Kael was already fuming. The five men—his real-life crew—had stumbled back to him, stripped of their gear. He'd logged out to chew them out for hours before posting the bounty; that gear had taken thousands of kills to farm.
"If you need potions or supplies, I'll sneak them to you—no questions asked," Lila offered. Lucas thanked her, but with his Demon's Heart trinket, Firestarter Staff, and Crispy Trout Fillets, he was fully stocked. "You almost Level 3 yet?"
"Yeah, we got tons of white gear! Savannah wants to run the Level 3 dungeon soon," Lila said. Dungeons, requiring 20 players, were the game's second-biggest gear source.
"What's your warriors' defense?" "Around 62 each—standard white gear stats." Lucas's tone sharpened: "Don't go. 62 defense is a death sentence."
Forsaken World dungeons demanded pinpoint teamwork and top-tier gear. He could lead an undergeared team to victory, but Savannah—an amateur—never could. "Tell her: no dungeon run until your warriors hit 71 defense."
In a clearing outside, Savannah's group debated. "Silas and Damon are already dungeon-crawling! If they get first clear, we'll never catch up," Tristan urged. Sebastian nodded: "We're almost Level 3—our gear's fine."
Savannah, eager to boost their studio's reputation, was about to agree when Lila spoke up. "We can't win. A friend said warriors need 71 defense."
"Who's this friend? You're still talking to that guy?" Tristan snapped, jealous. "He's the reason we're top 500! He gave us the grinding spot and cooking recipes—show some gratitude." Lila shot back.
Sebastian cut them off: "We'll test it. 7 defense short isn't a big deal." Savannah nodded, and the group returned to grinding. Lila sighed—she'd tried.
Back in the cavern, Lucas and Leo had mopped up all remaining orcs. Leo hit Level 5—cracking the Top 10 on the Leaderboard—while Lucas surged to Level 7, two full levels ahead of second-place Damon Voss.
A flash of white light erupted from the hall's throne-like stone pedestal. A roar shook the cave—an orc twice the size of its kin, clad in black steel plate and wielding dual obsidian axes, stepped into view.
"Orc Warlord?" Lucas frowned. Leo tensed. "Can we take him?" "Absolutely." Lucas explained—elite mobs like this boasted brutal melee damage and high defense, but zero magic resistance. Mages tore them apart… if they dodged the charge.
One misstep, and that axe would one-shot a squishy mage like him. The Warlord's red eyes locked onto them—its charge was seconds away.