Two years later.
In these two-and-a-half years within the Forest Realm—what Guruji had cryptically called the "Kingdom of Ganso"—Everett, Gloria, and Guruji had yet to find a single humanoid civilization. Not even a poorly run forest elf. Nothing. Just trees the size of skyscrapers, grasses you could braid into suspension bridges, and bugs that were disturbingly polite.
Despite the near-eternal wilderness, progress was made.
Gloria had unlocked her mystery slot after a midair duel with a six-eyed bat-lobster hybrid that spat acid haikus. Guruji, naturally, had unlocked his mystery the moment he stepped into the Frost Realm like some mystic coupon collector. And Everett? Well, Everett remained himself—only older, frostier, and with hair that now made him look like a cursed ice prince from a forgotten calendar.
He didn't age much outwardly (none of them did thanks to class perks and realm-time wonkiness), but mentally? He had definitely crossed into adult existential dread territory.
At present, Everett—age 21, mentally closer to 30—was fighting a twelve-legged thunder dinosaur that looked like someone glued batteries to a centipede and dared it to become a boss fight. His frost armor gleamed in the moonlight (which hadn't changed for days), and with each step, the ground beneath him hissed with cold. He looked less like a summoner and more like a wandering minor god who'd lost his sandals.
With no civilizations found after all this time, Guruji finally dropped one of his classic prophecy bombs:
"If the throne is vacant, and no hand holds the crown, Then the challenge is not to rule, but to unseat what rules underground. Let beasts be kings and conquest be keys, For in slaying their reign, your dominion breathes."
Translation: if no one's home, conquer the beasts instead.
So that's what they did.
They began defeating every major creature with a 10-story ego and a penchant for dramatic entrances. For two and a half years, they roamed the endless foliage, systematically taking down what they called Demon Beasts.
Guruji using his class had the role of intelligence, Gloria fought them with Everett's support it, Everett fought them with Gloria's support.
They classified them into three categories:
1. Ferocious Kind / Instinct Beasts: Big. Dumb. Loud. Think murder-hamsters the size of tanks. These creatures had no intelligence, just a love for violence and a knack for finding Gloria when she was bathing.
2. Earth Demon Beasts: These were smart. They had territories, structures, and even social orders. Tribes of similar beasts rallied around the strongest. Everett once spent a week living with the Thornback Wyrmlings—tiny, hedgehog-sized dragonlings who built spiral mud castles and cried when you left. Gloria adopted a tribe of glimmer wolves. Guruji debated philosophy with a sentient, blind mole king.
They were hard to fight, harder to leave.
But eventually, even those fell.
Now, they were down to the final class: Heaven Beasts.
Tier-2 threats. Apex. Nine of them, each practically a raid boss.
As Everett limped back from the retreating twelve-legged thunder beast (which pounded away into the forest like a sore loser drummer), he returned to their residence—a sprawling forest palace built from intertwined branches, leaves tougher than steel, and wood that hummed when you slept.
Guruji stirred something in a pot made of bark and hope. Gloria was sparring with her crimson blade, every swing unpredictably brilliant, like watching a drunk ballerina slash open the stars. Tree trunks bore her sword's graffiti—slashes of red that glowed faintly, even in sleep.
Guruji, meanwhile, had grown impossibly cryptic. He now spoke in riddles even when asking for salt.
Everett himself had advanced in his frost mastery. He forged weapons, armor, even accessories for his summoned creatures—Wind Elephant now wore frost gauntlets like an elephant-shaped juggernaut. His Phantom Bear flew faster. His Ice Salamander had learned to swim through air.
And they were all stronger.
Now, as the three of them sat around the fire, Everett tossed a frost-core onto a map made of glowing fungus.
"We've fought all the tribal Earth Beasts," he said. "What's left are those nine freaks. Heaven Beasts."
He tapped a glowing dot.
"Earth Salamander's the weakest one. Big lizard, shoots magma from its gills, eats meteors. Easy stuff."
Gloria narrowed her eyes, slicing through the air lazily with her blade. "You sure we're ready?"
Guruji opened one eye. "We are never ready. But readiness is just hesitation with better branding."
Everett groaned. "So that's a yes?"
The map glowed brighter.
Nine glowing points appeared.
The true war for the island had just begun.