Lucas had finally arrived in China.
The moment he stepped out of the airport, a tall man in his mid-thirties greeted him with a warm smile. His name was Michael Carter, a long-time friend of Lucas's father—and more importantly, a skilled adventurer himself.
Michael was currently employed by one of the most prestigious adventurer corporations in China, based in the bustling city of Shanghai. Coincidentally—or perhaps fatefully—that very company had reached out to Lucas after his class awakening. They had offered to guide him through his '3 Years Mastery' quest under professional mentorship, with a potential future of working alongside them.
It was the perfect match.
Lucas already had to come to China due to his Guan Dao and wrath nature. So, without hesitation, he accepted their offer.
Now, alongside Mr. Michael, Lucas was headed straight toward the towering headquarters of the corporation that could very well shape the rest of his destiny.
The city of Shanghai pulsed with a rhythm all its own—a clash of ancient spirit and futuristic ambition. Towering skyscrapers stretched like metal spears toward a smog-stained sky, their neon reflections dancing across the restless waters of the Huangpu River. Beneath the glimmering facade, narrow alleys whispered secrets of dynasties long gone, where red lanterns still swayed like echoes from the past.
The air buzzed with life: street vendors shouted over the hum of bullet trains, selling steaming baozi and sizzling noodles to a crowd that never slept. Tradition and technology collided at every corner—monks with smartphones, temples hidden behind LED billboards, and dragon carvings watching silently from weathered stone walls.
At night, the city transformed into something surreal. Lights painted the skyline in electric dreams, and the roads became veins, pulsing with taxis, scooters, and shadows. It was a city that devoured time—where one could lose themselves in a high-rise apartment one minute and find peace beneath a willow tree the next.
Shanghai didn't just stand—it breathed, it watched, it waited. A concrete jungle wrapped in silk, hiding ambition behind every smile, and danger behind every deal.
Three years had passed since Lucas first set foot in the towering halls of Lingquan Corporation, where whispers of ancient powers and untapped potentials filled the air. The president, a figure of both elegance and mystery, had welcomed him with open arms, and after a series of discussions, Lucas had chosen to embrace the corporation's promises. He had been immersed in a world of training—physically, mentally, and spiritually. His weapons had become extensions of himself, honed to perfection. He had learned techniques that felt like they belonged to another era, and with every passing day, his body transformed. His clothes, once simple, were now tailored to fit his new persona—a fusion of ancient tradition and cutting-edge technology. His muscles, once lean, had become solid, his movements more calculated, more dangerous.
Far across the ocean, in Japan, Lucien had chosen a different path, joining a similar organization under the guise of a Japanese company. Though their journeys had been different, their paths had ultimately led to the same place: a training period designed to break them, only to build them back stronger. Lucien had embraced the discipline of his new masters, his techniques sharper, his skills refined. His appearance too had shifted—his once-dainty frame now carried more muscle, his face harder, more determined. His weapon had become a symbol of his resolve, a tool of destruction that he wielded with growing precision.
The two of them, though miles apart, shared a similar fate. Their training had pushed them beyond the limits of what they had once thought possible. They had met new faces, learned new skills, and in the process, they had become something more—something greater.
The past three years had been transformative, and now, as they stood on the precipice of their quests, they were no longer the same.
And just like that, another one year passed.
In the heart of a forgotten land, where time itself seemed to decay, five figures moved cautiously through a shattered wasteland. The ruins around them told stories of a civilization long dead—crumbled buildings, shattered monuments, and half-buried remnants of what once stood proud. The sky above was a void of black, torn only by an eerie aurora that danced in unnatural silence, painting the darkness with ghostly hues.
The ground beneath their feet was soaked—not with rain, but with blood. Thick, dried, and fresh alike, it painted the terrain in crimson, covering every inch like a cursed carpet. No birds, no wind, no sound—only the distant crunch of debris under armored boots.
