One hundred died with a single swing, the release of Tsunami devastating the enemy.

The survivors saw the lone assailant flee over the broken bodies of their comrades, the swordsman’s arm limp and useless at his side, azure blade sheathed at his hip.

By Leon’s estimate, only ten men still stood, the commander non-withstanding.

The arrows flew before he reached the bridge, most shots missing him, his armour turning away the few that made contact.

Skidding across the wooden slats of the bridge beneath him, Leon ripped into a cooked chicken, the energy spent as it was gained, bleeding flesh and shattered bone knitting themselves together.

With his mana spent and Tsunami executed, he could only hope the commander would provide the challenge he needed.

Another volley struck the planks before him, iron barbs finding the wood easily pierced.

Keeping Wavecutter belted to his hip, Leon withdrew the Sunlight Greatsword, the sword comfortable in his hands.

Beating an enemy with their own weapon appealed to him.

Striding over blood, mud and dying men, the swordsman reaped the last of the commander’s men, his power enough to cleave open the steel plate they clad themselves in, a bouquet of severed heads falling to the floor.

As the last corpse dropped, on cue the commander’s tent blew apart, a storm of fiery energy wreathing her spear, waves of mana pouring off the armoured warrior as she stepped towards the swordsman, the last span of unsullied land burning in her wake.

Her steps faltered as she felt it, a pressure descending on her mind, a beast snarling in her ear, a blade pressed against her throat. Were she any lesser, this would have stopped her- the commander kept moving, her own burning power flaring up in response.

Leon’s bloodline took the measure of her and found her acceptable.

Stronger than himself by a hair.

But no longer the overwhelming presence he’d felt in their previous fight- this time, Leon knew he would win.

“Once more your people surprise us Ku Kulin- we thought your lands ripe for the taking, your warriors weak. Clearly, we were wrong. We will settle this here and now, warrior to warrior. You have the honour to duel Helia Invicta, First Spear of the Blazing Sun.”

He’d heard this line once before- how trite. Readying his blade, Leon prepared to counter a thrown spear, answering her as he did so.

“Honour has no place in this- only violence. Let’s put on a good show.”

He saw her spear move this time, his own blade batting the projectile skyward, flaming tip cartwheeling as the two swordsmen clashed, the commander fighting with a single arm, having broken one with her throw, Leon handily countering her attempts to breach his guard.

Crimson against crimson, the commander lunging forward, sword tip directed at Leon’s throat, the swordsman’s counter beating her back and tearing a gash in her good arm, dropping her guard and leaving her open.

Seizing the opening, Leon executed a counterthrust, his blade digging through steel, lodging itself in the woman’s stomach. He felt shocked only for a moment, his emotions then shifting to bitter disappointment.

He took no joy in her screams of pain, nor at the victory in his grasp.

Only her power rivalled his own.

Her armour did not.

While a cut above the common soldiery’s gear, it still failed against the power he brought to bear.

Quickly drawing his blade back, Leon thrust higher, this time crushing her ribs and piercing her heart. All the struggle went out, her impressive power meaningless against a well-equipped opponent.

As he lowered his dying enemy to the ground, the spear finally crashed down, the tip extinguished and buried in the earth. The dungeon’s false sun setting in the background. Leon delivered his last words to an enemy he would always feel regretful toward.

“A shame- I expected more.”

Wiping down his blade, Leon felt his vision explode outwards, then snap back. The dungeon was complete, his work undone.

“Trial One- Thousand Man Slayer Cleared!”

“Quest Complete- Dominance

Reward- Unique Skill- [Tyrannous Ichor]”

“Capstone reached! Congratulations! +30 Power, +30 Speed, +30 Constitution, +30 Intelligence, +30 Wisdom!”

“Capstone Quest Unlocked:

Unbound- Unseal your bloodline.

Reward- Continued Progression”

No chest accompanied his victory- curious. Leon supposed it was a limitation of dungeons- the gear they rewarded had helped him immensely but without a restriction in place to discourage farming chests, Jobs that produced gear would end up redundant.

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Either that or it was a die roll, and he’d gotten unlucky.

The issuing of the capstone reward also appeared to depend on both reaching the level cap and completing the skill quests.

Useful information to have.

Regardless, he’d accomplished his goal- now time to examine the reward.

“[Tyrannous Ichor]- Lesser bloodlines bow to yours. Any being bearing an inferior bloodline faces continually mounting pressure while in combat with the user. The pressure level exponentially increases with time. No effect outside of combat.”

The skill set of his Class made sense in its entirety- find those with bloodlines, oppress them with your own and extract theirs once they died. The [Swordsman] Class skills hadn’t been as blatant in their purpose, preferring to cover general use cases rather than specialised ones his [Sealed Swordfiend] Class focused on.

A difference between Common and Unique.

Stepping through the waiting portal, Leon arrived back on the island proper, the last vestiges of light dying as the sun dipped below the horizon, darkness claiming the world in its absence.

Allowing his eyes time to adjust, Leon began the trek back, moving slowly to avoid tripping on any exposed roots.

An unexpected pop-up stopped him in his tracks.

“Day 5 Complete! Congratulations survivor! Now displaying the ranking for your instance!”

1. Leon Knox

“Analysing instance viability... instance deemed viable.

