The moment Zihad logged back into Dream Land Fantasy, the world around him erupted into motion.
He stood atop a narrow cliff ledge, high above a battlefield shimmering under the crimson glow of a setting sun. The air buzzed with tension. Below him, players clashed with corrupted beasts—twisted, aberrant creatures born from the spreading Black Curse infecting the southern marshes. Their roars echoed skyward as magical projectiles and blades danced through the chaos.
Zihad's Phantom Reaper cloak fluttered behind him, stitched from shadow and the essence of silence. His scythe, Duskrend, pulsed with faint violet light. No longer was he just another masked player. His name now echoed from the Frostfang Mountains to the Emberdeep Mines. But today wasn't about reputation.
Today was about control.
He surveyed the battlefield with cold calculation. Two top guilds—Titan's Edge and Crimson Vow—were at war. But something wasn't right. The cursed beasts, which typically avoided player territories, had gathered in droves. Smaller guilds were being wiped out. Chaos was erupting on all sides.
"This isn't just a war," Zihad murmured. "It's a test."
A dark ripple of air shimmered beside him—one of his wraith scouts, Nox, appeared kneeling.
"Master," the wraith rasped, "Crimson Vow's summoning ritual has begun. Beyond the ridge. They're using corrupted mana."
Zihad's eyes narrowed beneath his hood. "Then let's end this before they break something they can't contain."
Minutes Later – Behind the Ridge
Red mana surged through the air like wildfire. Crimson Vow's officers formed a protective triangle around their leader—a tall woman clad in ruby-enchanted armor. Her twin flame daggers hissed with raw energy. A complex summoning circle glowed at her feet, drawing corrupted power from the earth.
"Only a few more seconds!" she barked.
Too late.
Shadow Step.
Zihad emerged from the gloom behind the nearest mage, his scythe singing as it cleaved the air—and the man's health bar vanished.
"Phantom Reaper!" a player screamed. "He's here!"
Zihad didn't speak. He danced. His weapon carved sigils of death through the air. Crimson Vow's elite scrambled to react, but he was already inside their defenses. Wraiths phased into being, dragging healers into the shadows, disrupting spells, snapping formations.
"Protect the ritual!" their leader shouted.
But the summoning circle began to fracture—its glowing lines flickering violently.
Zihad whispered, "Grave Bind."
The earth shuddered. Bone-chains erupted from the stone, lashing the circle, tearing it down into the abyss below. A shockwave of cursed energy exploded outward. Players were hurled like leaves in a storm.
When the dust settled, only one figure remained standing amid the smoke.
Zihad.
"You tamper with codes you barely comprehend," he said, voice cold and metallic. "Summoning corrupted entities without safeguards? Idiocy."
The guild leader staggered to her feet, dagger trembling. "Who… who are you?"
He stepped forward, letting the shadows coil around him. "I'm the one who watches from the dark. The one who corrects mistakes."
And then he vanished.
Later – Phantom Guild Hideout (Hollowspire Ruins)
Zihad sat on a stone throne carved into the deepest chamber of Hollowspire—his hidden guild base. Wraith lanterns flickered as he browsed system logs. Data didn't lie. The cursed beasts and ritual weren't random.
Someone was feeding corrupted code into the world.
A knock echoed.
Mira entered—his trusted guildmate and the only one who knew parts of his real identity.
"Zihad," she said, tense. "Scouts in the north report the Frostspire Caverns are... melting."
Zihad looked up sharply. "That's impossible. The terrain is coded to be permanent winter."
"They said something ancient is waking up inside. The ice is cracking."
For a long moment, he said nothing. Then:
"Someone's rewriting the game… from the inside."
Mira's eyes widened. "You mean—?"
"Yes. We're past a patch update. This is something deeper."
Zihad stood, Duskrend appearing in his hand. "Call the inner circle. We march at dawn."
End of Chapter 29