[: 3rd POV :]
Even as the guild stormed through the labyrinth of blood and chains, Daniel had yet to unleash the abyss within him.
His skills never flared with the dreadful power his aura hinted at.
No storm of oblivion.
No destruction-born terror.
No singular strike that bent the battlefield to his will.
Instead, he fought with a restraint that few understood—enough to cut down any cultist who threatened the line, enough to break every ambush before it could harm his allies.
But nothing more.
To the mercenaries, it was as if he were a shadow among them—ever present, always there when death threatened to fall upon their heads.
A beastman warrior, panting heavily after splitting open a Zero cult chest, cast a glance at Daniel as he effortlessly deflected three incoming strikes before severing all three attackers in a single, fluid motion.
"What the hell…" the beastman muttered, wiping the blood from his muzzle.
A nearby recruit, wide-eyed, whispered under his breath.
