Leo grimaced, his teeth clenched so hard his jaw ached. Beneath the wide brim of his hat, he flicked his eyes around in quick, cautious glances. Only after confirming that no one was looking directly at him did he slowly, carefully reach behind his back.

His body was twisted at the waist, one shoulder pressed against a large wooden cask for support. In a place most people would never think to look, squarely in the center of his posterior, an arrow jutted out, trembling faintly. It had sunk a good six inches deep, a perfect bullseye.

He was trying to pull it out, millimeter by agonizing millimeter.

That arrow was also the reason he had been the first to snap out of his daze earlier. Leo had been charging forward when the sudden global announcement rang out, stunning everyone mid-stride. He stumbled, his balance thrown off for just a heartbeat, and in that instant an arrow flew in from nowhere in particular and struck his raised backside with merciless precision.

The pain was instant, sharp, and overwhelming.

It burned through his body and mind alike, forcibly dragging him back to clarity.

To hide his humiliating situation, Leo had quickly leaned against the cask and bellowed that rallying shout, using the noise and movement of the charge to mask his condition. Once the tide of soldiers surged past him, he began the slow, torturous process of extracting the arrow.

By the time the final length slid free, Leo was drenched in cold sweat. His hands trembled as he stared at the blood-smeared shaft, his face pale beneath the hat. He had no idea which sadistic designer had created this particular arrowhead. It was barbed.

In real life, pulling something like this out would have been madness. You would probably tear something vital loose in the process. Even the most experienced combat medic would never attempt an extraction like this without specialized tools.

Leo flicked the arrow aside and glanced around once more. Still no one watching.

He exhaled deeply, the tension finally draining from his shoulders, his expression shifting into one of pure, unfiltered relief. He uncorked a health potion and drank it down in one go, watching his HP refill. Then he grabbed the large cask again, straightened his posture, and charged back toward the fortress as if nothing had happened.

However…

What Leo believed to be flawless stealth was, in reality, anything but.

At that very moment, on the official Ethereal World website, the WCC live broadcast was airing the battle.

Out of more than thirty split-screen camera feeds, the instant Leo was struck, one small window abruptly expanded to fill the entire screen. He had become the unexpected star of the show. The broadcast captured his impassioned shout and rallying cry, accompanied by dramatic commentary praising his resolve.

As the Renegade Alliance renewed their assault, the camera operator was just about to switch views when commentator Trina Starr made a small, curious sound.

"Hmm?"

She stopped them and asked for the camera to zoom in further.

From a crystal-clear, high-definition god's-eye view, Leo was exposed in merciless detail. Every movement, every twitch of his face beneath the shadow of his hat, was perfectly visible. His careful, painfully deliberate extraction process was broadcast live for the entire audience to see.

"Look, everyone," Trina Starr said, struggling valiantly to keep her composure. "Skyblade of the Renegade Alliance truly embodies the spirit of enduring hardship and carrying heavy burdens. Despite suffering intense pain, he doesn't tend to his wound immediately, instead choosing to shout and awaken his comrades… Hmm… And that final expression of relief. What could it signify? Perhaps only he knows. Let's see if we can get him on the line and hear what this brave player has to say…"

Her voice wavered as she hurriedly changed the topic.

The comment section and bullet chat, however, had already exploded.

"Skyblade is a real man."

"What does it feel like?"

"I wanna be that arrow, uwu… I wanna eat a peach, peach…"

"Piss off, you creepy sissy!"

"Go to hell… ugh, I'm gonna be sick…"

The discussion was swiftly hijacked by a particularly nauseating user named BreezyBoy, and the chat devolved into an unholy battlefield of insults and obscenities. Seeing the situation spiral out of control, the WCC moderators decisively shut down the chat altogether.

None of this reached Leo.

He was still fighting with everything he had inside Ethereal, blissfully unaware that his backside had just become the focus of worldwide attention, or that such unspeakable vermin had fixed their gaze upon it.

[DING… Global Announcement: The world's first Advanced-Tier Fortress has been captured!

Capturing Guild: Renegade Alliance.

Country: Dragonspire. Region: Northern Frontier.

Reward: Invulnerability Shield activated for 24 hours. Guild Level +3.]

[DING… Global Announcement: [Renegade Alliance] Guild Headquarters has been successfully relocated, becoming the world's first guild to relocate its stronghold.

Reward: All stats increased by 100% for all guild members. Duration: 6 hours.]

[DING… Global Announcement: The [Renegade Alliance] Guild Headquarters Fortress has been named: Renegade Citadel, becoming the world's first named fortress.

Reward: Renegade Citadel Fortress Tier +1. Originally Advanced-Tier, now promoted to Bronze-Tier. Territory area increased threefold.]

Barely ten minutes had passed since the first global announcement, yet the world was already drowning in system messages.

For the Steele Consortium and the Blade Syndicate, who were already steeped in frustration, this was nothing short of salt rubbed into an open wound.

They had chosen to assault a Mid-Tier fortress.

As a Level 8 guild, the Blade Syndicate possessed overwhelming manpower. When Ethan's first system announcement rang out, the entire Syndicate assault force froze in place. That brief moment of shock was catastrophic. By the time they snapped back to their senses, more than half of their frontline troops had already been slaughtered.

This Mid-Tier fortress assault had been a joint decision spearheaded by the Steele Consortium. They had committed a staggering 120,000 players to the operation. In the mere thirty seconds or so of stunned hesitation, over 50,000 were cut down where they stood, struck down before they could even raise their weapons.

Ironically, their progress hadn't been slow. They had already seized one section of the wall. Meanwhile, when Renegade Alliance claimed their fortress, their first wave had only just reached the battlements.

Yet everyone understood one unspoken truth.

The first capture mattered more than anything else.

The rewards, the prestige, the long-term advantage, all of it was front-loaded. Being first meant rewriting the balance of power.

And just as the Steele Consortium and Blade Syndicate began to console themselves with that thought, the next revelation struck them like a hammer.

Three people.

Only three players had defeated a fortress commander.

Even more absurd, one of them was Tears of the Fallen.

She was known throughout Ethereal as the Honorary Leader of the Renegade Alliance, a symbolic figure who rarely participated in grinding or combat. Even accounting for reward bonuses, most people doubted her level had even reached double digits.

"How did they do it…? How is that even possible…?"

Marcus Skeiner, the leader of the Blade Syndicate, stood frozen atop a hillside. Earlier, he had been reclining beneath a sun umbrella, lazily sipping from his glass as he watched his forces clash below. The sensation of commanding tens of thousands with a single order had filled him with smug satisfaction.

Now, the glass lay shattered at his feet.

He hadn't even realized when it slipped from his hand.

Across the map, in Springhaven, Zachary Steele was in far worse shape.

Sweat poured down his back as he stared at a massive video conference projected before him. More than thirty windows filled the screen, each displaying an elder of the Steele Consortium, its shareholders and true power holders.

They came from all backgrounds. Caucasian, Black, Asian. Some wore impeccably tailored business suits. One sat calmly in a kimono. Another appeared in full cowboy attire, complete with hat.

Their appearances differed wildly.

Their expressions did not.

Every single face was twisted with fury. Voices overlapped, shouting in multiple languages, yet the meaning was unmistakable. Accusations flew nonstop, venomous and relentless.

Though the languages varied, two words pierced through the noise again and again.

"Incompetent fool."

Zachary's expression shifted in stages.

First came nervous sweating, his hands clenched tight. Then his eyes hardened, the panic draining away. Finally, something darker surfaced, a deep, simmering impatience.

And this time, he was no longer listening.

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