time,” I mutter, pocketing the Skill Shard. 

*

I move through the Fifth Floor with an irritated feeling growing in my guts. 

There’s one person that comes to mind while I fight, the face of a woman that, despite my best efforts, haunts me.

She doesn’t care. Stop it.

While I was in the mines, while I spent time with my father, I never bothered thinking much about her. But now, for some reason, now that I’m closer than ever to become a Knight, I feel an ache in my chest at the thought. 

No. You’ve done this all by yourself. Don’t think about her. You don’t need her love. 

I drive the thought out of my head and pick up my pace. My boots crack over the glass floor while the air burns with heat.

The Fifth Floor has flames inside the crystals, something extremely weird if you ask me. 

Glass Golem Soldier [Empowered] – Level 70

A Silver Rank golem bursts out from behind a wall, swinging a blade the size of a wagon. I keep my grip tight on Hell’s Sword and let it come. The first strike hammers down. I roll forward and cut through the golem’s knee with a sharp upward slash. Its whole leg comes off and hits the floor with a crash.

I do not give it time to recover. I smash an Hellspire right through its chest. With my Attributes grown so much, I don’t need glaring flaws, just little weaknesses that can be found anywhere on their bodies thanks to the Grimoire and Architect’s Insight.

The light inside flickers out, and the whole thing drops, dragging the broken wall with it.

Another one rises from a pile of rubble, larger than the last, with arms made for crushing stone. I slide past its first swing, cut across its waist, and carve a line up through its chest. The blow splits the body in two. Shards of glass rain down, some hitting my shoulders, but I shake them off and keep moving.

Three more golems block the next hall. They try to work together, moving in tight formation, using their shields to protect their cores. 

I know it’s stupid, but I fight angrily, with the kind of recklessness that would have gotten me killed if I hadn’t leveled up this much. 

I do not wait for an opening. I pull mana from my core and send Fire Slash straight into the first golem’s shield. The glass melts, and the shield arm drops to the ground. I jump in, driving Hell’s Sword through the gap and taking out the core. 

The next golem swings low, trying to catch my legs. I leap, twist in the air, and come down with a clean cut through its head. The last one backs up, but I pin it against the wall with an Hellspire through the shoulder and finish it with a single thrust through the chest.

“AHHH!” I say, having the edge of Hell’s Sword blaze blue, pouring as much mana as I can into it and destroy the monster’s core. 

The creature collapses into a spray of glass on the ground and I remain alone, standing and panting at the edge of the room. 

I stand over the scattered remains and catch my breath. Shards of glass crunch under my boots as the flames inside the walls flare higher, throwing long shadows across the floor. For a second, there is nothing but silence. Then the entire chamber starts to rumble.

A grinding sound rolls through the room. The floor shifts under my feet. I step back, sword at the ready, as a seam opens in the far wall. Two massive doors push outward from the crystal, each slab thicker than my arm and taller than any golem I have fought. Runes burn across the surface, flickering with blue and red fire. I watch as the doors settle into place, locking with a heavy clang.

The doors stretch all the way to the ceiling. 

“The Boss Room,” I say under my breath, sitting down and activating Meditation. 

Chapter 48

The river is wide and flat under the Elven boat. Misted banks slide past as the barge pushes against the current. A young Elf, known only as Veyl to most, stands at the prow with his arms crossed and his cloak pulled close. He stares straight ahead because he does not want to waste time on the view.

His servant waits a few steps behind. 

The servant is nervous and tries to keep his voice steady when he finally speaks.

“Veyl, why are we taking this detour? Your place in Ytrial is set. What are we doing here for this Sky Hunt?”

Veyl does not answer right away. He watches a bird skim the surface of the water, then finally turns so the servant can see his face.

“The Kingdom asked a favor of me,” Veyl says. “They want to build relationships with weaker powers who have something they want. Resources and a few uncommon Skills. They want me to help the Duke’s eldest daughter take her spot as heir in the Sky Hunt. That way, the Kingdom gets another ally.”

The servant frowns. 

“Why not just take what we need? We have the power. Why all this talking and waiting?”

Veyl keeps his tone flat. 

“Even vermin need space to survive. If we crush every weaker power, we just waste our strength and create more trouble for ourselves. It’s normal for those who trained in the state’s academy before going to Ytrial to be given one task such as this before heading to the Academy. Plus, it’s easier to let vermin grow and take what we need when they’re willing to give it. Conquest is work. Peace is cheaper.”

The servant nods, not sure if he agrees. 

