Atlas returned to Gacha Haven just as the evening began to settle over the island. The Floating Lantern drifted gracefully, glowing light casting soft shadows around him as he guided a group of newcors.
He turned to face the group. "Welco to Gacha Haven."
"Yes! Finally, my new adventure starts!" one of them exclaid.
"Thank you, my Lord! My girlfriend is here… I'm finally with her again," another man added.
Atlas raised an eyebrow, slightly surprised.
"Don't worry, My Lord. I'll remain professional," the man quickly added. "And please, separate us into different teams."
"Alright," Atlas replied with a nod.
The ten newcors were t with heartfelt welcos from the current residents.
Earlier, Atlas had gone over team arrangents with Edrik, and together they concluded that the four existing teams would be sufficient for the ti being. The plan was to seamlessly integrate the new combatants into these well-established groups.
"Please take so ti to get to know your teammates and adjust," Atlas said, addressing the group. "In a few minutes, we'll have a review session about our last battle, which Edrik will lead."
"Yes, My Lord!" the group replied in unison.
Atlas took so ti to review the structures on his island. Finally, he had enough resources to build the Gateway Altar, and he wasted no ti getting it done.
[You have spent 50 Units of Wood, 80 Units of Stone, 15 Units of Iron Ingots, 5 Mana Crystals, and 5 World Shards to build Gateway Altar.]
A wave of relief washed over him as the notification blinked into view. This new structure would make summoning troops and workers easier, sparing him the hassle of traveling to nearby cities for recruitnt.
Still, there was sothing undeniably captivating about venturing into the Lower Lands. Those trips always seed to offer unexpected adventures. Like today, when he had witnessed the chaos of Veylamar City's Dungeon Break attack unfold right before his eyes.
Turning his focus back to the island, Atlas queued up the construction of four more Fla Beacons.
Excitent buzzed through him; after two weeks of relentless material gathering and strategic purchases in the Lower Lands, he finally had enough resources to take a big step forward. These additional Fla Beacons would vastly enhance the island's defenses.
Following that, Atlas turned his attention to the growing population of the Floating Island. With more inhabitants now living on the island, he also queued the upgrade of the Basic Hut to its upgraded version.
This was the highest tier of housing he could build at Fortress Stage 1, his current developnt level.
For now, this was as far as he could push his island's progress. But once he ranked up to Scout Rank 2, new options would unlock, allowing him to expand and fortify the island even further.
With the preparations complete, everyone gathered in the heart of the island. Wooden log benches encircled several fire pits.
At the center of the gathering, a small stage had been set up, where Edrik stood ready. Behind him, a screen displayed tactical diagrams and clips of the previous day's battles.
Edrik began his debrief with precision, dissecting the events of the last defense—the positioning of the teams, the timing of their attacks, and the critical decisions to advance or fall back.
"We must adhere strictly to the roles assigned within each team," he stated. His gaze swept over the crowd, ensuring his words struck ho.
"The only ones permitted to take initiative in the heat of battle are the Elite Subordinates. However, in ergency situations, our Lord will take full command of the operation."
He paused briefly, "Discipline is non-negotiable. It is a standard we must et without exception."
Edrik's explanation was ticulous, deliberate, and deeply engaging. His carefully chosen words, paired with his steady yet commanding tone, seed to captivate the entire audience.
Atlas sat quietly in his seat, his gaze drifting as his thoughts strayed to the challenges ahead. With six days remaining before the next battle, he calculated that five of those days would need to be dedicated to rigorous training, leveling up, and thodical preparation.
Still, an idea nagged at him. Perhaps he should use the remaining Standard Tickets in his possession. If fortune favored him, he might summon additional support units to strengthen their odds of success.
New characters were always an asset, especially given the current composition of his team. Most of his subordinates were lee-focused, with only one true support unit among them.
Lyrassa was remarkable, of course—her ability to heal, control crowds, and provide buffs made her indispensable. But the absence of magic users left a clear gap in their strategy, one that could beco a critical weakness in the battles to co.
Atlas needed mages—or perhaps even a formidable weapon for himself. A high-grade spear would be ideal, and he could only hope to secure one soon. Until then, he resolved to refine his technique, dedicating himself to becoming more skilled and confident in spear combat.
At Level 45, he knew the climb to Level 50 would be a slow grind. Still, his imdiate goal was clear: relentless training and sharpening his abilities.
Each session brought him closer to his Class Advancent, and if he could push his limits during this crucial phase, he might unlock a remarkable—or perhaps even extraordinary—Class.
The mory of Kareem and his team's battle earlier that day lingered in his thoughts. Their strength and cohesion were a stark contrast to his own progress, a vivid reminder of how far he had to go. Compared to a Rank 4 Sentinel Lord and his elite team, he felt weak, insignificant even.
But that only fueled his resolve. Weakness was a temporary state, one he was determined to overco.
The next day dawned, bringing with it a relentless and demanding training routine. While the troops muttered complaints about another grueling session, Atlas was already imrsed in his own intense and unorthodox regin.
Blindfolded, he stood with his chest heaving, struggling to steady his breath. Today's challenge was Heat Sense Training—a test designed to sharpen his reflexes and spatial awareness under extre conditions.
The objective was simple in theory but daunting in execution: sprint back and forth across a treacherous course that wove through sections of molten lava streams.
The catch? He couldn't rely on his sight.
Atlas wouldn't be allowed to remove the blindfold until he successfully completed 20 laps.
Atlas clenched his fists, steeling himself against the mory of pain. His skin still bore the marks from previous sessions—blisters and burns that told the story of his grueling training. But he clung to the hope that this insane regin might lead to sothing extraordinary.
What if I could shoot lava from my hands? he joked to himself.
He visualized the course in his mind, reconstructing every detail from mory. The searing heat of the molten streams, the texture of the rocky ground—he committed it all to ntal clarity.
With a sharp, steadying breath, he took off.
The first few steps went smoothly. One step, two, three—safe. Gaining confidence, he picked up his pace.
Then—he stumbled.
Damn!
The fall drew the attention of the troops watching nearby, but before their murmurs could grow, Kurogasa quickly barked at them to focus on their own training.
Atlas pushed himself up, brushing off the pain, and ran again.
He kept running. He kept falling. And every ti, he forced himself back to his feet. More than once, he found himself turned completely around, veering dangerously close to the molten streams.
Each ti, Kurogasa's voice cut through, guiding him back on course.
Atlas gritted his teeth. His burns stung, his legs ached, but he refused to stop. Failure wasn't an option!
Damn it.
He couldn't keep doing the sa thing, making the sa mistakes, expecting sothing to change. With the blindfold on, sight was no longer an asset.
He needed to rely on sothing else!
But what? How did Kurogasa move with such precision, so effortlessly, without seeing?
Heat!
Yes, the heat. His skin could feel the changes in temperature.
What about sound? Sll?
Yes!
He could use them all. Only by engaging all his senses could he finally realize how much his body—his instincts—had already surpassed those of a normal human.
Determined, he ran again. This ti, he was attuned to the environnt around him. The heat on his skin warned him of danger, and the sounds of bubbling lava and shifting air guided his steps.
But just as his confidence grew, his foot ca down—too close to the edge.
Lyrassa gasped, ready to leap in, but Kurogasa held her back, his eyes closed.
Atlas's foot splashed into the molten stream.
OH DAMN IT! MY FOOT'S LTING, MOTHERF—
***
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