Martin quickly allocated his newly gained stat points into Vitality, Strength, and Defense. The increase looked small beside the bonuses from his weapons and equipment, but levels had never been about raw numbers alone. A higher level meant the system recognized more combat experience, and that recognition opened the door to weapons with harsher requirements.
The current level cap was sixty. For most players, reaching it wasnât difficult once they settled into their classes, chose their first evolutions, and kept progressing from there. The real value was access to better weapons, stricter requirements, and more options.
From level eleven to sixteen off a single kill... even after the experience was split among everyone who contributed. Weâre standing in a gold mine, but we canât forget our main objective.
That thought lasted only a second before Martin tore his gaze away from the spot where Swift Arrow had fallen. He returned to commanding the west nest, sending signals to the other tanks and helping them adjust their positions.
[Emperoar: Weâll secure the spot beside the eggs, but no egg touching yet. We donât want to trigger the mini-boss of this west nest. Follow the pings.]
DING! DING! DING!
Party Seventeenâs shield line moved first. Their formation wasnât perfect or graceful, but hesitation had disappeared from it. Boots scraped against wet stone as the tanks angled right and closed the path Martin had marked.
Party Eighteen reacted a breath later. Bowstrings tightened in the mist, crossbow bolts slid into place, and every ranged player shifted toward the same glowing marker.
Behind them, Party Nineteenâs cleansing lights gathered over Night Espressoâs side of the lane, warm white halos hovering above shoulders and shields, ready to fall the instant poison touched an ally. None of those lights drifted toward the trapped players.
Martin didnât wait for anyoneâs response. If someone noticed something, he would listen to their feedback and adjust, but the plan had to keep moving. His commands flowed smoothly, and the other three tanks unconsciously locked onto the objectives he gave them.
That kind of focus helped, though it could turn dangerous if a tank stopped seeing the whole battlefield. Staring too hard at one threat could make a player miss the enemy stepping around his shield, the healer losing space behind him, or the monster crawling into the backline.
Under Cassandra Selfmore, a tank who made that mistake too often would eventually lose his place in the guild.
Thankfully, the dense mist, confused enemies, and ravenous ants gave Martinâs allies some margin for error. More than anything, Martin kept the whole lane in his head. The chaos made that difficult, but it also gave him enough space to work with.
Potato Block realized he had been tunneling in only after Martinâs next ping dragged his attention back to the entire lane.
Fuck. Itâs so easy to follow his commands. The pacing is smooth, too, and weâre overwhelming them. Heâs really good... I should ask him for advice later.
It wasnât easy to admit weakness or inferiority in a competitive environment like Cassandra Selfmoreâs guild, but Potato Block didnât have that problem.
The unaffiliated players around them began to notice that something was off.
"Shit! Itâs PK!"
"Seriously, now? Cascade Valley is fucking huge! Just go somewhere else!" one male player shouted.
A Dark Aquatic Ant lunged from the mist behind him, its black legs clicking through the shallow water. The enemy tank shoved it back with his shield, but poison already glittered along the edge of his armor like green dew.
"Theyâre not pushing in!" another player shouted. "Theyâre keeping us here!"
"Then break left!"
"Left is sealed!"
"The ants are behind us!"
The male player cursed and tried to force his way through the angle anyway. "Tche! I got taunted! Cleanse me!"
He took only one step forward, not enough to make him slip. A soothing white light flashed over him like an aura and cleansed the taunt effect.
The moment he thought he had been set free, Martinâs next ping landed over his shoulder.
Party Eighteen didnât ask what it meant. Three bows shifted at once, and an arrow whistled through the mist before the enemy player could retreat. It hit him squarely in the head.
[Youâve been stunned for three seconds by an unknown entity.]
[Due to the level gap between you and the unknown entity, the stun has been reduced to one second.]
Who the fuck can aim that well in this mist?
As if the mist itself had answered him, a woman with long white hair and hungry orange eyes cut through the white curtain and closed the distance. She slashed through his armor, barely scratching his HP through his equipmentâs defenses and the level gap, but the strike carried her close enough for her boots to splash beside his.
Chaos noticed the wound on the manâs side and the gap in his armor, and her blade shifted toward it just as the stun wore off and the man raised his sword to strike back.
Another arrow cut through the mist and struck his raised arm.
[Silent Pine: Ah, I missed the head!]
The message came from Silent Pine, the female ranger from Party Eighteen.
[Chaosgraphy: But you hit the arm, so itâs good enough.]
The man tried to step back, only for Martinâs shield to slam into the water beside his boot and cut off the retreat before it began. Martin didnât waste time swinging for damage. He simply decided where the enemy was allowed to stand, and that place happened to be inside Chaosgraphyâs reach.
Chaos unleashed a flurry of attacks aimed at the wound, crossed her twin swords, and dashed through the enemy player. Her Alpha Rend consumed every stack of Pride Mark, increasing its damage by a significant margin.
Since the enemy player had already been wounded, his low HP finally gave way beneath the combined pressure, and even the level gap couldnât save him.
Her levels rose in an instant as the man swore under his breath.
Chaos sneered at him in his last moments. "Do not curse your teammates. My tank owns this west nest now. You simply wandered into the part of it where dying was allowed. Thanks for the EXP."
As he died, a pair of gloves appeared where he had been.
"And a pair of gloves," Chaos added, licking her lips.
[Chaosgraphy Lv. 17]