Name: Jacob Cloud

Class: Infernal Architect (Platinum) – Lv. 127

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)

Infernal Veins – Lv. 14 (Platinum – Support)

The Grimoire Extraordinaire (Rainbow – Support)

Class Skills:

Furnace Core (Passive) – Lv. 100

Flameform Blueprint (Active) – Lv. 100

Infernal Thread (Passive) – Lv. 100

Ember Keystone (Active) – Lv. 1

Architect's Insight (Passive) – Lv. 100

Hellspire (Active) – Lv. 100

Ignition Array (Active) – Lv. 2

Attributes:

Strength (STR): 200 → 300

Dexterity (DEX): 200 → 314

Endurance (END): 125 → 200

Vitality (VIT): 200 → 314

Intelligence (INT): 328 → 600

Spirit (SPI): 300 → 600

Wisdom (WIS): 256 → 500

Charisma (CHA): 18

Luck (LCK): 10

Unassigned Points: 35

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. 100 (Silver)

Bronze Grip Lv. 100 (Bronze)

Intermediate Endurance Lv. 100 (Bronze)

Intermediate Strength Lv. 100 (Silver)

Infernal Wings of Ash Lv. 75 (Gold)

Dark Lattice Lv. 74 (Gold)

Diavolo Draw Lv. 42 (Gold)

Dark Blade Lv. 22 (Gold)

Black Flame Lv. 8 (Fusion Skill - Platinum)

I have distributed the Attributes I gained throughout the fights at the Sky Hunt and the Crucible with the Grimoire's advice.

All my mana-related Attributes, Intelligence, Spirit, and Wisdom crossed five hundred. When that happened, I felt a significant shift in power. Killing Veyl helped me gain several levels.

Still, though, I feel like Infernal Architect is leveling up slower than it should have. It almost feels like the Class is a bottomless pit for experience.

I asked Sir Renquell whether it makes sense that stronger Classes take longer to level up, and, apparently, that's the case. However, he said that, usually, there's only so much of a difference between Classes.

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Yet, I should already be level one-sixty or something like that if that were the case.

Even with the most demanding Class, with the monsters I've killed with my own hands, I should have had more levels under my belt.

Yet, despite being in the early levels of Gold Rank, I'm already approaching a late Gold Rank in strength. And this is all thanks to the Infernal heritage.

"Cloud! Come above board!" I hear the first mate shouting.

I raise an eyebrow.

It's been a very long trip to Ytrial. About two months ago, we departed from Clearwater, but even with the Platinum-ranked vessel and crew, it took us two months to reach our destination. Apparently, that's because we couldn't cross certain zones directly.

Most monsters have been purged out of every landmass outside of Dungeons. Whenever new ones appear, quests for adventurers and Knights are posted immediately.

But at sea, it's a whole different story. Very few Knights are armed for underwater combat—certainly not me.

Being able to fight underwater is a skill unto itself. That is why large stretches of every sea cannot be crossed unless high-level sailors man your vessel.

There are even Knights whose entire specialty is sailing, but not only are they far and few in between, but since they are essential to commercial routes, they are paid their weight in whatever currency their rank fetches.

* * *

Jacob shoulders his pack and climbs the narrow stairs to the upper deck, letting the morning wind slap him across the face. It carries the scent of salt and iron and something sharper, some power so dense it almost stings. The fog ahead splits as the ship cuts through, and he gets his first real look at Ytrial.

Ytrial rises out of the ocean like a vision out of myth. The cliffs are black, carved by ancient hands, but the city above them is a riot of spires, banners, and towers that crowd together in a mad jumble, all fused into a single fortress that stretches for miles. Ramparts run along the cliff's edge and then keep rising until they form walls that block out half the horizon. On every ledge, more fortifications bristle with enchanted ballistae, runic emplacements, and banners so large the wind rips them into tatters. Jacob sees bridges spanning impossible gaps, streets that twist in layers over one another, and a swarm of airships docking at piers anchored high above the water.

