Leon sighed.
The issue wasn't that being a Striker was lacklustre—just that his expectation was to be a Caster. Because the orc had that same class. It turns out he had overthought things as usual.
Leon raised his brows, crossing his arms. "A Striker gets to deliver melee damage and is excellent at close combat. That makes one self-sufficient. Well... it's nice."
He had told himself that whatever class he awakens would make him the world's happiest person. This made Leon chuckle at the moment.
Wasn't he quite a madman for expecting happiness in a world where such was a myth? What was happiness when humans and dangerous monsters were neighbours? Where people openly kill themselves? In a world where nothing was wrong to do?
The panel switched interfaces, displaying.
[You levelled up!] x2
[Level 5 - Level 7.]
[Congratulations! You have levelled up Blink Dash to Shadow Flicker! Upon every activation, your movement appears zigzag, confusing opponents about where you'll strike.]
[Finally, you have unlocked a new ability! Titan's Fist. Your punch becomes supercharged with energy, sending shockwaves through the air.]
[Cooldown: a minute.]
Glancing through, Leon then walked down the hall with a dismissive air. Shortly, the marble door creaked closed behind him.
'Today is actually the fourth day that I have promised to get back to the Requiem,' he thought. Well, he only recalled. Not thinking of actually getting back.
He strode forward...
"...Mm?" Leon mumbled.
He halted straight away, his lips parting. Out of nowhere, the day when that same lady sniped down Zane's men came to his mind.
'There were six of them...' Leon contemplated, glancing at the neon sky. He swallowed. 'But she killed only five! One of them escaped. Don't tell me...'
***
In the woods, the atmosphere seemed darker. Vaulting trees stood around, while mountains lay on the ground like a drunk man. A figure stood atop a hill, their white hair and cloak fluttering in the cool breeze. With his arms crossed behind him, he stared non-stop at the mountain ranges. As though he could tell a tale by doing so for hours.
A half-mask shadowing a part of his face. The exposed part revealed an eyeball glowing red.
In an instant, a guy in his 20s knelt behind him. He wore a brown tunic that contrasted with the mysterious man's white cloak.
"The grandmaster sent an order, Lord Phantom," the guy said, his tone carrying both composure and submission. Yet, the white-cloaked man uttered nothing. Nonetheless, the young guy continued, "He demands your presence at the Main House... considering the Red Requiem..."
Right at that moment, the man's brows furrowed. He took his time to glance over his shoulder. This was about the Requiem?
"Go on," he finally said, his authoritative tone showing a deep interest.
The guy swallowed before replying;
A few days ago, the last survivor of Lord Zane's men said the Requiem had appeared without warning. She rescued their captive, further killing everyone else. Including Lord Zane."
The man asked, "And, where's that survivor now?"
The guy replied, "We have got him detained for now."
The man turned his glance back at the mountain ranges with deliberate slowness. Something beyond ordinariness had kept his face broad. His thick skin was as pale as that of a ghost. As a matter of fact, a series of cracks appeared deep within his glowing eyeball.
She used to appear both mysterious and divine in my eyes. So, even she can falter? Even she can break her own rules? Pathetic.'