There were five of them, all young men in their early twenties, cloaked in ornate armors of varying colors—blue, crimson, silver, obsidian, and green. One held a wand with glowing etchings, another gripped a long spear. Two had intricately crafted bows slung over their backs, and the last one, broad-shouldered, carried a massive battle axe.
Their appearances varied—brown hair, black hair, skin tones ranging from pale to sun-touched—but each had a look of nervous determination, their eyes scanning the ruins with caution.
"Are we even going the right way?" one of them asked, his voice shaky.
"We are," another replied firmly. "But stay alert. Anything could come from anywhere."
A third added, "That's fine and all... but where's the leader?"
Silence followed, until the axe-wielder muttered, "We don't know. They were supposed to be here."
Suddenly, something shifted.
A faint sound—barely audible—came from behind a cluster of shattered rocks. The archer's hands moved on instinct, pulling an arrow, drawing his bow, and pointing it toward the source. His eyes were wide, breath shallow.
But the movement stopped. Completely.
No footsteps. No sound. Nothing.
Cold sweat ran down their necks. The silence was suffocating.
The archer lowered his bow slightly, tension draining from his arms. A faint sigh escaped his lips—just a false alarm, he thought. But the relief didn't last long.
Without warning, a blur of muscle and fury burst from behind the rocks, thundering toward them with a primal rage. The archer snapped back into focus, swiftly drawing another arrow and letting it fly. The arrow gleamed midair, its shaft forged from Wrath and imbued with water properties—meant to pierce even enchanted armor.
But it shattered on impact.
With a single swing of its grotesque, clawed hand, the creature swatted the projectile aside like it was made of twigs.
It was massive.
Its face was a twisted hybrid of rat and bear, sharp whiskers twitching and a snout that dripped with saliva. Its body, hulking and covered in matted brown fur, resembled a gorilla—if a gorilla had grown five times its normal size. Blood-red eyes burned with a hunger that wasn't just for flesh... but for destruction. Enormous claws scraped the stone beneath it as it skidded to a stop, just a few meters away.
Then it roared.
"GUYHHAHHH!!!"
The very air vibrated with its guttural scream, and the five young men froze in place, their bodies paralyzed with terror. None of them dared to move.
Except one.
The warrior with the battle axe stepped forward, his expression a mix of fear and raw determination. Without hesitation, he charged.
The beast remained still, almost amused.
The warrior raised his axe high, its weight almost supernatural, and dashed forward at full speed. Dust and rubble trailed behind his boots as he sprinted toward the monster. With a powerful horizontal swing aimed directly at the creature's abdomen, he roared—
But before the axe could even touch flesh, the monster's claw moved with terrifying speed.
CRASH!
The axe was knocked out of the warrior's hands and sent flying—embedding itself deep into the ruins of a collapsed building. The shockwave from the impact rippled through the ground.
The warrior stumbled back, wide-eyed.
The beast hadn't even moved from its spot.
The beast reached forward, its massive clawed hand closing around the warrior with the battle axe. He struggled, kicking and thrashing, but the creature's grip was absolute. Bones cracked under the sheer pressure, and a muffled scream escaped his throat. His eyes bulged, veins rising across his face as the pain overwhelmed him.
Both archers sprang into action.
With practiced precision, they unleashed a barrage—over a hundred arrows forged from Wrath, each tipped with water-enhanced properties. The sky turned black with shafts of gleaming death.
But the monster didn't flinch.
With a single sweep of its right arm, it blocked them all. The arrows shattered midair, their energy dissipating like sparks against a boulder. The beast's hand remained unscathed.
Then the wand-bearer stepped forward, raising his glowing weapon.
He whispered an incantation, and the ground trembled. From cracks in the scorched earth, ten humanoid figures emerged—magma soldiers. Their molten bodies glowed a furious orange, and each held a sword sculpted from flowing flame. They had no faces, no voices—just burning resolve.
With synchronized fury, the ten charged at the monster.
