From Alessio Leone's Perspective
The contents of the pouch were unexpected — and at the same time, impossible to ignore.
The moment he opened it, a faint surge of energy escaped, tracing the air with a bluish-green spark.
The glow was brief, but bright enough to reflect off the edges of Alessio's helmet, illuminating the forest with a spectral flash.
It was the kind of aura that only came from items infused with real magic.
Inside the pouch were only four objects — simple at first glance, yet each radiating a distinct, almost living presence.
The first two made him smile beneath the helmet.
Isolation scrolls.
Identical in appearance to the one the Fighting Dogs had used minutes earlier — gray-gold paper, tied with a silver ribbon etched with circular runes.
The energy emanating from them was soft but dense; the kind of magic that didn't fade easily.
"Two of these…" he murmured in disbelief. "Looks like the heavens still owe me a few favors."
And it was true.
Each scroll was the equivalent of a portable fortress — a battlefield under absolute control, where no one could enter or leave without permission.
The kind of item that, in the right hands, could decide a war.
For any ordinary player, that alone would've been a month's worth of fortune.
But fate, as always, seemed determined to test just how far Alessio's luck could go.
Because beneath them lay more.
Two additional items, wrapped in dark cloth.
A faint tremor ran through his fingers as he touched the fabric and carefully pulled it away.
The first object revealed was a scroll unlike the others — deep blue paper threaded with silver veins that pulsed faintly, like living rivers mimicking the movement of water.
The name engraved on its seal made him stop for a moment.
Flood Scroll – Type: Offensive
He held it up to the moonlight, watching the liquid runes flow across the surface.
The air around him grew humid — proof that the magic inside was real, dense, and high-ranked.
The description echoed in his mind automatically, like a whisper from the system itself:
"Summons a high-pressure magical flood within a targeted area, covering a radius of up to 100 meters.
Deals continuous Water-type damage (Rank A) for 10 seconds."
Alessio let out a long breath.
"This… is pure destruction."
He couldn't help the thought: if that scroll had been used against him, the outcome would've been completely different.
Even with his awakened Essence, his absurd vitality, and his legendary shield, the destructive force of a spell like that would've simply erased him from the map.
And Sith… she wouldn't have stood a chance.
It was a strange mix of relief and disbelief —
the kind of luck one doesn't explain, only accepts.
For a moment, he stood there, staring at the scroll as though holding a divine weapon.
Moonlight gleamed across the paper's edge, and he carefully rolled it back up, fastening it with a reinforced leather strap.
But what came next…
that was what truly left him speechless.
The final item.
At first glance, it looked like nothing more than a thick folded sheet of paper, sealed with golden wax.
No glow, no aura, no trace of energy.
But when Alessio touched it, he felt something different — a subtle rigidity, almost symbolic, like the weight of authority itself embedded within the Tower's system.
He broke the seal with his thumb and unfolded it.
Golden letters shimmered slowly to life, floating above the surface of the document.
Official Guild Formation Permit
The text that followed was bureaucratic, concise — and staggering.
"This document grants the bearer the right to officially register a guild recognized by the Kingdom of Thalgrande, as well as to establish a permanent name, flag, and headquarters.
Only one such document may exist per region."
Alessio froze.
The wind brushed past, fluttering the parchment between his fingers, and the Tower's insignia — a descending spiral — glowed faintly at the base of the signature.
A guild-creation permit.
He took several seconds to process what he was holding.
In his previous life, such an item hadn't appeared until after the first major update of the Black Tower.
Back then, players had to reach at least level 25 to even think about founding a guild.
And even then, these permits were worth more than gold.
Guilds were political power incarnate — the foundation of every war, every economy, every form of influence.
And now, somehow, he held the very first seed of all that.
"How the hell did those idiots get something like this…" he muttered, voice muffled by the helmet.
He stood there for a moment, holding the document between his fingers like a bad joke.
He examined the golden seal again — authentic, radiant, impossible to forge — then glanced down at the battlefield around him: broken armor, cheap axes, shattered potions.
None of it made sense.
These bastards could barely use a barrier scroll properly, he thought, frowning.
One of them tried to hit me with the blunt side of his sword — and now I find out they were carrying one of the rarest items in the entire first phase of the Tower?
He turned the parchment over in his hands, half-expecting to find some hidden disclaimer — "System prank, better luck next time!" —
but no.
It was real.
Complete, legitimate, and sealed by the Central Authority.
For several seconds, he let his mind run through possible explanations, trying to find something remotely logical for the absurdity before him.
The first theory was simple:
they'd stolen it from someone.
But knowing the kind of professionals the Fighting Dogs were, it was far more likely they'd stumbled upon the wrong corpse and decided the item looked too fancy to leave behind.
They probably used it as a cutting board, for all he knew.
The second possibility was worse — that they'd somehow obtained it by accident through a special system event or hidden quest.
In the end, he gave up trying to guess.
The parchment rippled softly in the wind, its golden sheen reflecting against his helmet.
The explanation didn't matter.
What mattered was the fact itself —
that fate, or perhaps the Tower's chaos, had placed something of incalculable value into the right hands.
Alessio carefully rolled the document and tucked it into the pouch with the other scrolls.
For a moment, he just stood there, gazing toward the dark horizon of the forest.
Maybe he really should thank the Fighting Dogs.
First they'd helped him cross paths with Sith…
and now they'd brought him such wonderful gifts.
They were good people, after all.