An arrow sliced through the air and buried itself in the tree trunk with a sharp thunk.

"Nice shot," Artemis praised. "Now do it again, but this time my way."

Luke let out a long breath and reached for another arrow. "You sure about this?"

"I'm always sure. I was the most skilled archer in the entire multiverse, remember?"

He narrowed his eyes. "I believe you. I just don't trust your methods."

"Just do it. You'll understand."

Without arguing further, Luke started spinning. Standing in place, he twirled rapidly, turning faster and faster until the forest blurred around him. His body, strengthened by boosted attributes, held out longer than it used to. But eventually the dizziness kicked in, and he stumbled to a stop, swaying.

Wobbling, he pulled the bowstring back. "You're telling me this actually improves aim?"

"If you can land a shot while dizzy, shooting while steady will feel like child's play. Trust the process."

"Okay, but explain this part. Why do I have to do it shirtless?"

There was a beat of awkward silence. Artemis cleared her throat. "Never question your teacher's methods."

"You just wanted an excuse to see me without a shirt, didn't you?"

"Quiet, student. Focus is everything."

He released the arrow. Miss. The second one, also a miss. The third didn't even come close. But even as he grumbled, Luke knew what this was really about. In the past two weeks, he'd seen genuine improvement. Artemis made him shoot under every condition imaginable: sprinting, leaping, hanging upside down, even blindfolded. The goal wasn't raw power. It was instinct. Sensory awareness. Understanding the rhythm of the world.

And the shirtless training? As questionable as it sounded, it had some merit. With nothing between his skin and the air, he could feel the wind more clearly, sense shifts in temperature, time his breathing better. Artemis was forcing him to tune his body to the world around him. After practice, Luke moved to his garden plots, kept outside the pocket dimension so they could soak up the sunlight. The plants were thriving, taller and brighter than before, many already beginning to bloom.

"Look at you guys, growing strong," he murmured, smiling.

The emotions that trickled back from the plants were soft, peaceful. A brush of joy, like leaves rustling in a breeze. He extended a hand, fingers glowing with faint green light. Plant Growth magic surged down into the soil, nourishing roots, strengthening stalks, coaxing life upward. His connection to the profession deepened with each passing day, and he had just hit level 24 in it.

He wasn't in the cave anymore. Luke had relocated to a quieter part of the forest, closer to the castle, near a silent river that cut through the realm. For the past two weeks, his focus had been singular: find the third mechanism. He hadn't sought out fights or tried to force level-ups through combat. Not when moving through the capital meant staying invisible, especially with the Beast Lord patrolling and the statues constantly on alert.

His skill, [Advanced Stealth], had become essential. He glided through the environment like mist. No sound. No scent. Even his presence seemed to blur into the shadows. Along the way, he'd confirmed a few theories. Both the statues and the other monsters feared the Beast Lord. Whenever its presence approached, they scattered, hiding. That explained why, when the bells rang, the statues rushed to specific positions, probably so they wouldn't get crushed by the monster during one of its patrols.

Still, Luke noticed something else: the serpent never ventured deep into the city. It mostly stalked the outskirts. That territory was firmly under the statues' control, likely because of it. Luke kept his exploration limited to areas the Beast Lord had already passed through. It was safer that way—most of the monsters avoided those zones after the serpent's patrols.

If that giant snake would just slither a bit closer to the castle, it'd really help me out. Might even give me a shot at bypassing those damned statues.

Suddenly, a system notification appeared.

[Princess Charlie has slain a Dead Patrolman – Lvl 31]

*The [Death Knight] class of Princess Charlie has reached Level 29! (Class Bonus Points Acquired: +3 Str, +3 End, +2 Agi, +2 Vit, +2 Int, +1 Per, +2 Free Points)*

He looked up and spotted her in the distance, calmly finishing off the creature. She was already heading back, sword sheathed, her steps steady and relaxed.

"Congratulations, Charlie. At this rate, you'll hit level 30 in no time," he said with a faint smile.

She gave a small nod, clearly pleased by the praise. Still silent as ever, but her body language spoke volumes. Curious, Luke pulled up her status window to check out the new updates.

