Exactly four hours had passed.
Atlas had already made it through round 15. It would be much more accurate to say that he had almost made it through. Now, with only a few Desert Rats and Light Falcons left in front of him, he was sweating profusely and seriously struggling to breathe.
He had killed perhaps over a hundred Wyverns, encountered a young Savrit Spider, confronted a towering Arachne, slaughtered over two thousand Dark Elves, and killed nearly five thousand of the Snakes of the Blessed Mountains, who were just beginning the process of becoming dragons.
He was seriously exhausted. It was as if his very soul was begging him to stop. His whole body ached and all his muscles were close to giving up. He was in a very, very bad state.
Even the twins, who had cleared each round quickly, had never encountered so many Blessed Mountain Serpents.
