Luke crouched silently atop a rooftop, eyes fixed on the streets below. He'd been in this place for a few days now—long enough to memorize the statues' patrol routes, their habits, their blind spots. The layout of the city was eerily familiar. It looked almost identical to Bastion's first Safe Zone. Same narrow alleys, same building patterns. He'd even found a house that looked like his old hideout.

After days spent scavenging for resources, refining his profession skills, and studying the Watcher encampments, Luke had shifted into a new phase. He was hunting.

A mounted patrol moved through the streets—stone horses, stone riders, steady and methodical. Then they paused. Something had just clattered in a nearby alley. Drawn by the sound, the Watchers dismounted. The formation split: some took point with crossbows made of jagged stone, others followed in close combat configuration.

The leader moved in first, sword drawn. He advanced into the alley cautiously—and found a severed statue head lying in the middle of the path. He scanned the rest of the alley, eyes sharp but expression unreadable.

Then he turned. And froze.

A human crouched at the far end of the alley, perfectly still, cloaked in silence. A shadow made flesh. Before the leader could react, the human moved. Fast. Luke drove a black-bladed kukri into the back of the crossbow statue's skull, twisting as he yanked the body into position—just as it reflexively discharged. The bolt slammed into another Watcher, shattering its core. Before the statue could fully collapse, Luke's second blade caught it across the face, breaking it into a pile of crumbling stone.

The leader surged forward. But Luke was already gone, his body dissipating into a swirl of black mist that vanished into the wall itself.

The Watcher leader reached for his warhorn. Too late. His body locked up mid-motion. Thin cracks began to spread along his arms and chest. He dropped to his knees, frozen, then shattered with a soft, splintering crunch. Luke stood behind him, calm, quiet. With a flick of his wrist, the kukris returned to his hands.

***

He was beginning to understand how this place truly worked. There were two types of statues: the ones that patrolled the city, and the ones stationed inside the camps. But the most important detail? The rule behind the warhorn. They wouldn't just blow it because they heard something. They had to see him.

"How's the mixture coming along?" he asked Princess Charlie as he stepped inside.

They were holed up in one of the abandoned houses. Luke had turned the place into a makeshift lab, brewing all kinds of potions and concoctions. His main goal was to grind profession levels—but he was also trying to craft a high-quality healing potion, something that might actually matter in the long run.

Charlie gave him a thumbs-up, still stirring the brew. Her experience from making soup, oddly enough, was proving useful.

"Oh wow. You go out to hunt, she stays home making food... isn't that kinda couple-ish?" Artemis teased.

Luke ignored her usual commentary, but for some reason, Charlie stirred the cauldron with just a little more energy after that.

"So, what's the plan?" Artemis asked.

"You can't just peek into my memory or something?"

"Nope. The system won't allow an item to dig that deep into someone's mind. That kind of mental feed? Way too invasive. I mean, yeah, it's possible, but those artifacts are really powerful. What I get from you is old stuff. Pre-system integration stuff. It's like watching reruns. No real interest in watching you study or... whatever it is you do."

"Huh... not even curious about my bath memories?"

"Hey, I've got standards. I prefer the live version. Also, you just turned eighteen. If I went poking around memories like that from before... pretty sure I'd be violating some multiversal crime code. Besides, your brain's got layers of locks. Everyone hides stuff—memories, secrets, trauma. I can't just dig around freely. Now, TV episodes, anime arcs, webnovels you read? That stuff's easy to access. Your brain keeps that right up front."

Luke dropped into a chair.

"Figured there'd be limitations," he muttered.

He grabbed a wooden mug and placed it on the table, then scattered a few stones around it in a loose pattern.

"The mug is the third fortress. That's where I think the boss is. The stones are the statue encampments. Basically, it's like a giant strategy board. I need to carve a path through, dismantling the camps one by one."

He paused, studying the layout. It had to be done silently. If even one statue spotted him, the whole network could collapse inward. Every single camp would mobilize to defend the boss... and on top of that, there was still the so-called sleeping army. If that woke up, things would spiral fast.

