From Alessio Leone's Perspective
Honestly, Alessio didn't know what to think.
As he watched the golden barrier dissolve into the air — scattering into luminous fragments that rose like drifting magical ashes — he couldn't tell whether he had granted freedom to himself and Sith…
or to the few surviving members of the Fighting Dogs, who now numbered barely a dozen.
The field that had once felt like a celestial prison now faded before his eyes, revealing the real forest — dark, dense, alive.
The distant sound of wind returned, the trees whispering as if waking from forced slumber, and the scent of slowly burning magic mingled with that of blood and overturned soil.
The silence that followed the collapse of the barrier was nearly absolute.
For a brief moment, the world seemed to stop.
But the pause didn't last.
The instant the final shard of light vanished, the remaining men — those who, mere seconds ago, had shouted orders and insults, convinced they were in control — broke into panic.
Alessio caught the exchanged looks.
The terror.
The trembling hands.
That fleeting hesitation before the most primal instinct took over.
Then they ran.
Like animals realizing too late that the cage had been opened only to make the hunt easier.
There were no orders, no formation.
The remnants of their structure crumbled completely.
The few still standing scattered in every direction, shoving one another, tripping over corpses, abandoning weapons — even wounded comrades.
Some screamed.
Others didn't even manage that — the thudding of their boots against the damp ground fading into the trees.
For a moment, Alessio simply stood still.
His shield still raised, the surface of The Titan's Bulwark reflecting the last golden sparks of the dying barrier.
He tracked the fleeing men with his gaze, and a curious thought crossed his mind:
Freedom… or death sentence?
It was hard to say.
Yes, they had escaped.
But the forests of Thalgrande didn't forgive cowards.
And more importantly — they didn't forgive prey.
The question, however, didn't linger long.
Because the moment the last man crossed the fading boundary of the field, a new shape moved — fast, fluid, almost invisible — slipping through the corner of his vision.
Sith.
She bolted after them before the echo of their flight had even faded.
No words.
No backward glance.
Just motion.
Her legs coiled like springs as she leapt between roots and branches with animal grace.
Her sword — still stained red — flashed once before vanishing into the darkness of the woods.
The wind trailing behind her spun the leaves, and soon her steps melted into the distant screams of the men in flight.
Alessio didn't try to stop her.
He didn't even consider calling her back.
Because, in that instant, he understood.
Even without knowing exactly what her awakened Essence had granted her, he could feel it — the same instinct he knew in himself: the instinct of a predator.
But hers was different.
Purer.
Sharper.
Deadlier.
The Blood of the Lioness pulsed within her like the beat of a primal drum — and now, freed from confinement, that power manifested in the most natural way possible: through the hunt.
Alessio watched the green glint of her eyes vanish into the shadows and let out a quiet sigh.
The metallic sound echoed inside his helmet, muffled.
"Of course she did…" he muttered.
He knew following her would be pointless.
Even at the peak of his strength, tanks weren't made for speed.
The weight of his armor, the shield, the axe — all of it made pursuit impossible.
Besides, he had other matters to attend to.
The ground was still littered with the remains of battle — bodies dissolving into light particles, shattered weapons, fragments of armor scattered about — the inevitable aftermath of a fight within the Black Tower.
The air carried that familiar tang of iron and residual energy, a mix of blood and magic that left a metallic taste at the back of the throat.
As he watched the last sparks of the barrier fade, Alessio's thoughts turned practical.
While equipped items never dropped when a player died, the same couldn't be said for auxiliary gear.
Those did — potions, scrolls, runes, gemstones, storage pouches.
They remained behind once their owner's body vanished.
It was a cruel system, but fair: the victor took whatever was left.
That was why most parties and guilds centralized their most valuable items around a single member — usually the leader, the strongest or best protected.
It reduced losses; after all, the leader's death was always the least likely.
Of course, that required trust.
And in the Black Tower, trust was a luxury.
Still, there were exceptions.
And Alessio was staring at one of them.
The leader of the Fighting Dogs had been the first to fall.
One hit — that was all it took.
The living fortress that was the Titan's Bulwark struck him head-on, the air left his lungs, and the man collapsed instantly, arrogance evaporating with his breath.
When he woke, dazed and half-covered in blood and dirt, Sith was already there — cold, silent, efficient.
One clean cut to the throat, and that was it.
The body disintegrated into light.
But when Alessio turned back to the spot where the man had fallen… there was nothing left.
Not even a coin, a potion, or a common shard.
The ground was clean.
As if the leader had never carried anything of value.
That made no sense.
Alessio frowned beneath his helmet, thinking quickly.
If the leader hadn't been holding the items, then someone else had.
And within the chaotic hierarchy of that group, only one person held enough authority to be trusted with them —
the mage who had activated the scroll.
That was why Alessio had gone after him first, even at the risk of letting others flee.
Now he looked down and saw the body — motionless, sprawled among splintered roots and stones slick with blood.
A faint bluish glow flickered beneath the corpse's hand — the dying remnants of the magic that had powered the barrier.
The spell was fading slowly, its last sparks drifting upward.
Death in the Tower always left a brief window — a few seconds before the body dissolved into particles of light.
It was the perfect time to observe, to learn, to wait.
And Alessio waited.
The body began to fade, the skin turning translucent, the flesh fracturing into lines of radiance that rose lazily into the air before vanishing completely.
And then, just as expected — something remained.
A small, brown leather pouch.
Plain. Compact enough to fit in the palm of his hand.