When Cblack first heard the news, especially after seeing countless players praising him, he was completely stunned.

His guild leader even rallied members to celebrate, calling him the brightest star in the game. Guildmates who had once sneered at him were now singing his name as if he had achieved something legendary.

But Cblack knew the truth. Those techniques weren't his creation. Every skill in that video came from the Flowing Light guild—the guild that stood at the very peak of the game.

Yes, they were rivals. Learning an enemy's technique was one thing; there was even an old saying, "Use the barbarians' tricks to defeat the barbarians." But to pass off another's hard work as his own? That gnawed at his conscience.

When he confessed these doubts to his friends, they only fell silent. None of them encouraged him to speak up on the forums. Instead, they told him to act like nothing had happened.

"Just don't mention it," they said. "Pretend you never heard a thing."

And in fairness, Cblack hadn't posted the video. He'd never once claimed those moves were his own invention. Still, he had been the first player to showcase them publicly, and that was all anyone cared about.

"If you keep quiet, it'll blow over," his friends reassured him, patting his shoulder.

Cblack felt uneasy, torn between honesty and silence. But he had so few friends as it was. If they all believed this was the right way forward… maybe it really was fine?

Meanwhile, Ryan had no idea of the turmoil his unseen observer was suffering. He was busy fending off an Orc hunter—a player who had clearly watched the video and was eager to try out his new tricks, especially since Ryan appeared to be alone.

Not long after Ryan descended from the Cleansing Grove, the hunter leapt from hiding and launched an attack. Ryan braced himself for a fight, only for the Orc to trigger Aspect of the Cheetah and dart away in retreat.

Ryan nearly laughed. The hunter's movements were awkward, his timing sloppy. He must have seen the video once, gotten overexcited, and rushed to test his skills on the first opponent he found. But really, of all people, he had chosen Ryan?

Ryan didn't even stop to consider that with his real-time ID hidden, no one knew who he really was. To the Orc, he was just a Paladin—and Paladins were notoriously sluggish among melee classes, lacking any tools to close the distance quickly. For a hunter wanting to practice kiting, a Paladin was the perfect practice dummy.

And Ryan, with his shield strapped across his back as a Protection Paladin, wasn't much different from a lumbering monster—one that could take more punishment, but still just a target to dance around.

Ryan, however, had no patience for games. He wasn't Evelyn, endlessly refining every detail of her footwork. He had a quest waiting, a reward still unclaimed, and no time to waste on a clumsy amateur.

Without hesitation, Ryan uncorked a Swiftness Potion and drank it down. The surge of speed hit instantly, boosting his pace by fifty percent. Coupled with the fifteen percent bonus from his Retribution talents, he became a blur of motion. Even in the Dreadful Mire, where the muck slowed everyone by twenty percent, Ryan shot forward like a storm.

When the Paladin—who should have been an easy target—suddenly charged at breakneck speed, the Orc hunter froze in shock. Then realization hit: his opponent had downed a Swiftness Potion.

Who even carried such a thing, outside of Alchemists? The potion was rare, expensive, and not something this hunter had prepared for. Panicked, he loosed a Concussive Shot, desperate to slow his enemy down and buy a few precious seconds. Ten seconds—that was the duration of a Swiftness Potion. If he could just stall until then, victory would be his.

But the moment his arrow struck, nothing happened. The Paladin barreled forward as though untouched.

The hunter's eyes went wide. He had landed the shot. He was sure of it.

"Damn it! Free Action! I forgot that blasted Paladin skill!"

His stomach dropped. A Paladin who could chug Swiftness Potions and shrug off slows for several seconds? Against that, a beginner hunter like him didn't stand a chance.

As the distance between them shrank, the hunter scrambled to widen the gap, but his bad luck only grew worse. His foot snagged a Vine Trap hidden in the muck.

The trap itself was nothing special—barely more than an inconvenience, meant to stun passing players for a single second or dismount careless riders. Ordinarily, it was something you cursed at and brushed off. But in this moment, it was ruin. The damage from the trap instantly canceled his Aspect of the Cheetah, cutting his speed in half.

It was as if fate had personally chosen to hand the Paladin victory.

Ryan chuckled when he saw the vines lash out and the hunter stumble, his body flashing gray for a heartbeat as the stun took hold.

"Oh, you poor unlucky hunter," Ryan said, grinning as he bore down on him. "Time to send you to the graveyard to think about your choices."

With the hunter slowed and helpless, Ryan closed the gap with ease. He gave the Orc a dazzling smile, met only by a look of desperation and fury, before cutting him down in a single, decisive swing.

Ryan planted his weapon in the muck beside the corpse and wagged a finger as if lecturing a careless child. "First rule of the Dreadful Mire: always check your ground for traps. If you don't, well… you end up like this."

The dead hunter, of course, couldn't understand a word of Ryan's common tongue, but Ryan was in high spirits regardless. Someone else's bad luck was his comedy. A hard fight rarely left him smiling, but a tragedy like this? That was priceless.

Meanwhile, back at the graveyard, the Orc hunter seethed. He had no idea what the Paladin had said over his corpse, but the sight alone of his enemy standing above him, mouthing incomprehensible words, felt like a deliberate insult. His face darkened, his resolve hardened.

This wasn't over. Next time, he would return with reinforcements.

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