The Crownian Warlion was beautiful, in the way that apex predators always were.

  It stood nearly two meters at the shoulder, a majestic animal moving with the grace of a king. Its fangs and claws were sharp enough to cut through reinforced steel. Its eyes were molten gold, tracking the player circling it with the focused patience of something that had killed many adventurers before.

  Ryder adjusted his grip on his lance and rolled his shoulders. He was level 18, and the two-level gap against an Elite meant this thing could genuinely hurt him. Its base damage would be inflated well beyond what a normal level 20 mob could dish out.

  Good.

  He'd been grinding Crownian beasts for the better part of three hours, and the Warlion was the crown jewel of the hunting grounds southeast of Ravencrown. Most parties avoided it; the beast's lightning aura punished anyone who stayed in melee range too long, ticking away health in small but relentless increments. For a lancer who needed to be in the creature's face, that was a problem.

  For Ryder, it was practice.

  "Pulling," he said.

  He broke into a sprint, boots tearing through the tall, sun-bleached grass of the Crownian Plains. The Warlion locked onto him instantly, lips curling back over fangs the size of daggers, and charged.

  The collision happened in less than a second.

  “Spear Thrust!”

  -355!

  Ryder's lance shot forward in a perfectly straight line, the skill's piercing damage connecting with the Warlion's chest just as the beast lunged.

  The impact stopped neither of them; the Warlion barreled through, its claws raking across Ryder's chestplate and sending sparks cascading through the air.

  -64!

  His health dipped by about fifteen percent.

  He didn't flinch. He planted his back foot, twisted, and activated his next skill before the beast could recover its footing.

  “Sweep!”

  -242!

  The lance arced in a wide horizontal slash, catching the Warlion across its flank.

  The wide attack wasn't his hardest hitting skill, but it served its purpose; the knockback effect forced the beast sideways, breaking its momentum and giving Ryder the spacing he needed.

  The Warlion snarled and suddenly its mane started glowing with blue energy. Bolts of lightning crackled outward in a small radius, and Ryder felt the aura's damage tick against his health bar.

  It added up fast.

  He watched the beast's legs tense. It’s pouncing again.

  "I'm coming up behind it. Give me four seconds," Lowkey's voice came through the party chat, calm and quiet, as if he were commenting on the weather.

  Four seconds against this thing was an eternity.

  But Ryder had been doing eternities since Valhalla.

  The Warlion pounced with terrifying speed, claws outstretched, the aura of a living thunderstorm following it.

  Ryder activated Vault, the skill launching him toward the beast instead of away from it.

  The Warlion's claws cut through empty air where he'd been a heartbeat prior, and Ryder landed on its flank, driving his lance into the beast's side with a basic thrust before rolling clear.

  The creature howled and spun, but Ryder was already backpedaling, keeping just outside of its claw range while staying close enough to not lose aggro. His health sat at around seventy percent now, the lightning aura having chipped away steadily.

  The Warlion's attack pattern shifted.

  Its mane surged with a blinding pulse and the beast opened its jaws. A concentrated bolt of lightning erupted from its mouth, tearing a scorched line through the grass.

  Ryder dove left with Quick Step.

  The bolt missed by inches, close enough for his hair to start moving due to the electricity. The environmental effects in this game were absurdly detailed; he could feel the heat on his skin, the static making his fingers tingle.

  "Now," Ryder said.

  Lowkey materialized behind the Warlion with perfect timing.

  Killian Shore had always been impulsive in real life, hot-headed, prone to making decisions with his gut rather than his brain, but put a pair of daggers in his hands and the man became a surgeon.

  “Backstab!”

  Both daggers sank into the base of the Warlion's skull with surgical precision.

  -311!

  -392!

  Critical damage numbers erupted, and the beast staggered forward, its lightning mane flickering violently like a dying bulb.

  The Warlion roared and whipped around with a swipe that would have taken Lowkey's head clean off, but the rogue was already two steps ahead.