The beast let out a guttural growl... and roared.
KRRRRAGHHHH!!!
The soundwave exploded outward, ripping through the magma soldiers like a hurricane through paper. They disintegrated instantly—vanishing into ash and sparks without even touching the creature's hide.
Still clutching the axe-wielder, the monster tightened its grip further.
The warrior's screams turned silent. His limbs twitched, his ribs began to collapse under the pressure. His vision blurred. His eyes looked like they'd burst from their sockets. His body dangled like a broken doll.
Then it happened.
A sudden crack of purple electricity.
A bolt of violet lightning streaked in from the darkness—so fast, so violent, no one, not even the monster, saw it coming. In the blink of an eye, the beast's arm—the very one holding the warrior—was severed clean from its body.
SPLURCH!!
Blood gushed like a fountain from the stump, spraying across the ruins. The arm dropped, the warrior crashing to the ground like dead weight. He didn't move. His body was too broken, his nerves too shot to even twitch.
The beast howled in agony, stumbling back in rage and confusion.
And then, from the shadows to their left, a familiar voice echoed.
"Sorry. I got bored... so I went out to hunt a few monsters."
They all recognized the voice.
Relief surged through them like breath returning to drowning lungs. Smiles broke across their dirt-streaked, blood-stained faces—smiles of people who had just stepped back from death's edge.
The group turned toward the voice, their expressions a mix of shock and overwhelming relief.
"Leader… you're finally here," one of them said, voice trembling.
Tears welled in their eyes—tears they didn't bother hiding.
He wasn't a towering figure of myth or a hardened war veteran. He looked… young. No older than twelve. Yet his presence made the entire battlefield feel lighter, safer—like the storm had finally passed.
His black hair spilled down past his shoulders, tied in a messy half-bun that left long, wild strands falling freely across his sharp, carefree face. His style was casual, almost deceptively simple—black T-shirt, matching pants, sleek black sneakers. No armor. No grand cape. And yet, he radiated command.
"Yeah," he replied with a crooked smile, his voice calm and clear. "Sorry if I was a little late."
The others shook their heads as tears rolled down their cheeks.
"No… you came at the perfect time," another murmured.
He gave a small nod. Then, in a blur of violet light, he vanished.
A streak of purple lightning zipped toward the injured battle axe wielder, reaching him in an instant. The others barely had time to blink before the bolt returned, heading their way—silent, controlled, but impossibly fast.
When it stopped, he was standing there—calm, collected, carrying the injured warrior in his arms.
Without a word, he handed the unconscious boy to his teammates.
Then he vanished again.
The next instant, he reappeared in midair—hovering just inches above the beast's face, framed by falling ash and bloodstains. His expression was still casual, but his right hand sparked with violent purple electricity, crackling with a deadly rhythm.
He raised his hand high.
And brought it down.
KZZZZRRRRHHHHHHH!!!
A massive burst of violet volts erupted from his palm, engulfing the beast's head and coursing through its body. The ground trembled under the weight of the current. The monster let out an agonizing shriek, its body twitching and convulsing violently. In mere seconds, its fur blackened, skin split open, and muscle turned to char.
It collapsed, smoldering.
Their leader landed silently atop its corpse. The dust settled.
And then—
A crimson screen shimmered into existence before him.
[You have successfully annihilated the Boss: Hybrid Beast and have completed Quest 26.]
[You have received 20,000 Peaks.]
The text faded, replaced by another panel—this time, filled with personal details.
[Name: Lucas Halt]
[Age: 12 years old]
[Sex: Male]
[Active Quest: None]
[Available Quests: 3 Available Quests]
[Destination: None]
[Offensive Wrath: Electricity]
[Nature: Purple]
[Passive Wrath: Stamina Cell]
As the crimson glow faded, the battlefield fell silent.
And Lucas just stood there—twelve years old, wild hair dancing in the wind, electricity humming at his fingertips, and a monster lying dead at his feet.