Forcible teleportation will now occur.

Please stand by.”

Leon decided there and then he hated teleportation.

The thought had been simmering in the back of his mind since his first experience with it, the latest one merely cemented his opinion.

Leon found himself once more in a foreign locale, a cool wind caressing his skin, the desert sun above already beginning to cook him in his armour.

Soft sand shifted beneath his feet as the swordsman surveyed his surroundings, taking in the sweeping sand dunes. His eyes stopped upon a crater some distance away, downwards from the slope he was currently standing on, indistinct black shapes moving back and forth within the incongruous hole, a propped-up tent constructed of garish cloth a short distance away from the crater itself, loose bolts of fabric swaying in the afternoon breeze.

Breathing in, Leon steadied his racing nerves. The relief was temporary, as he reflexively attempted to absorb a point of water mana.

He failed to even restore that- a fraction of a fraction of a single point’s worth of water mana flowed to his chest. The pitiful quantity he regained meant it would take days to fill his pool rather than hours.

Before he could properly digest this, a shape flitted towards him, over the desert sands, a humanoid figure quickly making its way towards him.

The closer the creature drew, the less human it appeared, as though someone had tried to re-create a human from memory alone.

It had disjointed limbs, bent at wrong angles, knees bending backwards, legs thin and stick-like. Arms that twisted into corkscrew spirals of flesh, terminating in three finger-esque protuberances.

Clad in an unadorned white robe, featuring a draping hood, one that obscured its face from view, the creature walked with no impediments, each footstep taken with surety and grace.

A section of its chest remained exposed, upon this section it bore a runic brand, the sort of mark only left when hot metal meets soft skin.

It spoke as it neared, noticing Leon’s hands shifting to his blade.

“Honoured one- this lowly servant means no harm.”

Its voice was serene, placid, devoid of emotion. The voice of an ascetic who has emerged from seclusion to preach wisdom. Lacking any traditional indicators of gender, for even its voice’s pitch was neutral, Leon relied on his bloodline to assess the creature.

As soon as the beast snapped down on the figure, Leon removed his hands from his sword.

Zerasos gave him the feeling of certain death when examined by his bloodline.

This creature was beyond that- there would be no struggle, only an execution. It would rip his head from his body should he instigate hostilities against such a horror.

The beast cocked its head as it replied, a tinge of what could have been humour lacing its words.

“Curious. This one has not felt a bloodline like yours in millennia honoured one- if it pleases, this one shall escort you. The selection awaits.”

The white-robed anomaly waited for Leon to respond, the swordsman doing so by striding up to the curious being, pointing to the crater he’d spotted earlier.

“Lead on stranger.”

Lowering itself into a deep bow, the creature held its position for a brief moment, then set off, walking at a pace far more sedate than the one it had used to arrive here, Leon keeping pace at its side.

It spoke only once they had settled into a steady rhythm.

“This one offers gratitude, honoured one. This one would now explain the selection- should it please you honoured one?”

Even the creature’s questioning tone was strange, the typical lilt in an interrogative barely detectable to Leon.

“We’ve a few minutes ahead of us, don’t we? Go ahead then- best to know what I’m walking into here.”

“As expected from an honoured one’s wisdom; an ocean without end, dredging pearls of wisdom for we servants to treasure. The honoured one’s Tutorial instance has been depleted yet remains viable- there exist other instances, similarly depleted yet unviable.

The forlorn dregs are given a choice- persist in their doomed worlds, or be made available for an honoured one to select from; their survival in the hands of their betters, their fate in flux.”

Leon chose not to answer, keeping his thoughts to himself.

If he was interpreting this correctly, it was the System giving an out to those who would otherwise be forced to live out their lives in instances that were doomed- the participants having failed to keep up with the curve.

A last chance for those who had no hope.

He wished he’d spoken with Zerasos before this- if some Classes or Jobs could help with smithing, he would have liked to pick them up here.

The darker side of his mind instead wondered if he could find those with latent bloodlines, select them, and then extract their essence to unseal his own.

A malevolent thought indeed, yet not an option he would discount.

So long as the benefits were sufficient, there was little Leon would not do in the name of achieving his dream.

His walking companion chose that moment to speak up.

“This lowly one apologises for any offence to you, honoured one; truly, my words are mere useless whispers on the wind. Pay this lowly one no mind.”

“Sorry, stranger, was just thinking- what form does this selection take?”

Leon was sure of it this time. That same tinge of humour came into the being’s words again.

“The honoured one is truly deserving of his honours; A question, if this lowly one may be so bold honoured one, has the honoured one heard of the Thousand Poison Art?”

“The name rings a bell- sounds like a martial art from a novel my friend Jin once recommended to me- but assume I know nothing. What is it?”

“The Thousand Poison Art- developed by an outcast of the Cromidian race, a race famed for their skill in the art of beast mastery. The outcast, in wrathful anger, eschewed the honourable pair-bond heritage of his race.

Instead, he gathered the strongest poisonous beasts across the Myriad Worlds, threw them into an arena to fight to the death, and raised the winner of the slaughter. Repeating the process over innumerable eras, he reigned as a hegemon, alongside the terrifying product of his art, defeated by circumstance and fate.

That is the nature of the selection honoured one- the dregs will fight, only the survivors worthy of being offered salvation.”