Name: Princess Charlie Level: 17 Race: Skeleton Rank: F Class: Death Knight (Lvl 29) 2nd Class: Pugilist (Lvl 13) Title: [Servant of the Dark Lord] Health Points (HP): 1023/1390 Mana Points (MP): 733/930 Stamina: 1342/1630

Stats: Strength: 166 (236) Agility: 100 Endurance: 123 (163) Vitality: 139 Perception: 76 Intelligence: 93 Free Points: 23

Class Skills: [Basic Weapon Handling (Common)], Heavy Strike (Common), [Basic Spectral Charge (Rare)], [Crescent Slash (Uncommon)], [Whirlwind Strike (Uncommon)], [Spectral Chain (Rare)], [Spectral Barrier (Rare)], [Doomblade (Rare)]

Second Class Skills: [Advanced Hand-to-Hand (Uncommon)], [Steel Fist (Rare)], [Stunning Punch (Uncommon)], [Battle Roar (Uncommon)], [Concentrated Kick (Uncommon)], [Power Punch (Uncommon)]

Race Skills: [Demonic Servant Perception (Uncommon)], [Basic Bone Regeneration (Rare)], [Bone Endurance (Rare)], [Iron Bones (Ultra-Rare)]

Rune Skill: [Berserker Flames (Rare)]

Charlie had become absurdly lethal—and a lot of it was thanks to the synergy between her two classes. The attribute growth from combining [Death Knight] with [Pugilist] created a perfect balance between durability and raw power. That duality enhanced both her offense and defense.

At level 10 in her second class, she'd picked up a new skill:

[Power Punch (Uncommon)]: The Pugilist channels stamina into the fists, empowering them to deliver devastating blows. The more stamina channeled, the harder the impact—capable of shattering defenses, knocking enemies back, or even demolishing solid structures.

Simple. Direct. Brutal. But Luke had run into a bit of a problem with her free stat allocation. Most [Death Knight] abilities burned through mana, while [Pugilist] relied on stamina. And to make things more complicated, her rune skill, [Berserker Flames], drained both. Finding the right balance was tricky.

After a few minutes weighing options, he settled on a distribution: +5 Strength, +5 Endurance, +5 Vitality, +3 Perception, and +5 Intelligence.

Stats Updated (Princess Charlie): Strength: 166 (236) -> 171 (241) Endurance: 123 (163) -> 128 (168) Vitality: 139 -> 144 Perception: 76 -> 79 Intelligence: 93 -> 98 Free Points: 23 -> 0

Satisfied with the adjustments, he closed her screen and opened his own interface. Time to review his own progress.

Name: Luke Level: 21 Rank: F Class: [Demonic Assassin (Lvl 33)] Race: Half-Demon Profession: Botanist of Mother Freya (Lvl 24) Titles: [Dark Lord] Bloodline: [Bloodline of the Dark Demon] Health Points (HP): 1930/1930 Mana Points (MP): 985/1560 Stamina: 738/1120 Soul Fragments: 62/1000

Stats: Strength: 227 Agility: 193 (243) Endurance: 91 (111) Vitality: 192 Perception: 217 (227) Intelligence: 155 (160) Free Points: 51

Class Skills: [Basic Blade Handling (Common)], [Profane Knife Throwing (Uncommon)], [Twin Blade (Common)], [Basic Dark Dash (Rare)], [Basic Blood Regeneration (Rare)], [Assassin's Mark (Rare)], [Demonic Blade Dance (Rare)], [Wraith Form (Ultra-Rare)], [Force Infusion (Rare)], [Advanced Stealth (Rare)]

Profession Skills: [Herbology of Mother Freya (Ancient)], [Precise Extraction (Common)], [Basic Potion Crafting (Common)], [Plant Growth (Uncommon)], [Plant Sensor (Uncommon)], [Botanical Bond of Mother Freya (Rare)], [Seed Conversion (Rare)]

Race Skills: [Identify (Common)], [Demonic Perception (Uncommon)], [Dark Blood (Uncommon)], [Meditation (Common)], [Demonic Endurance (Uncommon)]

Bloodline Skill: [Servant of the Dark Lord (Unique)] Servants: [Princess Charlie (Skeleton) - Lvl 17], [Servant Slot Available]

Luke stared at his interface with a faint, satisfied smirk. Fifty-one unspent points.

"I'm officially a stat hoarder now."

His gaze lingered on his Race Level: 21. No new race skills had unlocked since Level 10. At first, he'd assumed they came every five levels—but apparently, race progression played by a different set of rules. A slower, stingier set.

When he hit Level 20 in his profession, the skill options that popped up were mostly old ones he'd previously skipped. That's when he chose something he'd initially overlooked but now realized was invaluable: [Seed Conversion].

