An alliance? Does Atlas really need an alliance? Or does he truly believe he can take on all these challenges by himself?

That thought kept circling in his mind, appearing over and over again, sometimes slipping into his discussions with Edrik. Even on the second day of his training, when he had started running more freely—up there on the mountain peak, where the wind was wild and merciless.

Atlas relied on his spear to endure the harsh environment. He wielded it with precision, channeling the elemental particles in the air and merging them with his body to create a protective barrier against the relentless wind.

It wasn’t flawless—far from it—but it gave him the edge he needed to push forward with greater speed and freedom.

Still, it didn’t mean he was completely unaffected. Every now and then, a powerful gust would nearly lift his body off the ground. But each time, he would adjust his stance, plant his feet firmly, and regain control of his balance. He pressed on. He focused harder.

This was no easy task.

His mind drifted back to that unforgettable battle—Kareem, the Rank-4 Lord, defending the Veylamar city. The man had flown through the air with ease, wielding a greatsword so powerful that a single swing could take out dozens of monsters at once.

How the fuck does someone progress that fast, even at Rank 4?

Was it even normal for someone at that rank to be that strong?

And if someone at Rank 4 was capable of such feats, what about the Lords ranked above them?

Atlas clenched his fists. Even Edrik, had once been a Rank-5 Lord. That was before he lost his status and was summoned to serve under Atlas.

Knowing this alone was a sharp reminder that he still had a long way to go. There were countless tasks ahead, countless challenges to overcome. And this only solidified one thing in his mind—he had to become stronger.

So, did he really need allies? Or was this a journey he had to take alone?

Edrik repeatedly reminded him that forming an alliance with those whose levels or ranks weren’t too high might be the better choice. While that came with its own downsides—primarily because they wouldn’t be strong enough to face higher-level challenges—there was a distinct advantage to it. Atlas would have more influence over the group, as their ranks wouldn’t be too far apart.

The tricky part was finding an alliance that struck the right balance—one that would provide him with both the freedom to make his own decisions and the necessary support to face the challenges ahead.

And that, of course, was no easy task. Finding the right alliance was a challenge all on its own.

Two days in, and they had already made significant progress. Satisfying, to say the least. Mostly because the combatants, as a whole, had started to settle into their own rhythm—and each team had secured their own separate hunting grounds.

Their focus was crystal clear: reaching Level 50 as fast as possible. And at this point, they only needed one final push to get there.

But that didn’t mean the target was easy to hit. The task demanded relentless effort. They spent nearly every waking moment hunting, from the crack of dawn until the dark of night. The grind was constant, exhausting—but necessary.

By the time night fell, they would return to their camp, weary but satisfied. It was a routine they all came to treasure—resting their bodies, laughing together, and savoring a dinner they all looked forward to.

Grilled fish.

Atlas sat with some of his elite subordinates, enjoying the meal. The rich, smoky scent of the grilled fish filled the air, and the sound of chatter and laughter warmed the cold night. It was a rare moment of peace in the midst of their relentless hunt.

And then there was Morganna. Sitting with them. Right beside him.

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It was unusual. The infamous Morganna, the Vampire Queen, had always kept herself apart from the others. But tonight, she was here. Among them.

Had she finally softened? Had she started to accept the idea of sitting with mortals?

Atlas chuckled at the thought, amused by his own musings.

Baldric was always the loudest of them all—the first to shout, the first to dance, and the one who sang at the top of his lungs. The dwarf's fiery spirit burned as fiercely as the flames in his hair, never dimming for even a second.

Meanwhile, Mira had joined in as well, letting herself enjoy the dance. Her light footsteps matched the rhythm of the music, and her laughter blended with the lively sounds of the camp.

Around Atlas, there were always familiar faces. Edrik, his most trusted advisor, never strayed far from his side. And then there was Kurogasa, whose silent presence ensured Atlas was never truly alone.

Lyrassa? She, of course, had her own routine. She made sure to heal everyone first, tending to their injuries. Only after that did she join the others around the fire. The girl had a quiet presence—always sitting close by, softly laughing at the jokes others made.

It was as if her role wasn’t just to heal their bodies but to make sure no one ever felt ignored. If someone made a joke, Lyrassa would be the one to respond with a smile or small laugh no matter how bad it was.

Milo kept to his supervised team, blending seamlessly with Zara and her Aether unit.

And Karian? Well, Karian could always be found near the food. He made sure to take his share—and then some. Honestly, it was no surprise he consumed nearly a third of the total food portions every night. But no one complained. Why? Because Karian always made up for it by bringing in a fresh haul of fish from the lake. The man was a beast when it came to fishing and hunting, and thanks to him, they never ran short of food.

At night, Karian preferred to sleep outside—away from the main camp, by the firepit. The reason? His snoring. It wasn’t just loud. It was monstrous. A deep, guttural sound that could have been mistaken for the roar of a wild beast. And even though he slept far from the others, his snoring still managed to reach the camp, disturbing more than a few restless souls.

Atlas couldn’t help but smile at the thought.

Everyone had their quirks, their own little oddities. But it was precisely those quirks that made this group feel like home. This chaotic, imperfect gathering of people was something far better than anything he had ever expected—or even hoped—for.

Their routine continued the next day and the days that followed. The goal was clear: ten days on this island to achieve the most optimal results possible.

No wasted time. No distractions.

By the fourth day, Atlas had reached a point where he could truly call what he was doing running. It wasn’t that the wind no longer affected him. No, the wind still hit him hard, tearing at his body like a relentless force of nature.

The difference was in how he responded to it. Rather than fighting against the gusts, he embraced them. He let the wind push him, guide his movements, and he adjusted his position accordingly.

It reminded him of his previous training with ocean waves. Back then, he had learned to move with the force of the water, not against it. And now, with the wind, it was the same principle.

Atlas ran faster with each step. He began to leap over rocks and obstacles with confidence. His awareness of the wind’s flow sharpened, and he started using it to his advantage, adjusting his strides to make his movements more efficient.

But it wasn’t until the fifth day of his training that something new entered his routine.

A shift.

Dark clouds gathered above without warning, turning the bright midday sky into an ominous dusk. The air grew heavier, the scent of rain thick in his nostrils.

Then came the deep rumble of thunder—a deafening roar that seemed to shake the very ground beneath him. It was as though the sky itself was growling, ready to unleash its fury.

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he felt the temperature around him plummet.

Finally!

This was what he had been waiting for—rain, a storm, and lightning. His training wasn’t just about mastering the wind. It was about mastering both wind and lightning. He needed the storm to push himself further and complete the quest.

The wind picked up, howling louder, harsher. It didn’t deter him. If anything, it fueled him. He surged forward, running faster as the storm around him intensified.

Then, the first bolt of lightning tore through the sky.

It struck in the distance, a brilliant explosion of light and sound, shaking the earth with its raw power. Atlas could feel the vibration in the air. It wasn’t just thunder anymore—it was chaos, destruction, power.

But, he kept running.

The thunder roared again. Another bolt of lightning followed, slicing through the clouds. The storm was coming alive around him, and he was right in the middle of it.

Let’s go! His mind surged with adrenaline, his grin widening as the storm welcomed him into its heart.

But then—his thoughts took an unexpected turn.

Wait. His pace slowed just a little.

Am I… going to die if I get struck by lightning?