Stealth is the key.

***

Luke watched the camp in silence. The statues moved in fixed routines—no words, no gestures, no idle standing like their lifeless appearance might suggest. They didn't interact. They simply executed their roles, over and over, like they were locked into an invisible script.

Five sentinels stood atop large stone outcrops, bows in hand, scanning the perimeter. The rest patrolled the camp below, armed and methodical. Luke exhaled slowly, then focused, fading deeper into stealth. His perception sharpened. He slipped from the treeline, crouched so low he was practically crawling. Moving like a predator, he crept toward one of the sentinels. He stopped, eyes fixed on the statue. Calm. Focused.

One kukri slid between his teeth. Then he moved—one quick dash, a blur across the grass. He grabbed the sentinel from behind, one hand locking around its throat as the blade sank into its stone skull.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

[You have slain a Watcher Sentinel – Lvl 40]

He held the body upright, preventing it from crashing to the ground and drawing attention. With a smooth motion, he transferred it to his storage dimension. Another statue was approaching—same route, same timing. Luke had accounted for it. The moment the Watcher came into view, a kukri whipped through the air and buried itself in the statue's face.

[You have slain a Watcher Knight – Lvl 45]

He dashed forward, tagged the body, and stored it before it could fall and echo through the camp. Most of the patrols moved clockwise in a perfect loop around the encampment. Luke mirrored their path. Unfortunately, his Assassin's Mark skill only applied to one target at a time, which made it nearly useless in this kind of operation. He had to rely on memory—mapping each guard's pattern down to the second.

He sprinted toward a tent, dissolved into mist, phased straight through the canvas, and reappeared on the other side. Right as a guard passed.

[You have slain a Watcher Knight – Lvl 45]

Luke counted under his breath. Three seconds. Another one would be along. The silhouette appeared—he didn't wait. Another kukri flew.

[You have slain a Watcher Knight – Lvl 45]

*Your class [Demonic Assassin] has reached Level 35! (+5 Per, +4 Str, +4 Agi, +3 Vit, +2 Int, +3 Free Points)*

[You have acquired a Class Skill]

He dashed again, reaching the body before it hit the ground, pulling it into his pocket dimension before the stone fragments could scatter. Two more guards were approaching now, walking side by side. No way to take them both head-on. Too risky—if one saw him or dodged a thrown blade, everything could unravel.

Luke channeled stamina into both kukris and flung them high into the brush above. Then he dropped behind a fallen log and waited.

One… two…

The moment both guards reached the tent's edge, following their patrol route, Luke raised his hands. The kukris reversed course midair, drawn back by magnetized force and stamina pressure, slamming into the backs of the two Watchers with lethal precision.

[You have slain a Watcher Knight – Lvl 45]

[You have slain a Watcher Knight – Lvl 45]

**[You have reached Level 25! Half-Demon (Rank F)] (+1 bonus point to all attributes, +1 free point)**

Without wasting a second, he dashed forward, scooping the bodies into storage before they could make a sound. Then he crossed the camp, his form dissolving again into black mist. As he neared the massive tree at the center of the grounds, he began to climb—slow, silent, practiced. When he reached one of the thicker branches, he crouched low and stared out across the clearing.

Watching. Calculating the next move. Three sentinels remained. Each one stationed at a different edge of the camp. To make this work, Luke had to be absolutely silent. If even one of them sounded the horn, everything would fall apart. The problem was their positioning. Even at a distance, they had line of sight on each other. No trees, no cover. The moment one of them dropped, the others would notice the shift in rhythm.

He pulled a single arrow from his quiver and held it in his mouth, clenching it between his teeth as he began channeling stamina into it. At the same time, both kukris in his hands started to hum with energy, charged with the same force.

Focused. Calm. Precise. He let the kukris fly—one toward each statue. Almost instantly, he summoned his bow into existence, nocked the arrow, and loosed it, all in a fluid motion. Three strikes landed nearly simultaneously.