“Is that all? Or did something happen?”

Veyl’s eyes narrow. 

“They asked for help at the last minute because something unexpected happened. I do not know what it is, but it does not matter. If there is a problem, I will deal with it. If someone stands in my way, I will crush them.”

He turns back to the river. The boat glides forward, carrying both of them into the mist. Veyl waits, calm and sure, because he has done favors for the Kingdom before and nothing has stopped him yet.

* 

Guildmaster Dorn isn’t happy. 

He just lost thousands of Platinums in bets.

Even as a Diamond Adventurer, that’s a veritable fortune. 

But what can the man do? How could he expect Jacob Cloud, previously known as Bocaj Duolc, to not only accept his proposal to dive into an Elite Dungeon, but also that he’d be able to clear all of it until the Boss Room? 

He can’t. He can only sit there, red-faced, while the crowd in the Adventurers’ Guild shifts and whispers, every pair of eyes glued to the map that still pulses with Jacob’s green dot, now parked outside the final chamber.

A junior scribe sets down a quill and says to nobody, “I don’t even care what drops now. Even if the kid gets nothing, he’s already a legend.”

Guildmaster Dorn overhears that and scowls.

Someone laughs, more out of relief than anything else. “You’re just mad you’re broke, Dorn.”

He ignores them. “He hasn’t fought the boss. It’s the Crucible’s greatest test. Most people enter this at Silver and, by the time they come out, they should have half a foot in the Gold Rank territory. The Boss is at Level 90. How do you think that pipsqueak is going to kill it?” 

“I mean, he must have gained a few levels by now,” someone chimed in.

“He might have,” a Gold Rank intercepts the conversation. “But he needs to be either level ninety or the greatest genius in all of Clearwater, perhaps the entirety of Clearbay and the entire region, if he wishes to Boss.”

Guildmaster Dorn agrees with the assessment.

The only problem—he fears—is that if this had been anyone but Jacob Cloud, he would have already nominated them as the greatest talent he had ever seen. 

*

I check how many levels I gained since the last time I opened my status. 

Furnace Core – Level 60 → Level 95

Flameform Blueprint – Level 60 → Level 84

Infernal Thread – Level 70 → Level 100

Hellspire – Level 90 → Level 100

Intermediate Strength – Level 20 → Level 60

Intermediate Endurance – Level 20 → Level 48

Bronze Grip – Level 85 → Level 95

Infernal Wings of Ash  – Level 20 → Level 45

Infernal Architect (Platinum) – Level 40 → Level 70

Name: Jacob Cloud

Class: Infernal Architect (Platinum) – Lv. 70

Core Skills:

Hell’s Sword – Lv. 100 (Gold – Offensive)

Fire Slash – Lv. 100 (Silver – Offensive)

Fire Shield – Lv. 100 (Silver – Defensive)

Fire Armor – Lv. 100 (Silver – Defensive)

Fire Walk – Lv. 100 (Silver – Movement)

Veins of Fire – Lv. 100 (Gold – Support)

The Grimoire Extraordinaire (Rainbow – Support)

Class Skills:

Furnace Core (Passive) – Lv. 95

Flameform Blueprint (Active) – Lv. 84

Infernal Thread (Passive) – Lv. 100

Ember Keystone (Active) – Lv. 1

Architect’s Insight (Passive) – Lv. 100

Hellspire (Active) – Lv. 100

Ignition Array (Active) – Lv. 1

Attributes:

Strength (STR): 105 → 137

Dexterity (DEX): 110 → 174

Endurance (END): 93 → 125

Vitality (VIT): 101 → 165

Intelligence (INT): 200 → 328

Spirit (SPI): 170 → 298

Wisdom (WIS): 126 → 222

Charisma (CHA): 18

Luck (LCK): 10

Unassigned Points: 0 → 160

Other Skills:

Minor Cookery Lv. 34 (Iron)

Minor Night Vision Lv. 32 (Iron)

Light Lv. 67 (Bronze)

Pickaxe Mastery Lv. 81 (Bronze)

Minor Mineral Sense Lv. 72 (Bronze)

Mana Pool Lv. 100 (Silver)

Echo Pulse Lv. 100 (Bronze)

Meditation Lv. 65 (Silver)

Bronze Grip Lv. 95 (Bronze)

Intermediate Endurance Lv. 60 (Bronze)

Intermediate Strength Lv. 48 (Silver)

Infernal Wings of Ash Lv. 45 (Gold)

I redistribute the rest of the Attributes like the Grimoire suggests. 

