In Moonmist Heart City, the Ascending Hall wasn’t particularly large. Because of this, the staff could only conduct ten trials at a ti. It was a controlled process, designed to prevent chaos inside the trial grounds.
That ant long waits, and today was no exception.
Rhys exhaled patiently, eyes flicking over the crowd. Warriors in heavy plate, robed mages clutching staves, nimble archers checking their bows—all kinds of hopeful adventurers were here. The air buzzed with a mix of excitent and quiet tension.
Finally, after so ti and a few quiet conversations overheard, Rhys’s turn ca.
The examiner’s voice was calm but carried weight.
"Step through the archway, challenger. The trial will begin the mont you enter the Rank Advancent Zone. Rember—once inside, there is no turning back."
Rhys nodded once, stepping forward.
The mont his boot crossed the glowing threshold, the world around him shattered like glass.
Fragnts of light spun away into nothing, and in their place ca a deep, endless black void. Floating in that void was a single, glowing platform—its surface rippling like water, yet solid beneath his feet when he landed.
A presence stirred.
It was not a voice in the air, but one that echoed directly in his mind—calm, chanical, yet carrying an odd sense of authority.
[Welco, Challenger. This is the Rank Advancent Zone.]
The Rank Advancent Zone was nothing but an instant dungeon—one that the FLO main AI created for every challenger attempting advancent. The kind of dungeon generated depended entirely on the difficulty chosen, which in turn determined the nature and scale of the trial.
[Please select the difficulty.]
[Easy]
[Normal]
[Hard]
[Very Hard]
[Ultra Hard]
Seeing the options, Rhys didn’t hesitate—he selected Ultra Hard.
Partly because he had confidence in his own abilities and in Puddle’s overwhelming power... and partly because he had a safety net no ordinary player could rely on.
Unlike most challengers, he wasn’t bound by the absolute fear of total reset death penalty that FLO enforced. He possessed the special skill [Champion’s Privilege], which granted him one extra life every seven days.
With that kind of insurance, he could afford to gamble in a way the majority could never risk.
As soon as Rhys confird his choice, the world around him fractured—like a mirror struck by a hamr. The white void shattered into a thousand shards of light, reforming into sothing entirely new.
Stone. Smoke. Ash.
When the light cleared, Rhys stood before the ruined gates of a city, their once-proud arch snapped in half, iron portcullis twisted and dangling. Beyond the gate, the night sky glowed an angry orange from scattered fires, casting jagged shadows over broken walls and collapsed towers.
The air was thick with the stench of blood, rot, and burning timber.
Screams echoed sowhere deep inside, along with the distant clang of steel and the guttural roars of inhuman voices. The ground beneath his boots trembled now and then—whether from siege engines or the footsteps of monsters, he couldn’t tell.
[Trial Objective: Purge the Invaders and Restore Order to the City]
[Ti Limit: 3 hours]
[Difficulty: Ultra Hard]
A secondary prompt flickered before his eyes:
[Warning: All trial monsters scale to your level and abilities.]
[Ultra Hard Modifier Active: Enemy aggression 300%, Elite spawn rate tripled.]
From within the smoke beyond the gate, shadows moved—scores of them. The inhuman roars grew louder, joined by the rhythmic stomp of boots and the creak of drawn bows.
As the trial system fully engaged, it beca clear... this wasn’t going to be a simple wave fight.
It was war.
Sowhere in the city’s heart, a deep horn blared, shaking the very stones underfoot.
And as the Trial Quest spread through the dungeon’s reality, the enemies began to pour from the smoke.
Rhys drew the Corrupted Treant Lord’s Sword, the dark veins along its blade pulsing eagerly. Puddle appeared at his side in a shimr of water and light, bobbing slightly as if ready to unleash chaos.
Rhys smirked.
"Looks like we’re starting this one with a bang."
The horn’s echo still hung in the air when the first shapes lurched from the burning haze.
They weren’t soldiers.
They weren’t even monsters.
They were people—or at least, they used to be.
The Moonmist Heart city residents... now grotesquely warped by demonic corruption. Skin peeled back in leathery strips, eyes replaced by glowing red orbs, jaws split unnaturally wide. Their movents were twitchy, spasmodic, like puppets yanked by invisible strings.
So still wore the tattered remnants of their daily clothes, scorched and soaked in blood. Others dragged rusted farming tools, broken swords, or simply their clawed hands, tearing furrows into the ground as they moved.
Their faces—if you could call them that—were locked in twisted expressions of agony, mouths gaping as distorted moans spilled out.
The Trial Zone wasn’t just sending him demons.
It was making him kill what he might have once called neighbors.
A hot, foul wind rolled out from behind them, carrying the coppery stink of blood and sothing deeper, fouler—demonic rot. The fires overhead cast them in flickering red light, making their shadows stretch unnaturally long across the shattered stone.
From the gate’s broken arch, Rhys could see deeper into the nightmare:
Flayed corpses hung from the broken balconies, swinging in the smoky wind like grotesque windchis.
Black ichor oozed down the walls, eating away at the stone.
In the streets beyond, spindly, horned silhouettes moved between the fires, whispering in guttural, alien tongues.
A system alert cut in, sharp and cold:
[Ultra Hard Modifier Activated: "Demonic Influence"]
• All enemies gain 15% lifesteal.
• All humanoid enemies fight until body destruction.
• Lesser Demons can "infect" fallen allies, reanimating them instantly.
The first wave reached him—a mass of thirty twisted townsfolk, their combined shrieks shattering the night air.
Rhys didn’t hesitate.
The Corrupted Treant Lord’s Sword howled as it cut through the air—[Whirlwind Slash] exploding outward in a perfect arc. Five of the creatures went down instantly, torsos separating clean from legs, but even as their bodies fell, black tendrils of corruption began pulling them back together.
"Puddle!" Rhys barked.
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