[You have slain a Watcher Sentinel – Lvl 40]

[You have slain a Watcher Sentinel – Lvl 40]

[You have slain a Watcher Sentinel – Lvl 40]

A sharp breath escaped him. Relief. Then he dropped, landing inside the camp.

"That was tense as hell," he muttered.

The camp was his now. Days of silent observation had paid off. The statues never left their camps. They didn't communicate across sites. Each one stayed locked into its assigned behavior loop. The ones outside, on patrol, followed routes like clockwork.

That meant as long as he took each camp quietly, as long as he didn't disturb the rhythm, the rest would never know he was here. It was a silent war. But he was winning. He couldn't rely on Charlie for this part. Stealth wasn't exactly her strong suit. And as useful as the bow was, there was a catch—kills with it didn't grant him class experience. And getting stronger was the whole point.

Without leveling his class, clearing this zone would be meaningless. For now, the bow was a tool of last resort. The kukris were his focus. His path forward. A notification hovered in front of him after hitting class level 35.

[You have acquired a Class Skill]

He opened the list—and blinked.

"Every single one of them has 'Assassin' in the name."

***

Samael sat at the table across from a familiar face. A goddess from his past—one who owed him a favor, or at least, he was trying to collect on it. Over the ages, the two had helped each other more than once.

"That's it? That's all you want?" she asked, a little surprised.

She studied him closely, likely trying to figure out if he had some hidden motive.

"This benefits us both. You've got a lost follower in that tutorial," he said evenly.

She sipped from her glass and raised a brow. "I've known you a long time, Samael. You've always had a way of presenting your interests like they're someone else's advantage."

He shrugged. "In the end, you'll get what you want. Like I said, mutual interest."

"And yet, you came to me. That alone is suspicious." Her gaze sharpened. "Even if I do owe you a favor."

"I would've walked away," Samael admitted, "if not for Asmodeus's involvement in this tutorial. His interest makes things... volatile."

Before she could press further, a man in black strolled over, smiling in that trademark way of his—never smug, just confidently amused. Sharp eyes. The kind that always knew too much.

Asmodeus.

He gave an exaggerated bow. "Mind if I join this little meeting?"

"If I said no, would you actually leave?" the goddess asked dryly.

"Oh, absolutely not," Asmodeus said, already pulling out a chair.

Whatever conversation Samael had planned immediately stalled. The subject of it had arrived—probably already aware of what they were discussing. Asmodeus had a knack for that. He didn't just predict outcomes. He engineered them. A natural strategist. Ruthless. Brilliant. Utterly untrustworthy. The kind of being who would help someone build an empire over centuries, only to burn it all down in a weekend just to watch the pieces fall.

Asmodeus leaned back with a smirk. "The three of us, sitting here... feels like the start of a bad joke. A devil, a demon, and an elf walk into a bar. You know what the devil said?"

The goddess raised an eyebrow. "No. What did he say?"

"'Room full of problems. Feels like home,'" Asmodeus replied, chuckling to himself.

Neither Samael nor the goddess laughed.

"Oh come on, that was a good one," he said, grinning.

She sighed and stood.

"Leaving so soon? I thought you'd be thrilled to see an old friend," Asmodeus called after her.

"I have no interest in speaking with you," she said without turning. "And you know exactly why."

She walked away. Only Samael and Asmodeus remained at the table.

"Can you believe that?" Asmodeus said, reclining comfortably. "Still holding a grudge just because I wiped out... all of her worshippers on that planet I conquered."

Samael looked at him, unamused. "You're still here? I thought you'd moved on."

"I'm the star of my own show, Samael. I don't just leave. I leave a mark." He kicked his feet up on the table. "Now that she's gone, I'd like to share a little theory I've been cooking up."

"What kind of theory?"

"I'm about 97% certain... Azazel passed his bloodline to a human inside this tutorial."

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