Ash Valor knew better than to rely solely on the charity of others; every victory required its own pound of flesh. In this case, that flesh was his hard-earned Guild Contribution Points. Since gold was too precious to waste on consumables, he liquidated his entire reserve of GCP into a mountain of mana potions.
"With the heavy hitters backing me, this should be a cakewalk," he muttered.
Then, Orion’s guild-wide broadcast hit the HUD.
“Attention, Skystrider Guild! Our legendary Archer, our A-Rank vanguard, and the only man among us to grace the Planar Broadcasts—the guide to a thousand fledglings and our most steadfast brother-in-arms, Ash Valor, requires your strength. We ask for no gold. We ask for no gear. We ask only for a spark of your spirit. Any Awakened with the Mana Transfer trait, report to the Ramparts immediately.”
The message scrolled again, dripping with even more exaggerated fervor:
“Seize this chance to stand beside a titan. Witness the rise of a legend firsthand. Let it be said that we were the wind beneath the wings of greatness.”
Ash nearly lost his footing, his boots sliding dangerously close to the edge of the Defense Tower. "Are you kidding me?" He choked on his own breath, his face burning a deep, humiliated crimson. "Orion, you bastard! I’m going to kill you!"
A legendary figure? A titan? He was just a guy trying to grind some levels, and now the entire guild was looking at him like he was some kind of pampered mascot. "Legendary my ass!" Ash cursed, the heat in his cheeks refusing to fade. He usually respected the guild leadership, but this was a bridge too far. He pulled up his private messages and opened fire on Orion.
Ash Valor: You couldn't have just handled this quietly? Why the hell did you post that?
Orion: Relax. I’m solving your problem, aren't I?
Ash Valor: By turning me into a laughingstock?
Orion: We’re at war, Ash. Efficiency is the only metric that matters. Besides, you’ve done plenty for these people; it’s time they paid their dues. You’ll have more mana than you know what to do with. Just think of it as a leadership lesson: once you throw your pride in the trash, you become truly invincible. Your path to legend starts today. Don't bother replying, I'm busy.
Ash was already a known name in the guild, but Orion’s stunt turned him into a spectacle. The worst part? Orion was right. The mana started flowing.
He saw familiar faces among the crowd gathering below his tower, people he had helped or carried through earlier zones. The guilt and embarrassment were unbearable, so he did the only thing he could: he buried his head in his work, channeling his fury into the endless tide of monsters.
"Ash, if you needed help, you should have just asked," Hazel Lane said, walking toward him with an expression of genuine, heart-breaking concern. "You shouldn't have to carry the world on your shoulders alone."
Ash’s skin crawled. "Hazel, really, it’s fine—"
"I don't have Mana Transfer," she interrupted, pressing a stack of high-grade potions into his hand. "But take these. Please."
"Hey, titan!" someone else shouted from the battlements. "You're that broke? Stick with Zane's squad next time, we'll buy your drinks!"
"Sir, I’m only Level 20, but I’ll give you all the mana I’ve got!" a wide-eyed recruit chirped, placing a hand on the tower’s resonance stone.
The "love" from the guild was thick enough to choke on. Ash lost track of the private messages and the sheer volume of mana being pumped into his system. All he knew was that his Meteor Volley never stopped. The sky was a constant, shimmering rain of arcane death. His pride was in tatters, but his kill-per-minute ratio was astronomical.
He became a machine. He stopped looking at the faces. He stopped reading the chat. He just fired.
"Look at that focus," someone whispered nearby. "Even his grinding is legendary."
"Take a screenshot! I want proof I was on the tower with him!"
The Galeforce Squad was the worst of all. Grant Fang and the others wouldn't let it rest. "We shouldn't call him 'Captain' anymore," Grant joked, loud enough for half the rampart to hear. "It’s 'The Legend' now. Do you think we’re still worthy of being in his squad?"
Ash stayed silent. He knew if he said a single word, they’d feast on it for a week. He just needed to hit his level cap and get the hell out of this city.
[One in a Million Triggered: +20 to a random attribute.]
[Achievement Unlocked: Undying Hunter (10,000,000 Undead Slain).]
[Reward: Lifesteal +1%, Attack Range +40m.]
Only the cold, mechanical voice of the system offered him any solace.
Years later, Grant Fang would tell an interviewer: "Even back then, Ash Valor had a magnetism you couldn't ignore. My sister and I knew the moment we saw him that he was destined for greatness. We joined Galeforce Squad on the spot."
Ash, of course, remembered it differently.
