CHAPTER 21 : GEARFOLKGearfolk, a town as vibrant as it is, hums with the ceaseless rhythm of machinery, its streets filled with the hiss and clank of steam-powered engines. Built upon layers of steel and stone, this unique city is split into two distinct realms: the upper rank, where those blessed with resources and status reside in gleaming metal towers, and the lower rank, a gritty, smoke-shrouded district where people survive amid the clutter of worn-out machines and improvised inventions. The town’s heartbeat, both hopeful and haggard, pulses through its winding streets and hidden corners, where the stark disparities between the ranks become painfully clear.In the upper rank, life is an endless chain of improvements, a testament to engineering mastery and mechanical wonders. The streets are spacious and clean, lined with storefronts displaying polished gadgets, exquisite brass, and chrome fixtures that reflect the golden light of carefully maintained street lamps. Residents here

CHAPTER 23 : MILO’S STORYThe ancient book on the floor began to tremble, its yellowed pages flipping open in a blur, faster and faster, as if guided by an invisible hand. Milo froze, staring in wide-eyed astonishment as a brilliant, blinding light burst forth from the center of the book. Instinctively, he raised his arm, using his worn vest to shield his eyes from the searing brightness, his heart hammering in his chest.“Grrraaaahhhh!” Vorador’s shriek of agony pierced the room. The assassin’s undead form twisted as the light’s warmth took on a razor-sharp intensity, burning with a searing heat that seemed to consume him from the inside out. Clawing at the air in a futile attempt to escape, Vorador’s bony fingers stretched toward Milo, a final act of desperation as his fleshless body dissolved into wisps of smoke, then crumbled into a pile of ash.When the last echo of Vorador’s scream faded, a charged silence filled the room, punctuated only by the soft crackle of dissipating ener

CHAPTER 25 : VEILITH’S PATHIn the winding alleys and hidden corridors of the Upper Rank of Gearfolk, Veilith carved out a life in stark contrast to the one he’d left behind. Here in the world of power and privilege, he had forged a path among bounty hunters, sharp-eyed mercenaries whose loyalty was as fleeting as the marks they tracked down. Each assignment was a test, each battle a step further from the Lower Rank’s gritty streets and closer to a future he could seize for himself.Veilith had always been practical, even as a young boy. Growing up with Milo, he’d been swept up in his friend’s endless fascination with the crystal, that ancient relic that supposedly held untold power. Milo would rattle on about its mysteries for hours, pulling Veilith into elaborate theories and dragging him into old libraries to unearth forgotten fragments of history. Veilith remembered nights spent listening to Milo’s fervent dreams of transforming the world, of using the crystal to rise from the Low

CHAPTER 27 : BOSS FIGHT EVENTThe crisp, automated voice filled the realm, echoing through the trees and rocky cliffs as the system announced the new twist in this year’s holy war: a Boss Fight Event. The announcement sent a ripple of excitement and tension among the participants scattered across the battleground, each one briefly pausing to listen."Attention all participants, this year's holy war has a new rule called the Boss Fight Event. Participants will face powerful enemies known as bosses. Defeating a boss will reward you with valuable items. Several bosses are scheduled to appear in the realm throughout the event, and remember: only the participant who lands the final blow will receive the reward."The last line made Loren’s ears perk up. He looked around at his small group, Howard, a stocky, armored warrior with an intense gaze, and Anne, a slender bard with a haunting beauty and a gentle yet mischievous smile. Their trio had formed an alliance early on, trusting each other

CHAPTER 29 : GRAGANGragan, the berserker warrior known throughout the Zenonian Empire as the Iron Fist of Zenonia, had once been the epitome of loyalty and strength. His stature alone, a towering figure clad in polished silver armor, wielding the infamous Hamaxe, was enough to keep even the most brazen foes at bay. For years, he served as the personal guard to Prince Zen, the beloved heir to the throne. Together, they had journeyed to distant lands, defended the kingdom from invasions, and formed a bond that transcended the formal titles of master and servant. To Gragan, Zen was not only a prince but also a friend he would lay down his life to protect.Gragan and Prince Zen's connection ran deep, beyond duty and loyalty, forged in the quiet moments away from the throne and the battlefield. Gragan wasn’t just a guard to Zen; he was a steadfast companion, almost a brother in spirit. Together, they would sit by the flickering light of the fire late into the night, Zen sharing stories of