  He left a Tripwire behind as he disengaged, the invisible thread catching the Elite's front legs. The massive beast stumbled and crashed onto its side, legs scrambling for purchase on the scorched earth.

  Ryder was already moving.

  “Impale!”

  He closed the distance in three strides and drove his lance through the creature's exposed throat. The skill locked the Warlion in place, pinning it to the ground as damage ticked continuously.

  -364!

  -34!

  -34!

  The beast thrashed, claws gouging deep furrows into the dirt, lightning arcing wildly in every direction. Ryder's health ticked down from the aura the same way.

  From this point the fight was painfully one sided. The two players chain-stunned the beast, chipping away at its health.

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  The Warlion convulsed one final time and shattered into motes of light.

  Ryder’s HP bar was at 9% due to the Elite’s damaging aura. We can clear it now without using health pots.

  The lancer exhaled slowly, pulling up the loot window.

  Other than the dagger, skinning the Warlion rewarded them with a stack of Fine Warlion Hides and two Warlion Claws. It also dropped a single gold coin.

  “This is our third dagger from it,” Ryder exclaimed.

  “I already have better options at level 20, but plenty of rogues in the guild who we could give it to.” Lowkey answered.

  Ryder didn’t say anything.

  He dismissed the loot window and turned his gaze northwest.

  Ravencrown loomed in the distance, its dark spires cutting into the sky like the talons of its namesake.

  Even from here, nearly a kilometer out, the capital was imposing. Massive walls of black stone encircled the city, and above them rose towers and keeps that dwarfed anything he'd seen in the region so far. The Royal Palace sat at the very top, visible even from the plains, its banners bearing the Ravensdale crest snapping in the wind.

  The seat of King Seraf Ravensdale. The beating heart of the kingdom.

  It was where Avalon needed to be.

  "Not bad for two levels under," Lowkey said, appearing beside him after a second. He flicked the blood off his daggers with practiced nonchalance. "We're getting efficient."

  "A minute faster than last time," Ryder said. "The lightning bolt pattern is random. Hard to optimize around it."

  "Yeah, well." Lowkey sheathed his daggers and stretched, cracking his neck. "Beats farming those Crownian Prowlers for the hundredth time. At least the Warlion fights back."

  They sat on the hillside for a moment, drinking water from their inventories and letting the ambient sounds of the plains wash over them. Insects hummed in the tall grass. Somewhere to the east, a herd of Crownian Elk was crossing a shallow stream, their antlers catching the fading light.

  The detail in this world was staggering, Ryder had to admit. Not that he'd ever say it aloud. Sentiment was not his strong suit.

  "How much XP are you at?" Lowkey asked.

  "32% through eighteen."

  "Same pace, then. I might hit eighteen tomorrow morning." Lowkey pulled up his status window, scanning it briefly. "The stat rework hit me nicely. My agility scaling actually means something now. I'm faster than I was yesterday, by a noticeable margin. Stronger too."

  Ryder nodded.

  He'd redistributed his own points after reading the patch notes, leaning harder into strength with a secondary investment in the reworked agility stat.

  The results spoke for themselves; his Impale hit nearly twenty percent harder than before, and his movement between skill activations was noticeably smoother.

  Not to mention, he had more than 400 HP with the Strength rework and his titles.

  “Can’t wait for Jess to get to Ravencrown,” Lowkey said. “And the rest of the Guild, too. We’ll dominate all these noobs.”

  Ryder didn't respond.

  He was staring at the capital, but his mind was elsewhere.

  The patch notes had dropped during their last session, and he'd read them three times before logging off to sleep. The stat overhaul was interesting, item durability was going to shake up the economy, and regional travel would change everything for guilds trying to consolidate members.

  “A Guild Seal, 500 gold and Gold adventurer rank,” he murmured. “And level 25.”

  He had the gold.

  Between his personal funds and what Avalon's members had pooled during the first week, they were sitting on nearly eight hundred gold across the team.