After a few days, the shame dulled into a numb routine. With the entire guild acting as his personal battery, Ash’s GCP count skyrocketed to the top of the leaderboards, leaving second place in the dust.
"Grant," Ash said, his voice flat as he watched the horizon. "You’re a Phantom Summoner; your ghosts can multitask. Start a log. Every person who transfers mana to me—I want their names."
He could accept a one-time favor, but a month of sustained support required repayment. At this rate, hitting Level 140 was a conservative estimate.
"Damn," Ash muttered to himself. "I'm starting to get the same treatment as the guild masters."
The heavens seemed to agree that his power needed testing. The guild channel suddenly erupted with a panicked alert from Caden Marlowe.
"Warning! Massive swarm detected on approach. Repeat: we have a heavy insectoid presence closing in on the Guild Grounds."
"It’s not just a swarm," another scout broke in, his voice cracking. "It’s a goddamn sea of wings. They’re everywhere!"
"All ranged units to the ramparts!" Caden barked. "I’m tracking a Swarm Overlord in the vicinity. I’ll try to flush it out, but no promises. Orion, get Southhaven on the line. We need reinforcements. Now!"
Ash looked up from his perch. At first, he saw nothing but distant clouds. Then he realized the "clouds" were moving against the wind. It wasn't vapor; it was The Swarm. Millions of chitinous bodies blotted out the sun, a living shadow descending on the territory.
Orion’s orders came fast and cold. "Defense Towers, target the air. Melee, hold the gates. Ranged, I want a kill-zone ten meters deep in front of the walls. Level 160 mobs incoming! Non-combatants and low-levels, evacuate to Southhaven via the portal immediately. Don't worry about the dungeons—if we lose the walls, the dungeons won't matter!"
Ash didn't need further instructions. He checked his buffs.
[Consumable: Epic-Tier Berserker's Draught—Attack Power +100%]
[Consumable: Greater Intelligence Elixir, Spirit Tonic, Swiftness Draught.]
With the additives coursing through his veins, Ash’s effective Attack Power surged past 800,000.
"Grant! Tell everyone to stop hoarding!" Ash shouted. "Pop every combat drug you’ve got!"
The sky turned black as the Chitinborn Locusts reached the outer perimeter. These weren't the small pests of the old world; each one was the size of a grown man, covered in serrated armor.
"Captain, that swarm looks like it's ten miles wide," Grant said, his usual bravado replaced by a tight grip on his staff.
"Focus on the ones that break the line," Ash said. He didn't wait for them to close the distance. His new 460-meter range was a gift from the system, and he intended to use every inch of it.
"Meteor Volley!"
He let fly. A dozen volleys of arcane arrows tore into the sky, exploding in the heart of the swarm.
[-68,159]
[-71,365]
[Experience +4,136]
[Gold +316]
His mana pool bottomed out and refilled almost instantly as the transfer links from the guild members below hummed with power.
Flora Lin has transferred 30,000 Mana.
Your Mana +40,000.
He was a human turret. Around him, the other mages and archers began their work. Inferno Blazes met Frost Bursts in a chaotic symphony of elemental destruction. The area in front of the ramparts became a meat grinder of fire, ice, and crushing gravity.
Even with the slaughter, some locusts slipped through, crashing into the city streets. Buildings groaned under the impact, and the screams of low-level players echoed from below.
Then, the notification he had been waiting for flashed:
[Level 140 Reached. All Stats +100. Attack Range +20m. Attack +14,000. Attack Speed +0.2.]
"460 meters," Ash grinned, his eyes tracking a target nearly half a kilometer away. "Beautiful."
The Skystrider Guild was nearing its twenty-thousand-member cap, but the Chitinborn Plague was testing their limits. Relief arrived in the form of the Stellar Pact. Portals from Southhaven shimmered to life, depositing ten thousand elite players—none lower than Level 130—directly into the fray.
"Aveline Crane has joined the raid."
"Reid Sutton has joined the raid."
Orion didn't waste time. "Skystrider thanks you for the steel! Every mercenary gets a flat 1,000 Gold bonus for the defense! Stick to your squads and keep the casualties low!"
For many of these elites, this wasn't just a rescue mission—it was the ultimate XP farm. Ash continued his relentless bombardment, his damage numbers appearing so frequently in the combat log that he was effectively the guild’s centerpiece.
A private message pinged.
Simon Cross: Ash? Is that you? Man, it’s been years. I knew you’d make it, but I didn't think you’d turn into a monster.
Ash blinked, stunned. Simon Cross? You’re here?
Simon Cross: Just came in with the Southhaven bunch to soak up some XP. Look down, two hundred meters to your front.
