The journey to the Beginner's Dungeon was a masterclass in inequality.
While Class S soared overhead in a luxury mana-airship, sipping chilled nectar and looking down at the landscape through enchanted glass floors,
Class F was crammed into the back of a rusted, mana-powered transport truck.
The vehicle, a decommissioned military hauler that smelled violently of diesel oil, wet dog, and dried monster blood.
THUD.
The truck hit a massive pothole.
"Ow!" Lukas yelled, rubbing his head where it had slammed against the metal wall.
"Professor! Does this thing even have suspension?!"
"Suspension is a luxury," Mozart's voice drifted back from the driver's partition.
"Balance is a skill. Adapt."
Alaric sat in the corner, his legs spread wide to absorb the shocks but wasn't complaining.
He was sharpening his rusty sword with a whetstone, his eyes closed, trying to anticipate the bumps in the road before they happened.
