Perspective: Alessio Leone
The monsters of the Black Tower possessed something most players never realized at first — intelligence.
Not the shallow kind of a well-coded AI, but something far more… organic.
Something that made each creature seem capable of thought, memory — and, at times, hatred.
Alessio knew that better than anyone.
But even among those terrifyingly aware entities, there were exceptions — beings that went beyond all logic, all programming, all boundaries of creation.
Monsters that, despite everything he knew about the system, Alessio could no longer distinguish from real, thinking humans.
And the being before him was one of those exceptions.
The Lich.
For several seconds, Alessio stood motionless at the corridor's entrance, simply watching.
The figure, leaning against the ancient coffin, looked asleep on its feet — still and lifeless — until, as if it had caught the scent of something living, it slowly turned its head toward him.
Its eyes ignited.
Two crimson points within hollow sockets.
The air grew colder.
"Well now… what have we here?" the voice rasped — deep, hoarse, yet disturbingly refined.
"I presume you are my savior. Allow me to offer my gratitude."
The words came with a gesture Alessio recognized immediately — a formal greeting, the kind used by nobles of Thalgrande's court.
The slight bow of the head, the precise movement of the arm, the rigid aristocratic posture.
Impossible not to notice.
The Lich's body, still half-wrapped in the remnants of armor and decayed finery, betrayed what it had once been in life:
a noble.
A man accustomed to power, ceremony, and the company of kings.
And indeed, that was the hidden truth behind the creature — a story no ordinary player had ever known, one that now flashed through Alessio's mind as if the system itself allowed him a glimpse of it.
Before becoming undead, this being had been a Duke of Thalgrande.
One of the kingdom's most powerful men.
He ruled vast lands, commanded armies, and bore royal blood — a direct member of the monarchy.
A man who, by all rights, should have lived a life of glory and ease.
But the Black Tower's darkest stories all sprouted from the same poison: human greed.
The duke's wife had been celebrated as the most beautiful woman in the realm.
Her fame spread beyond the walls of her estate, reaching the golden halls of the royal palace — and, tragically, the wrong ears.
The king of Thalgrande, the duke's elder uncle, was a man who did not tolerate the word no.
What began as whim ended in ruin.
The woman was taken by force.
Dishonored.
And killed.
The kingdom fell into chaos.
A civil war that burned cities, divided families, and drowned everything in blood.
The duke lost.
His name erased, his lands plundered, his lineage destroyed.
But his hatred did not die with him.
Denied justice among men, he sought it in what no man should ever touch — black magic.
And there, at the threshold between life and death, his body perished… but his soul refused to fall.
The result of that choice now stood before Alessio.
The Duke of Thalgrande — now a Lich — rose like a monument to corruption and vengeance.
The same voice that had once spoken in banquets and courts now echoed from a body reeking of decay and ancient magic.
He smiled.
Or something close to it — a grotesque twitch of dry muscle beneath ruined skin.
Then he spoke again, his tone calm, his gaze sharp and deliberate.
"Very well… as a reward for awakening me… tell me — how would you prefer to die?"
The question rolled through the chamber like a heavy, ceremonial whisper.
The Lich's glowing eyes narrowed on Alessio.
There was no anger.
No haste.
Only the unshakable poise of a creature that had long since killed everything it ever loved — yet still fancied itself civilized enough to offer its victims a choice.
The stench of necromantic energy filled the corridor.
The ground trembled faintly under Alessio's boots.
And in that instant, he understood:
this was no ordinary foe.
It was a legend of Thalgrande — both living and dead.
A monster that still believed itself a man.
And a man who, long ago, had ceased to fear the gods.
Alessio watched the Lich.
Nothing happened.
No name.
No health bar.
No level.
Only emptiness.
That was how the Black Tower worked.
Inside it, the monsters truly worthy of the title didn't come with numbers.
No indicators, no shortcuts, no easy ways to measure danger.
Everything relied on instinct — raw, primal, merciless.
The Tower itself decided who deserved to know what they faced.
And the fact that Alessio saw nothing at all was warning enough.
Still… he could feel it.
The air vibrated.
There was a density there — an invisible pressure clinging to his skin, almost sentient.
But that presence, powerful as it was, didn't crush him as it should have.
Something was different.
The Lich before him was not the same legendary monster that had once nearly reduced Thalgrande to ashes.
The duke who had defied death through necromancy was still rebuilding himself.
The energy around him wavered, unstable — like a flame trying to reignite after centuries of slumber.
The pulses of dark mana were strong, but imperfect.
Incomplete.
Alessio studied him in silence.
Every gesture, every flicker of movement, every ripple of magic was analyzed.
The warrior's eyes followed the creature's skeletal fingers, the cracks in his helmet, the flickering runes carved into the floor.
The Lich breathed — or imitated breathing — irregularly, as though the air itself pained him.
Yes.
He was weakened.
Not enough to underestimate — but enough to offer a crack.
A mistake.
An opening.
Alessio raised his shield.
The metallic sound reverberated through the hall, blending with the hum of dormant enchantments within the walls.
The blade of his axe caught the cold light of the chamber, and for an instant he saw his reflection — steady eyes, controlled breath, and the faint smile of someone consumed by anticipation.
It wasn't fear.
Nor tension.
It was hunger.
Hunger to test his limits.
To measure the true weight of his new essence — the Lion's Blood that roared within his veins like liquid fire.
Since his awakening, he could feel strength surging through every muscle, vitality thrumming beneath his skin — and now, before a foe worthy of it, every fiber of his body demanded battle.
Each heartbeat was a drumbeat.
Each breath, a countdown.
His blood thundered like storm and flame.
The Lich tilted his head upward, the sound of creaking joints echoing through the corridor.
Those crimson eyes narrowed with faint amusement — the gaze of a predator humoring its prey.
The ground between them seemed to shrink, charged with an energy belonging to neither of them, but to the Tower itself — as if the place were watching, curious.
Alessio stepped forward.
Then another step.
And another.
The thud of his boots against the stone resonated steady and rhythmic, matching the heartbeat of the monster before him.
Shield raised, axe angled low — the stance of a warrior who did not fear, but studied.
He knew what this fight meant.
It would be the hardest since his return to the Black Tower.
A battle that would test everything he had learned, everything he had earned — and most of all, everything he had become.
But for some reason, he didn't feel the weight of it.
No fear.
No hesitation.
No doubt.
What he felt was far more dangerous — excitement.
The kind that made blood boil and turned pain into focus.
The kind that made danger feel like life itself.
Because in that moment, as he walked toward the Lich, Alessio didn't see an impossible enemy.
He saw a mirror.
A reflection of what he himself could become — a man who defied limits and refused to die.
And if that monster believed itself eternal, then here, in this hall of bones and stone,
it would learn what happens when a Lion decides to hunt death itself.