The ability allowed him to revert plants back into their purest form—a seed. When paired with [Plant Growth] and enhanced by his bond through [Botanical Bond], the results were remarkable. He could propagate saplings at an accelerated rate, and the loyalty link between him and the plants deepened in the process.

In short, Luke had become a one-man magical seed-replication factory. It felt almost like cheating. He let out a long breath after watering a neat row of mint. There was something oddly peaceful about it. Calming. Nearly therapeutic.

"I swear, if you keep this up, you're gonna become one of those single old men whose life revolves around gardening," Artemis teased.

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Luke didn't bother responding. The soft smile stayed on his lips as he moved to the next row.

"When I get back to Earth, maybe I'll open a shop or something," he mused, crouching to inspect the stem of a medicinal herb. "I know how to make healing potions, stuff for headaches, back pain... I could make a decent living."

Charlie approached with a watering can in hand, her skull tilted slightly as she gave a small, eager nod. The message was clear: 'I want to help too.'

"And you will," Luke chuckled. "You'll be my assistant."

"And I'll be the face of the brand," Artemis declared proudly.

"You'll scare off the customers, that's what you'll do."

Luke approached one of his most carefully tended plants—his Energizing Catuaba. It was potent enough to craft either a stamina potion… or something a bit more stimulating.

"What does that plant actually do?" Artemis asked, curiosity laced in her voice. "You treat it like it's some sacred relic."

"Nothing special," Luke muttered. "Just used for a potion… kind of a sensitive one."

"You're not gonna try making it?"

"Not yet. I don't think I'm skilled enough to risk wasting the materials."

"Must be a hell of a potion."

He glanced sideways, keeping a straight face. "Hell yeah. Some men would kill for this stuff."

Artemis let out an impressed whistle. He wasn't a master alchemist—at least, not yet. Especially when it came to healing potions. Kalysto had explained it early on: Luke was never going to become a full-on potion factory. Healing brews demanded a lot—rare herbs, specific catalysts, time—and even then, the output often wasn't worth the cost.

Early on, after several failed batches and a lot of wasted resources, Luke had finally managed to craft a single potion that restored more than 33 HP. Now, he could reliably make ones that gave 133. The problem? He could only brew around three per week. Everything factored in—prep time, ingredient gathering, brew duration. It added up.

"If it were easy," he murmured, "healers wouldn't be so damn valuable."

Still, he was making progress. Rather than chase quantity, he'd focused on quality. The same amount of effort it once took him to make a 33-HP potion now resulted in a 100-HP one. Slow progress, sure—but meaningful. The kind of progress that saved your life in a tight spot. Old Luke would've been thrilled to have just one of those in his inventory.

He reached for a vial.

[Defective Potion (Common)]: The result of an incorrect preparation. This potion fails to restore health and instead causes immediate nausea and violent vomiting, purging the contents of the stomach. Useless in combat, but potentially helpful in cases of mild poisoning or accidental ingestion.

"Well, Luke," Artemis quipped, "you're officially a specialist in brewing diarrhea bombs."

"Trust me, there are people back on Earth who would pay good money for something like this... probably."

"Oh yeah, totally. If an enemy charges at you, just make him crap himself," she laughed, full and unfiltered.

Luke didn't dignify it with a response. Once he finished his routine, he packed the garden beds back into his pocket dimension and turned toward the city. Time to get moving again. The exploration wasn't going to finish itself.

***

The city lay shrouded in a thick veil of fog and shadow. Moonlight struggled to pierce the dense clouds overhead, casting only the faintest glow across the crumbling alleyways. Luke moved through the ruins—not in haste, but with clear intent. His steps made no sound. His presence was erased. Stealth wrapped around him like a second skin. Invisible. Untouchable.

A quiver on his back held twenty arrows, each one a quiet promise of death. In his hands, Angelica's bow. Ahead, the warped towers of the old city loomed. His target: the rooftop of one of the tallest structures still standing.

The statues made things difficult. The only safe window to reach that height was at night, when the sentries moved from their posts. During the day, they acted like security cameras, watching everything statically and if they saw him, come nightfall they'd hunt him relentlessly. That's why he'd deliberately drawn attention elsewhere the previous day, baiting patrols to the other end of the city. Now, with the path less guarded, the climb could begin.

As he turned a corner, he froze. Three undead wandered the street ahead. If even one of them screamed, the statues might hear. No hesitation. Luke drew the bowstring. The first arrow flew like a streak of darkness.

