Alix closes his eyes.
And remembers.
The crypt beneath the ruined temple. The air thick with dust and death. Then the guardian appeared—Tier 7, in form if not in truth.
A corpse given false life. Quasi-Tier 7.
Even now, the memory makes his hands curl into fists.
He'd fought it without items. Without buffs. Just raw skill, strength.
And it was barely enough.
Alix exhales slowly, his eyes still shut, the memory vivid and visceral.
Every strike back then had felt like carving stone with a blunt knife. Every block, like stopping a mountain with bare hands.
He opens his eyes.
"That thing…" he mutters, voice low, rough.
He turns away from the wreckage and sits at the edge of the reinforced platform, sword resting against his shoulder. The room is quiet now, save for the crackle of residual mana dancing in the air.
"That wasn't even a true Tier 7," he mutters into the silence of the chamber. "That's the only reason I managed to kill it with just Tier 5 strength."
