The super-duper special was not a big secret boss or a hidden item that could change the world. It was merely a fun secret born out of sheer boredom.
6 years ago, Moros had just started killing Ballas and was already more than bored with the idea of spending the rest of his pitiful life using these monsters as a tool to vent his frustrations on.
As every 10-year old with too much time to kill would do, he started his experimentation on the unwanted Ballas.
Shockingly Ballas were indeed absolutely useless, the only notable aspect not written in the books was their constant desire to cannibalise each other.
The earwigs of their killed brethren was their favourite food.
Their top speed was reached after they took notice of any earwig in the vicinity. The loss of their kin was especially tasty to them.
That's why Moros hated the Ballas with a passion, these things all gnawed away at his income. The creatures grow a bit in size and xp value…
Repeat that often enough and the Balla evolves and the great shocking revelation comes afterwards. Killing these evolved useless garbage presented their killer with 2 extra points per level instead of one.
That's why working for the Elite and their kids was such a pain…so much to prepare and so many things to kill just so they would touch one of them and receive the title.
Moros killed the Ballas with as much brotherly love as he could. It was certainly that, and not that his father would tear him a new hole in his butt should he get wind of this secret slipping.
Sometimes Moros wished he would have just kept quiet about his discovery…he could have saved himself a lot of work and stress had he done soo.
But nope, so much of his money went down the drain feeding the earwigs, his hard earned cash, to ungrateful creatures.
Kill 99, leave 1. Kill 99, leave the 1. Rinse and repeat and after 10 such rounds of non-stop brutality your special little title was ripe for the taking.
This had been his life for the last 6 years.
It took a special kind of man to not go insane doing this sort of activity for extended periods of time.
To not lose his mind doing this day in and day out Moros had come up with challenges or any other thing that could kill the time and the little Ballas.
Sometimes he closed his eyes and murdered, sometimes he used only one hand to annihilate, sometimes he just destroyed by sitting on them…in the end, they all just had to die in some way or another.
Moros exploded yet another Balla and wondered just how many of them he had deprived of their living privileges by now
By now he must have had the black belt in Balla extinguishing. .
Many more would follow…since time is money and money is important. Under a fighting scream more concerned with losing money, Moros made his way through the grind without any pause.
The rich kids would come at 4 am in the morning and he had to have the specially fed Ballas ready by then.
….
Many, many, many Ballas deaths later 7 hours had passed on by, the dungeon looked like a grizzly murder scene with guts, blood covering the floors and the walls.
Just 10 Ballas were left, nearly doubling their size and looking at Moros like a fat kid eyed its lunch. He had to admit, they did have a cute charm to them, outside of those "touch me and I will spread my organs all over your face" vibes.
After a quick glance at his magical visor, he noticed that he just barely had enough time left to throw himself under the shower like a madman and clean this place up.
These spoiled brats wouldn't enter this dungeon otherwise.
If the customer was not king, and if the kings and queens would not have rich emperor and empress daddies and mommies…he would not even bother.
But as they say, money does not stink.
Thanks to the advancement of magic, he simply needed to grab a few earwigs and throw those into the magical cleaning tool sponsored by his father.
The tool, however, did not even need the earwigs to operate. It was merely another way to extract even more money from his dearest son.
While the tool produced weird clanking sounds and noises as it barely begun to work, Moros moved his butt into the shower.
Not smelling like absolute garbage was the objective of his new mission. Ya don't get a fat tip if these little spawns of evil were not happy with your services.
Being covered in filth was certainly not the way to go about his quest to get as much money out of rich fools as possible. The chains around his ankles needed to be paid, after all.
After some crude, makeshift clean up, he looked in the mirror and looked at his face.
"Hey," he thought to himself "...looking less dead than usual, way to go Moros"
After a few exercises to look like a sorrowful loser in existence, the kids always loved that. They have that born urge to look down on something, which is rather hard when they are toddlers and 50 centimetres tall.
Glancing through the broken down windows, the darkness of night greeted him. With it, came the most annoying aspect of this kind of work─his mandatory work outfit.
The Terra clan prided itself in walking around shirtless, with fancy golden trousers that looked more like diapers. Moros had more than once questioned the appeal of walking around looking like an overgrown baby.
But since his father and his father before him had wandered around looking like they dropped multiple big, brown logs into their own pants and still had enough self-respect to look into the mirror then he would too.
Putting on the ridiculous outfit, he already heard the arrival of his dear customers from afar.
Befitting of the elite, they arrive at this secret meeting that no one should know about riding a golden dragon. Because that was not suspicious at all.
Sure, let the thing light up the night sky by spewing flames, some attention can't be that bad.
"Look Mom, that's a flying dragon at 4 am in the morning…totally a normal thing here at the outskirts of town where only criminals or poor people live," said no one, really ever.
Moros waddled out to be greeted by a group of 10 kids gently floating in the sky and their entourage of 40 nannies and guards that followed their every order.
Their dramatic descent to the mortal plane took a few minutes, since they had not finished looking down on Moros just yet.
To them he was poor, untalented and therefore like a monkey they could gawk at.
Moros had long learned the art of not giving a damn about such a thing. He did not value their characters, nor their appearance, just the size and value of their wallet.
Standing before the crowd of humans, he gave a courteous bow, waiting for the inevitable to occur.
"Are you the waste of the Terra family, our guide?" Twerp one asked in a high-squealed voice.
Moros simply nodded, knowing by heart how the situation would develop now.
"I am the son of the famous…. You better be thankful….blablabla"
After a speech about their rich and important family, his designer clothes, his abilities, his skills, how lucky Moros was to be in his presence, the shirtless 16-year old youth simply nodded; pretending to be hurt, but also awestruck by the presence of the small, little, arrogant younger master or whatever he was.
Every one of the 10 kids introduced themselves like that, with the nannies and guards clapping enthusiastically in the background. They talked about pearls before swines, and many other things, which Moros just enthusiastically nodded to.
He patiently waited for his dear customers to stop their bragging before grabbing a microphone, a relic of another world, which had the useful function of silencing everyone in the vicinity.
"This lowly servant here shall guide you great beings to receive the highly secret title, so that you may rise like a phoenix."
Moros spoke to the crowd with the greatest, most humble tone he could muster. His cash cows needed special care.
In his mind, he was already kissing the pile of monster cores.
"However, as VIPs it is advised by the Terra family to wear a helmet and foam coverings," the young descendant narrated to the crowd listening attentively."
"The mighty Patriarch of the Terra family suggests the velvet foam to prevent any ugly monster blood tarnishing your costly clothing. To shield your intelligent, beautiful faces, we offer a fancy helmet designed by a famous dwarven artisan . For the low, low price of 2 middle-sized monsters cores per person, we shall gladly lent those to you"
Moros continued his sales pitch with practised ease. The young and foolish people hanging on his every word.
After grabbing 20 middle-sized monster stones and deducting 15 lending these things from the family, he still made a net profit of 5 stones.
Seeing his dear customers all wrapped up and protected from the exploding Ballas a deep, greedy smile formed on his face…
"Would you please follow this worthless slave?"
Moros turned around, luring the horde of people into the dungeon, so that they never see his true feelings.
Time to start the show…