Alfred sat silent in his golden chair, arms folded across his broad chest, gaze locked on me with the weight of command behind it. His silver armor gleamed like the edge of a drawn sword, and the light from the crystal chandelier above gave his form an almost divine presence.
"You mentioned a quest," he said flatly. "Why bring it to me?"
I met his stare without flinching. "Because your guild has the structure to take advantage of it—and I want to be there when it's done."
Alfred's brow arched slightly. "What kind of quest?"
"Hidden tier. System-triggered. Not accessible to high-level players. It's restricted—only those under Level 10 can enter. No aura locks, no permission keys. Just a raw entry requirement."
He leaned forward slightly. "Why the cap?"
"To test early growth potential. Players who survive it are bound to stand out. And it's not a standard hunt."
His tone sharpened. "Then what is it?"
"A den," I answered. "Of wolves."
His eyes narrowed.
"Ten in total," I continued. "9 subordinates. One alpha. Large bodies—each one built like an armored jeep. They don't rely on brute force alone; they hunt like tacticians. Pack signals, flanking, energy tracing. It's not a dungeon—it's a battlefield."
Alfred's fingers tapped slowly on the polished desk. "You fought them?"
"Faced them. Didn't win. Escaped with a broken arm and a clearer head. Their alpha coordinates movement with sound cues. They react to power surges and target Powerful players first. I got that much before I had to retreat."
"What's the reward?"
I shook my head. "Unknown. The system doesn't list anything. But the quest is flagged as a 'Rare Class Opportunity.' That usually means evolution paths. Maybe a unique item. Maybe something older."
His expression didn't change, but I could see the gears turning behind his eyes. Guilds lived or died by rare chances like these.
"Who else knows?" he asked.
"I can't say for sure," I replied. "But the Some Tribes have been sniffing around. They're hunting for early breakthroughs. If they find it first, it'll tip the balance. They're wild and sloppy—but they move fast."
There was a pause.
Then, Alfred leaned back, a rare glimmer flashing in his eyes. "You know my Famous skill—Energy Explosion?"
I nodded. "I've felt its aura. Hard to miss."
He gave a half-smile, though there was no warmth behind it—just memory.
"It wasn't from a trainer. Not a reward from a floor clear either. I earned it through blood."
He stood, the heavy silver armor whispering against itself as he moved toward the window overlooking the upper training grounds.
"You know how I found Energy Explosion?" he said, voice quieter now, but heavier somehow. "It was from a quest like this. Forgotten. Buried under a collapsed shrine with no light, no system markers, nothing."
He clasped his hands behind his back, posture straight as a spear.
"I was Level 6. Just another wanderer in a guildless squad. We stumbled onto something strange—a sealed statue surrounded by five torches. When we lit them, the statue cracked open and unleashed a trial."
His voice became more distant, as if speaking through the smoke of memory.
"It wasn't combat at first. It was endurance. The system drained us, bled us dry. Then came the enemies—ghosts of forgotten warriors. We had to survive them without using any regeneration skills. Just raw control."
He looked over his shoulder at me.
"Out of ten of us, only two remained by the end. And when we cleared it... I got the skill. Energy Explosion. Most couldn't see the value back then. Thought it was just another flashy buff."
His tone sharpened slightly.
"They were wrong. It made me what I am."
He returned to the desk and sat, the golden light catching in the edges of his armor like a flicker of fire.
"This hidden quest you found—if it's real—it might be another one of those moments. Where someone steps out of obscurity and earns their name."
I didn't speak. I didn't need to.
He sat back, gaze firm. "Now, Arthur," he said, "tell me everything you know about that den. Floor layout. Enemy behavior. Entry signs—everything. I want it all."
///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
That night, I stood beneath the torch-lit arches of the Arm Hearts training arena.
The dojo was massive, stone-floored, high-ceilinged, and heavy with tension. Blades clashed, wooden swords cracked, and the air stank of sweat and burning muscle. Players moved in lines, drilled in silence by instructors with sharp eyes and sharper tongues.
At the center stood a man who radiated authority.
Marius.
[Name: Marius]
[Age: 61]
[Level: 7]
[Race: Human]
[Affiliation: Arm Hearts – Elite Instructor]
[Techniques: Historical European Martial Arts (100% Mastery)]
[Traits: Ruthless, Scholar of War, Cold Precision]
He looked me over without expression. "This the one?"
Zaine nodded from behind me. "Wants to earn his place."
Marius motioned toward the weapons rack. "Pick something. Step in."
I chose a wooden longsword—simple, balanced.
No sooner had I stepped onto the mat than he lunged.
His strike was fast, hard, and completely without warning. I blocked on reflex, the jolt traveling up my arm. My stance staggered, but I didn't fall.
"Good," he muttered. "Still standing."
He didn't wait before striking again.
The next fifteen minutes were war. No holds barred. Marius struck with cold precision, targeting weak points, testing angles. I blocked what I could, absorbed what I couldn't, and held my ground. Pain layered itself over every muscle, but I didn't quit.
When he finally stepped back, breathing barely changed, I stood panting, bruised, but upright.
"You've felt real weight," he said at last. "Not many do on their first day. You'll train."
He walked away without another word.
And just like that, I'd taken my first step into the core of the Arm Hearts.
The wolves would come.
And I would be ready.