Attributes:

Strength (STR): 137 → 200

Dexterity (DEX): 174 → 200

Endurance (END): 125 

Vitality (VIT): 165 → 200

Intelligence (INT): 328

Spirit (SPI): 298 → 300

Wisdom (WIS): 222 → 256

Charisma (CHA): 18

Luck (LCK): 10

Then it’s time to enter the Dungeon Boss’s room. 

I look at the giant door. 

The doors are massive. Their frames stretch nearly to the ceiling and each slab of glass is as thick as my arm. 

I stand in front of them and feel the heat radiate through my boots and up my legs.

This is the last challenge here, I think to myself. 

But the real challenges are out there. The ones here are just monsters made of glass, an Infernal challenge that I made short work of thanks to the Grimoire, and that Shadow Mimic.

What’s Ytrial going to be like? I think, clenching a fist and hearing my knuckles crack. How strong am I now? 

I am stronger than I could have ever been without the Grimoire.

Without a Rainbow Skill, I could have never amassed this much power this quickly. It’s just something that I have to admit to myself.

But the Grimoire is just one piece, one small part of the jigsaw.

I will be a Knight. 

I will be a legend one day. 

I summon one Hell’s Sword in my right hand, and I start slowly walking toward the giant double doors. 

*

The Adventurers’ Guild is packed. Nobody is placing bets anymore. Most just stand and watch the map in silence. Some of the older adventurers start whispering to each other.

One Silver Rank leans against the wall and speaks up. 

“Boss fights always take the longest. You can’t just rush in and expect to win. Bosses are different. They think. They use skills you’ve never seen before.”

A scribe nods and looks down at his logbook. 

“I’ve seen challengers hold out for half an hour. Sometimes longer. Bosses are crafty. They know how to bait you in. You can’t rely on the tricks that work on normal monsters.”

Someone else adds, “There’s no shame in losing to a Boss. You either die fast because you weren’t ready, or you survive a bit and get crushed anyway. That’s how it is for everyone the first time.”

A Gold Rank shakes his head. 

“And this an Elite Boss. The kid has had a great run. Beyond what everyone here could have imagined. But he wasn’t ready. He doesn’t have the equipment, the Skills, or just the luck. Unless he’s ordained by the stars themselves, an ambassador of fate in a world of mud, he won’t be able to do anything. He’s doomed.”

A merchant’s son speaks up from behind the crowd. “How long do you think he’ll last? I mean, he made it this far, but even the best get stuck here.”

An older adventurer shrugs. “If he’s lucky, a few minutes. If he’s unlucky, he dies right at the start.”

Guildmaster Dorn just sits behind his table, silent and tense. He keeps one hand clenched around a stack of betting slips and stares at the green dot. For all his bluster, he says nothing.

Felisia has walked to the front of the crowd and stares at the highest room, with her head tilted up. She does not say a word, but her eyes never leave the green dot.

Sir Greyson is beside her, arms crossed. He watches with the same hard look as always.

They see a bright dot appear in the Boss’s room. 

The Boss. 

A hush settles over the Adventurers’ Guild when the Boss’s dot lights up on the Dungeon Map. The green dot stands still just inside the chamber, and the Boss’s mark pulses in the center, bright and clear for everyone to see.

Someone in the crowd says, “That’s it. The Boss is awake.”

A group of juniors leans forward to get a better look. 

A Silver Rank who just joined in the last hour grips her mug so hard her hands shake. 

“This stupid map won’t show us the fight. All we get is those dots.”

“Just keep watching,” someone else says. “If the green dot vanishes, he’s dead. If it moves, he’s still alive.”

Felisia stands at the front, her fists clenched. She does not blink or look away from the map.

Sir Greyson stays beside her, silent, his eyes fixed on the Boss room.

A Gold Rank at the back clears his throat. 

“If Jacob Cloud lasts a minute, he’s done better than most. Nobody has to win to earn respect in a fight with the Boss. People just want to see if he can stand his ground.”

A merchant speaks up, voice flat. 

“It’s a pity. The kid did have some talent, whatever his background is.” 

A young adventurer says, “He’s made it further than anyone in years. Maybe he’ll surprise us.”

An older man shakes his head, never looking away from the map. 

“He’s good, but being good doesn’t matter to an Elite Boss. We’re about to witness the death of this young kid’s legacy so early, which is regretful but—” 

About fifteen seconds after Jacob entered the room, the Boss’s dot goes out.