[You have slain a Wandering Undead - Level 28]

Already moving, he released the second. The twang of the bowstring echoed for a split second—then silence.

[You have slain a Wandering Undead - Level 28]

The third turned, empty eyes searching. Too late. The arrow was already between them.

[You have slain a Wandering Undead - Level 28]

Luke tapped the quiver. Three new arrows shimmered into existence, glowing faintly. Full again. Each summon cost 5 mana and was worth every point for the precision it gave him. The quiver he carried could store up to twenty arrows.

The bow had proven itself invaluable in situations like this. His kukris, while deadly, had limits—short range, and only two of them. If he threw one at each of the first two targets, the third would still be standing, alert and dangerous. Sure, he could recall a blade using magnetism, but that took precious seconds. Seconds that could mean exposure. With the bow, there was no such problem. With a full quiver, he could drop twenty enemies before needing to think twice.

His throwing knives remained strapped in their holster, overshadowed by the bow's quiet efficiency. Knives lost momentum, lost range. An arrow in trained hands? It struck before sound could even catch up.

He moved again. One step into shadow. Dark Dash. He crossed the final stretch and reached the base of the tower. The door creaked as it opened, a sound meant for ears that no longer existed. Inside, silence. Climbing the outside was too risky. A statue could spot him—or worse, the Beast Lord. So he slipped into the darkness within.

The corridor was narrow, thick with the stench of rotting flesh. A low growl echoed ahead. He fired before the creature fully appeared.

[You have slain a Wandering Undead - Level 28]

Before the body hit the ground, he was already on it. A quick gesture—gone, pulled into the pocket dimension. No noise. No mess. At the next bend, three more shadows. One of them lagged slightly behind. Perfect. He activated [Assassin's Mark]. The symbol, invisible to the world, branded its target. They split up. He moved. Arrow.

[You have slain a Wandering Undead - Level 28]

He didn't slow as he hit the intersection. Just fired.

[You have slain a Wandering Undead - Level 28]

[You have slain a Wandering Undead - Level 28]

**[You have reached Level 22! Half-Demon (Rank F)] (+1 bonus point to all attributes, +1 free point)**

That was the only real downside of the bow. He could take down a hundred enemies and not earn a single drop of experience for his class. Only the race gained levels from ranged kills. With a quiet sigh, Luke pressed on. The mission wasn't over yet.

***

When he reached the top of the building, Luke turned his eyes toward his true objective.

"Two weeks..." he muttered. "Two weeks searching for the mechanism's fortress. And still nothing."

He hadn't gone deep enough into the city to find it, but out of all the places he'd scouted, there was one he'd left untouched—a forest near the heart of the ruins, dangerously close to the castle. It was walled off by a thick tangle of roots, moss, and vines, as if the land itself were conspiring to keep it hidden. But Luke knew. That was where he had to go.

The problem? To get there, he'd have to cross a city swarming with statues. And the moment they spotted him, they'd mark him. Come nightfall, the hunt would begin—and he'd be right in the center of their territory.

He sat down and closed his eyes, activating Meditation to restore his mana and stamina. Once he was ready, he'd make his move—cut straight across the city, and reach the wall of roots. Whatever lay beyond it, he was done circling. It was time to push forward.

***

Kruger stood at the edge of the bandit camp, eyes fixed on the flickering firelight ahead. In his hand, the midnight-black weapon gleamed faintly.

[Midnight Warden Hand-Crossbow (Rare)

Description: Forged from the remains of a slain Midnight Warden. The weapon's frame carries the same obsidian metal as the Warden's infamous spear, reshaped for one singular purpose: to kill in the dark. To wield it is to echo the same cold precision that ended its former master's life.

[Rotating Magazine (Rare)]: A built-in drum holds up to 8 bolts, enabling multiple rapid shots before reloading.]

The weapon looked like a pistol fused with a crossbow, even featuring a revolver-style cylinder where he loaded the bolts. Kruger knelt, slipping his hand to the thigh holster. One by one, glowing bolts formed in the enchanted sheath—pure mana given shape. They looked too big for the compact chamber, but as he slid each one into place, the weapon absorbed them smoothly, bending the laws of space to its will.

He couldn't pre-load in advance. The bolts made entirely of mana would dissolve within minutes if not used in the weapon; that was the price for the item's enchantment. That meant no keeping the drum loaded. Timing was everything.