Ash shifted his gaze from the sky to the churning chaos on the ground. There, in the thick of the swarm, a swordsman moved like a cyclone. Every swing of the Simon's Longsword sent out a crescent of silver light that cleaved through a dozen locusts at a time.
It had been five years since they had stood together at the gates of the starting city. Back then, Ash had been a dreamer; Simon had been the only one with the courage to walk into the wastes alone. Seeing that name on his friend list every day had been a silent anchor for Ash.
Ash: Simon! I see you! Seeing you alive is the best thing that's happened all week.
Simon Cross: Likewise. I’d suggest a drink, but I’m a bit busy with the pest control. Damn, your damage output is insane. I was going to challenge you to a kill-count contest, but I think I'll pass.
Ash: I’ve got half the guild feeding me mana, Simon. In a fair fight, you’d still have the edge.
Simon Cross: Don't sell yourself short. I heard this guild had a 'Legendary Archer.' I should have known it was you.
Ash winced. Don't start with that legend crap. You want to join Skystrider? We could use a blade like yours.
Simon Cross: Nah. I’ve got my own crew in Heavenreach. We’re close enough that we should look into co-op raids soon. With our elites combined, a Level 16 Dungeon might actually be doable.
Ash: I’ll put you in touch with Orion. We’ll make it happen.
Simon was already Level 160, a powerhouse in his own right. He fought with a relentless, self-sustaining fury, likely possessing some form of high-tier lifesteal or health regen. Ash watched him disappear into the sea of chitin, a silver spark in the dark.
[Kill Confirmed: Elite Locust. Gold +12,000. GCP +20,000.]
[Looted: Gilded Helm.]
"Keep it coming," Ash muttered, feeling the rhythm of the battle.
Then, the world changed.
A sharp, metallic crack echoed as something punched through his defenses.
[Ward's Bulwark Shattered.]
[-120,654 HP]
Ash staggered. His Ward's Bulwark should have mitigated nearly a quarter-million damage. For a single hit to bypass it and still shave off 120k health was impossible—unless it was a player.
"Sharpshooter!" Ash hissed.
He didn't panic. He instantly refreshed the Bulwark.
Crack.
The second shot shattered the new shield instantly. Ash felt a searing heat in his chest as his health plummeted again.
[-281,368]
[-279,845]
"Lyra, heal! Now!"
The common move would be to Blink to the ground and hide behind the stone battlements. But Ash stayed put. He wanted the bastard to think they had a chance. He activated Eye of Clarity, his high Willpower allowing him to trace the trajectory of the invisible projectiles back to their source.
Four hundred meters out, tucked behind a cluster of ruins, a figure was crouched with a long-bore rifle.
Ash laughed, a cold, jagged sound. "You're playing at four hundred meters? You're underestimating me, you Crimson Vow piece of shit."
He didn't even stop clearing the swarm. He simply adjusted his aim, nocking a single, heavy arrow and imbuing it with every ounce of his redirected spite.
"I can hit at 460."
Twang.
[-615,873]
"Still alive?" Ash’s eyebrows shot up. Crimson Vow's elites were well-geared. "Let's see if you can handle two."
Twang.
[-623,578]
[System: You have killed Duke Callahan. Bounty Collected: 20,000 Gold. GCP +40,000.]
[Experience +310,000. Spirit +20. Gold +390,000.]
[Looted: Glory Legguards (Level 160).]
"Level 160 and he still couldn't take a hit," Ash spat. Between the gear and the bounty, he’d just made nearly 700k gold off one head.
He immediately messaged Orion. Orion, we have Crimson Vow infiltrators. They’re using the swarm as cover. Scan everyone with hidden IDs.
Ash: And Orion? If the guild doesn't want the political fallout of a direct execution, leave them to me. I’ll take the karma.
Orion: You're growing up fast, Ash. They must be terrified of your DPS if they’re sending assassins into our backyard. Don't worry—if they're in my city, they're already dead.
Ash turned back to the rampart, a plan forming. "Grant!"
"Yeah, Captain?"
"I've got a new job for you. You like to talk, right? I want you in the City Channel. Every ten minutes, I want you to post a screenshot of Duke Callahan’s death and tell Crimson Vow that their 'elites' make for great loot drops."
Grant’s grin was predatory. "You want me to bait them?"
"I want them so angry they can't think straight," Ash said, his eyes returning to the swarm. "I need more Level 160 gear, and they seem happy to deliver it to my doorstep."
"Say no more," Grant chuckled, opening his interface. "I won't just bait them. I’m going to make them wish they’d never picked up a weapon. Eight hours of non-stop trash talk, coming right up."