Perspective: Alessio Leone
"It seems I have greatly underestimated the worth of my savior…"
The Lich's voice echoed through the hall like restrained thunder — hoarse, drawn out, yet carrying something that almost sounded like admiration.
The sound reverberated off the stone walls, blending with the rattle of chains and the shuffling of the dead.
Even now, as Alessio tore through the tide of corpses at terrifying speed, the Lich showed not the slightest trace of fear.
His slender figure remained perfectly still, leaning against the open coffin, crimson eyes following him with calm that bordered on disdain.
It was as if Alessio were not a threat — merely an inevitable occurrence, something to be observed.
Necromantic energy radiated from him in pulsating green waves that made the floor tremble.
And even surrounded by chaos, the Lich spoke with the poise of a nobleman at a banquet.
"But that is a good thing," he continued, inclining his head slightly, his serene tone at odds with the sound of bones shattering around him.
"Some things are best appreciated… when swallowed slowly."
The words sliced through the air like blades of ice.
And yet, the Lich smiled — a smile almost human, marred only by the bluish tint of his skin and the faint, sinister runes coiling beneath his eyes.
Alessio didn't answer.
There was no time for words.
His body was pure momentum.
Each step brought him closer to the throne, every shield strike carved space between the dead, and every impact shook the air.
The corridor ahead had become a wasteland.
The undead, once an unending barrier, were now nothing more than wreckage — scattered limbs, crushed skulls, torsos still twitching in futility.
And yet, the Lich stood where he had always been, untouched.
"We will meet again," said the creature, as the energy around him began to shift in color.
The runes across his body flared darker — nearly black.
"At a more… appropriate moment."
Alessio pressed his shield tight against his arm and roared — the Lion's Roar, deep, furious, real.
But the Lich only smiled.
His body began to dissolve into shadow, the outline of his form unraveling into dark fragments — like ink spilling through water.
The energy that had filled the hall condensed around the throne, swirling into a spiral of cold smoke.
"You're not escaping!" Alessio shouted, surging forward.
In one motion, he raised his arm and hurled his axe.
The sound of metal tearing through air echoed like the thunder of a divine war drum.
The blade spun straight and true, streaking across the hall in a flash of gold.
But it was useless.
The weapon sliced through empty air, passing exactly where the Lich's body had stood an instant before.
The shadows dispersed like mist at dawn, and the only sound that followed was the dull crack of the axe burying itself in the empty throne.
Then — silence.
The kind that weighed heavy on the air.
The atmosphere thickened again — not from magic this time, but from the exhaustion that finally caught up to him.
Behind him, the noise of the undead had ceased.
The entire battlefield seemed swallowed by absence.
The Lich's army was gone — along with its master.
And then he felt it —
a faint tug within his chest, subtle but unmistakable.
His vitality, once colossal, began to recede.
The energy that had fueled him through the storm ebbed away like a tide retreating after the tempest.
He understood instantly.
The passive ability of Lion's Blood — the gift that multiplied his strength whenever he had something or someone to protect — was deactivating.
The threat was gone.
The danger had passed.
Those under his protection — Freya and the cubs — were safe once more.
That could mean only one thing:
the battle was over.
Alessio exhaled slowly, hot vapor escaping through the slits of his helmet.
The tension in his body began to ease.
The shield, now caked in dried blood and ash, suddenly felt lighter.
He cast one last glance toward the coffin, where his axe remained lodged, and let out a low, weary sigh.
"No reward this time, huh…" he muttered, voice rough beneath the helm.
It was true.
No loot glow.
No essence fragment.
No new item.
Nothing.
The Lich had fled before being defeated, and the Tower rarely rewarded incomplete victories.
Perhaps he was getting greedy.
The silence that followed was heavy, almost tangible.
The runes on the walls had gone dark, the green glow that once bathed the chamber now dissolved into fading wisps of mist.
The stench of death was receding, replaced by the damp, earthy scent of old stone and dust.
Alessio drew in a long breath.
The air still tasted of iron.
With every inhale, he could feel his body readjusting — energy settling back to normal, the tension in his muscles loosening.
The shield on his arm still vibrated faintly, as though the Bulwark of Titans itself were also adjusting to the battle's end.
With a firm motion, he strode toward the cracked coffin.
The axe was still embedded deep in the broken lid.
The earlier impact had left deep fissures across the surface, and now the metal glimmered beneath a thin shaft of light that pierced through a gap in the ceiling.
He gripped the handle and pulled.
The sound of steel scraping against stone filled the hall — a low, dragging noise that carried a strange satisfaction.
When the blade came free, he twirled it in his hands, feeling the familiar weight.
Dark blood still ran down its edge, and the gleam of it reminded him of all he had just faced.
For a long moment, he stood there, surveying the aftermath.
The Lich's chamber now resembled a battlefield graveyard.
Fragments of armor, bones, and shattered weapons littered the floor.
The extinguished runes pulsed faintly along the walls — like dying hearts.
And the coffin — the same one from which the Lich of the Green Moon had vanished — remained empty.
A silent monument to something that could not die.
This journey — this brief descent into the cursed lands of Gloomshade — had made him ridiculously powerful.
More than he expected.
More than the game itself had likely intended for someone at his stage.
He had faced one of the Tower's legendary beings — the Lich of the Green Moon himself — and though the creature had escaped, Alessio knew the truth:
he had almost killed him.
And almost was more than enough.
Power coursed through him like a raging river, and he could feel it growing.
The Tower always rewarded those who defied it — but what he had gained here went beyond stats or skills.
It was a change of scale.
A shift that demanded more than celebration — it demanded strategy.
He spun the axe and rested it against his shoulder, mind already turning.
Perhaps it was time to reconsider his route.
The surrounding regions, the resources, the remaining time in this session…
Everything would need recalculating.
The next floors, the event zones, the guilds that would inevitably notice his rise — all of it had just become a new chessboard.
Lost in thought, he barely noticed the faint sound behind him.
Footsteps.
Slow. Steady.
The soft rhythm mingled with a faint scraping — claws against stone.
Measured. Almost… maternal.
Alessio turned.
It was Sith.
Now fully awake, walking toward him.
Her black hair was disheveled, a few strands stuck to her pale skin with sweat and dried blood.
But her eyes — that fierce, untamed green — remained unchanged.
In her arms she carried the two cubs, one on each side, small and peaceful, their golden fur gleaming faintly under the dim light.
The sight was surreal.
Amid the aftermath of carnage, she moved with calm — as if none of it were new to her.
The woman and her young.
Life walking through the field of death.
Alessio lowered his shield.
For a second, he considered saying something — a joke, perhaps, or some comment about the battle finally ending.
But there was no time.
The air shifted.
A sharp crack filled the hall.
Invisible runes ignited across the walls, and the metallic tone of the System cut through the silence — overpowering even the echo of their footsteps.
Regional Event Activated:
Some players have triggered a special event in the Thalgrande Region — "The Awakening of the Green Moon."
Players wishing to participate may report to any Thalgrande government outpost.
Rewards will scale with individual battle merit.
The voice — neutral, mechanical, absolute — reverberated through the room, silencing even the remnants of the storm.
Alessio lifted his gaze, the visor of his helmet reflecting the glowing letters still suspended in the air.
A regional event.
He and Sith had just triggered one.
His heart quickened — not from fear,
but from anticipation.