With the last click, he spun the cylinder. The metallic whir rang out like a sweet lullaby only he could hear. His dagger rested in the other holster, just in case. But tonight, he planned to let the pistol sing. There was another skill he liked to pair with it:

[Assassin's Flash]: The assassin channels a sudden burst of searing light into his blade, releasing it in a blinding flash aimed directly at an enemy's eyes. The explosion causes temporary blindness and disorientation—perfect for interrupting attacks, creating openings, or making a clean getaway. Deadly when timed right. Like everything else he carried.

Activating his invisibility, Kruger stepped forward, swallowed by the shadows. Silent. Untouchable. Seven were visible at the camp, four sitting around the fire, three on watch. Five more were sleeping in nearby tents. He raised the pistol and fired.

[You have slain a...]

The body collapsed with a soft thud. Another turned, confused by the noise. A second shot took him in the chest.

[You have slain a...]

Calmly, Kruger strode to the third sentry. Bolt. Impact. Silence.

[You have slain a...]

He couldn't reload until the chamber was empty. That was fine. There were four more around the fire, and five asleep. He stalked past the tents, peeking through each. Still breathing. Easy targets. In the third tent, he found his marked target and quietly triggered [Assassin's Mark]. A soft shimmer pulsed and vanished.

Then he visited the others. One bolt each. No screams. No struggle. Just swift, clean executions. Only the target in the final tent remained alive—along with the four idiots by the fire.

To empty the cylinder, Kruger casually walked back and put a bolt through one of the corpses. Wasteful? Maybe. But he enjoyed the rhythm of the reload. As he inserted each new bolt, his mind whistled a silent tune. Eight shots ready. He moved in close.

"I still say we should head south," one of them muttered, poking the fire with a stick.

"Sticking close to the Safe Zone makes more sense," another replied.

"Man, I don't want to keep living around a bunch of dudes all the time," grumbled a third. "I need women. How many damn miles do I have to walk just to buy one night with someone from the city? Unless they open a brothel in the middle of the forest, I'm staying here."

Laughter erupted around the fire. Kruger raised the crossbow and stepped in close, firing point-blank. The bolt punched straight through the man's skull. His expression froze mid-sentence, eyes wide in disbelief, and his body slumped forward into the fire with a sickening crackle.

[You have slain a…]

"What the hell?!" one of the others shouted, scrambling to his feet as the flames hissed around the corpse.

Chaos bloomed in an instant. Kruger didn't hesitate—he used their panic. Another shot, smooth and efficient.

[You have slain a…]

Two left. They saw the bolt lodged in their friend's face and threw themselves to the ground. One of them shouted, "We're under attack! Call for backup!"

As one reached for his weapon, Kruger raised his left hand and activated [Assassin's Flash]. A sudden burst of blinding light erupted from his blade, slamming directly into the man's eyes. While the target reeled, Kruger fired.

[You have slain a…]

The last one froze for a second, wide-eyed, then looked toward the treeline, desperate to locate the threat. Kruger didn't rush. He flicked his dagger through the air, burying it cleanly in the man's chest. He stumbled back, gurgling as blood poured from his chest, clutching at the weapon lodged too deep to remove. Kruger let his invisibility fade, just for the pleasure of being seen. The man's terrified eyes locked on his killer. His mouth moved, trying to scream or beg, but nothing came out. Then he collapsed.

[You have slain a…]

The last one—Kruger's true target—hadn't even tried to help. The moment the ambush began, he'd bolted into the forest like a coward. Kruger followed, quiet as ever. The mark glowed faintly in his vision thanks to [Assassin's Mark], revealing the exact position even in the dark. He aimed low and fired. The bolt slammed into the man's leg, taking him down hard. He screamed, clawing at the projectile as if sheer panic would rip it loose.

Kruger walked slowly, casually. Humming a low tune to himself. He knew the class of this one. He knew how this would end.

"Please!" the man cried out as soon as he saw him.

"You know who I am," Kruger said, stopping just a few feet away.

"You… you're Kruger. The Bastion Butcher," the man stammered. "Please, don't kill me. I'll give you everything. All my gear. Just let me live."

Behind the mask, Kruger smiled. He loved this part.

"I want a name," he said. "Where's your old partner? Caleb."

"C-Caleb?" the man sputtered. "I… I don't know, man!"

Kruger slowly raised the crossbow again.

"I swear, I don't! But he used to hang around the brothel street in the Safe Zone. He'd shack up there sometimes. That's all I know. I swear it."

The crossbow fired.

[You have slain a…]

Kruger already knew that information. It didn't matter. He just wanted to send a message.

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