  The rank would come; he was already Silver, and the grind to Gold was aggressive but doable within days if he committed to it.

  He needed to hit level 25 this week.

  And the seal?

  That was a Field Boss away.

  A level 25 or higher Field Boss, which meant they'd need a proper party, properly geared.

  He needed his crew.

  Jessica’s summons would be crucial to first clear a level 25 Field Boss.

  Him and Lowkey could handle the brunt of the melee DPS, along with Mordred.

  Mordred… Ryder wasn’t a fool. He knew Killian’s brother was not their greatest fan. He knew he only joined them because he didn't want to confront his brother.

  But he was talented.

  Ryder wouldn’t admit it to the man, but Lowkey’s younger brother was… lowkey better than him.

  But what they really needed was a reliable tank. And that, they already had.

  Zero.

  One glance was enough for Ryder. He might have only seen around 2,000 players in action, in the capital county of Ravencrown, but he was convinced.

  Zero is the strongest player in the kingdom.

  A plethora of rare and epic skills. Equipment that not even Ryder, with the hundreds of future members of Avalon could get his hands on. Even his class doesn’t feel like an ordinary Guardian.

  And this man joined their team.

  "You're doing that thing again," Lowkey said.

  "What thing?"

  "The thousand-yard stare. The 'I'm already three moves ahead and none of you matter' look." Lowkey grinned. "You had the same face right before we pulled that reverse sweep against Le Battailon in Season 2."

  Ryder almost smiled. Almost.

  "Send a message to Zero, Queen of Thousands, and Mordred," he said. "Tell them to gather everyone and get to Ravencrown. Immediately."

  Lowkey's grin faded, replaced by something sharper.

  He knew that tone. "Everyone? Most still have ongoing quests in their respective counties.”

  Ryder pulled his lance from the dirt where he'd planted it and rested it across his shoulders. The golden light of the setting sun reflected from his armor.

  "The guild system’s already live. Every major organization on the server is going to scramble for it. Golden Order, White Tower, House of the Raven, King’s Glade, Crimson Court. All of them. They've got numbers, infrastructure, and plans." He let those words hang for a moment. "HotR had already announced they're forming in Ravencrown. That means we're sharing a region with another Valhalla team. And that clown Damocles is setting up shop in Ravenbeak."

  The mention of Ace Brookmann's alias made Lowkey scoff. "Damocles. Please. He couldn't find the way to the arena without Seb holding his hand. What's he going to do?"

  "Don't underestimate him," Ryder said.

  It was a reflex more than conviction.

  Ace had always been the heart of Avalon, the one who kept morale high and people loyal. Ryder knew from experience that charisma like that could be more dangerous than raw skill.

  And he had both.

  For now, it didn’t matter. Ace was in a different region, and right now, the only race that counted was the one happening in Ravencrown.

  He started walking toward the capital, his silhouette sharp against the dying light.

  "Avalon will be the first guild established in the Kingdom of Ravenloft. That's not a goal. It's a fact. I don't care what it takes. We level, we grind a Field Boss for the seal, and we plant the flag before anyone else can even try."

  Lowkey watched him for a moment, then shook his head with a low laugh. The kind of laugh that had earned him more enemies than friends back in Valhalla, the laugh of someone who genuinely enjoyed watching the world burn, as long as he was holding the match.

  "About damn time," he said. "I was getting bored of just farming."

  He opened his message window and started typing.

  To: Zero. Queen of Thousands. Mordred.

  “Ravencrown. Now. Boss has a plan. Gather everyone.”

  He hesitated for a second, then added one more line.

  “It’s time to shake the world.”

  He hit send and jogged to catch up with Ryder, who was already a dozen paces ahead, walking toward the capital with measured stride.

  Behind them, the Crownian Plains stretched out golden and empty, the only evidence of their battle a scorched patch of earth where lightning had scarred the grass.

  Avalon will be the first guild established in the Kingdom of Ravenloft.

  Ryder said it like it was a promise.

  And he intended to keep it.