Above it all, dozens of floating islands drift lazily in the sky, tethered to Ytrial by chains as thick as city gates or left to circle the city's heart. Each island holds a cluster of towers, gardens, and domes, their edges glowing with defensive wards and swirling mana fields. From below, the city looks less like a fortress and more like a citadel built by giants for a war that never ended.

He can't even begin to count the number of people living there. The docks alone stretch for nearly a league, and every pier is crowded with ships larger than anything Jacob ever saw in Clearwater. Clearwater felt big when he left it, but now it seems like a backwater fortress some merchant might buy as a vacation home.

The captain stands by the prow, watching the city through a battered spyglass. He lowers it when Jacob approaches and points at a shadow gliding across the waves, just beyond the reach of the ship's wards.

"There. See that?" the captain says, voice low.

Jacob squints and makes out a pale, spectral figure riding just above the water. The figure is clad in ruined armor and moves without making a sound, as if the waves themselves hold it up. There are more of them, each trailing wisps of fog and leaving no wake. Their weapons glint even though there's no sun hitting them, and their faces are little more than empty visors and shadows.

"Ghost Knights," the captain says. "Every one of them fell in defense of Ytrial. Powerful Necromancers pulled them back, bound them to the city's fate. They say each one has the strength of a Wandering Knight, Mithril Rank, and they don't leave these waters. Nothing makes it past them unless Ytrial wants it."

Jacob keeps watching as one of the figures glides beneath an incoming merchant vessel, only for the air around the ship to freeze and flicker with warding runes. The ghost Knight disappears beneath the hull, leaving a trail of frost in its wake.

"Are they bound forever?" Jacob asks.

The captain shrugs.

"Bound as long as Ytrial stands, or so the stories go."

Jacob turns his gaze toward the city's center. Past the clustered keeps and the endless banners, there is a single spire that rises higher than everything else, impossibly thin at its tip and thick at the base, built from stone that glows faintly red. It's not connected to any other part of the city by bridges or chains; it simply rises straight from the heart of the citadel.

He can't help himself. "What about that spire in the middle? The one that looks like it's about to pierce the clouds."

The captain lowers his spyglass and grins, showing a mouth full of gold teeth. "That's the Heartspire. Some say it's the oldest part of the city, built before even the Academy. I've heard it's a legendary test, something only the greatest Knights ever attempt. I've ferried more than a few hopefuls to Ytrial, and I've never seen one come back out."

"What do they find in there?"

"Couldn't tell you. You'll have to ask a local."

* * *

I step down the gangplank and find the docks even more crowded than they looked from above. Workers haul crates, porters shout for space, and Knights in silver armor ride past on mana-bred horses that leave trails of sparks on the stone. All of it blurs together until he spots four figures standing right at the end of the dock. They are not part of the chaos. They're waiting.

The four don't bother hiding their status. Their clothes are far too clean for dockwork, their boots made for court floors instead of ship decks.

The oldest is wearing armor, while the two younger boys are wearing clothes you'd see at court—but even more refined, even more magical than the ones I've seen in Clearwater. They wear tailored jackets with inlaid runes that pulse faintly, and the youngest has a sword at his side that's worth more than most people's homes.

The woman, probably only younger than the guy in armor, steps forward first.

She has the kind of posture drilled into someone since birth, and she doesn't even try to make small talk.

"You there. You just arrived from Clearwater, didn't you?" Her eyes linger on the silver pin on my cloak.

I set his bag down, watching all four of them.

"That's right."

The youngest among them, a tall, broad-shouldered man with gray-blue eyes, glances at his brother before speaking.

"We're looking for someone. Jacob Cloud. You wouldn't happen to know where he is?"

Jacob raises an eyebrow.

"Might I ask who you are, milords, milady?"

"We've been waiting for Jacob Cloud. We're from the Valemont Family," the oldest says, shaking his head. "If you know him, tell him to come down and that his half-siblings are here."

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