Astartes studied his status panel, the translucent holographic display hovering before his eyes with its familiar blue-white luminescence. The numbers brought a grim smile to his lips.
Status Panel
NAME: ASTARTES (HUMAN)
OCCUPATION: RANKER (CLASS E)
STRENGTH: 111
AGILITY: 111
VITALITY: 111
SPIRIT: 111
****SKILLS:****
- Icicle Blast (F)(100) - Complete
- Darkness Hand (F)(92) - Master
- Magic Shield (E)(67) - Expert
- Greater Heal (E)(49) - Great
****INHERENT SKILL:**** INFINITE CASTER (No Slots Available)
Infinite Cast Slot 1: Icicle Blast (0/1)
Infinite Cast Slot 2: Darkness Hand (0/1)
Infinite Cast Slot 3: Magic Shield (0/1)
Infinite Cast Slot 4: Greater Heal (0/1)
****Occupied slots have a single replacement chance.****
The numbers danced before his eyes, each one representing countless hours of training, countless battles fought, countless wounds endured. Attribute cores provided an equal increase in all four attributes—a quirk of the system that made them highly efficient for overall development. And therefore, he was pleased to see all his key stats reach 111 points, a solid foundation that placed him firmly in High Class E territory.
His mind calculated rapidly. 111 points. Only 9 points away from reaching 120 points, which was the peak limit of Class E.
But it wasn't just his attributes that had grown. His skills had also seen significant improvement during his recent battles. He studied the proficiency levels with a critical eye, noting each one's progress.
His {Icicle Blast} skill had long reached a maximum level of proficiency—a rare achievement that spoke to his relentless training and the countless enemies he had slain with the spell. The skill was now as much a part of him as his own heartbeat, ready to be unleashed with devastating precision.
{Darkness Hand} had reached 92% mastery, only a hair's breadth away from complete proficiency. The shadowy tendrils of the spell had become his go-to weapon in close combat, their versatility and power unmatched among his current arsenal. A few more battles, and it would reach perfection.
{Magic Shield} had reached Expert level at 67% proficiency. The defensive barrier had saved his life countless times, its protective energies growing stronger and more efficient with each use. He was confident that with more practice, he would elevate it to Master level.
{Greater Heal} was at Great level, 49% proficiency. The healing spell had kept him alive through his most desperate battles, closing wounds that would have been fatal for lesser Rankers. Its improvement was slower than his other skills, but that was understandable—he rarely had time to heal himself during combat, relying instead on his natural resilience and the spell's emergency usage.
Astartes allowed himself a satisfied nod. He was pleased that all his other skills were almost reaching a breakthrough point into a higher level of proficiency. He was confident that the next Catacomb raid would allow his skills to elevate further, increasing his power greatly. Each advancement in proficiency would add to his combat effectiveness, making him a more complete and dangerous fighter.
The chamber's ambient light dimmed as Astartes completed his internal assessment, the luminescent crystals in the walls responding to his shifting aura. The exhilaration of his recent advancement still thrummed through his veins like liquid lightning, but his mind—sharp and calculating—had already moved beyond celebration to strategic planning.
He stood before the full-length mirror that dominated one wall of his chambers, its surface of polished obsidian reflecting his image with crystalline clarity. The man who gazed back at him was transformed from the one who had entered this room hours ago. His posture was more commanding, his frame more densely packed with power. The faint aura that surrounded him—visible only to those with enhanced perception—pulsed with a steady, controlled rhythm
'High Class E, huh,' he thought aloud, allowing himself a moment of satisfaction. "But not nearly enough."
His fingers traced the air, scrolling through the data with practised ease. The display was crisp and detailed, each entry meticulously catalogued by the system that recorded every Ranker's progression. He had reached High Class E—a significant milestone that placed him in the upper echelons of his current Rank. Yet the path ahead was still steep, the climb arduous.
To reach Peak Class E, he would need nine more high-grade Class E attribute cores. The number was daunting, considering the danger required to obtain even a single such core. Each represented a Catacomb Lord of considerable power, a creature that had claimed countless lives before meeting its end at his hands. Nine more such victories seemed almost insurmountable within the timeframe he had available.
Or... there was another way.
His gaze lingered on the possibility that flickered at the edge of his mind. A single Class D core, equivalent to over twenty High Class E cores in raw energy density, would catapult him straight into Class D territory. The very thought sent a thrill of anticipation through him. Such a core could only be obtained from a Class D Catacomb
He had a high chance of even encountering the Class D Catacomb Lord—a creature of nightmarish proportions that would challenge even veteran Rankers.
The Blood Orc Chieftain that Zoom Glass had mentioned, the one lurking in the depths of the Class D Orc Ruins Catacomb.
If he wanted to fight that Class D Blood Orc Chieftain Catacomb Lord with a high chance of success, then he had to at least enter Class D! Otherwise, his chance of winning was not high. The mathematical reality was cold and unforgiving: he would be outclassed, outmatched, and likely killed.
Astartes closed his eyes, calculating the variables with the precision of a veteran strategist. He had approximately twenty-four to thirty hours before the Catacomb's energy reached critical levels, before the creatures within became too numerous and too powerful to contain. In that window, he could engage in non-stop Catacomb raiding, pushing himself to the absolute limit to gather the necessary cores. It was a desperate gamble—one that would leave him exhausted, wounded, and potentially broken. But it was his best chance.
'Hopefully, I can use the next twenty-four to thirty hours to engage in non-stop Catacomb raiding to ensure that I reach Peak Class E.'
The alternative was unthinkable. If the Catacomb breached containment, the city would suffer. Thousands would die. Everything he had fought for, everything he had sacrificed, would be meaningless.
He was running out of time.
But even as the weight of urgency pressed down upon him, Astartes felt something unexpected: excitement.
He dismissed the status panel with a thought, the holographic display fading from sight. The time for contemplation was over. The time for action had arrived.
A quick glance at the clock on the wall confirmed the time: 9 PM. The night stretched before him, offering hours of darkness to pursue his goal. He would need every minute.
Astartes moved to the bathing chamber, the mineral-infused water washing away the sweat and fatigue of his absorption session. The revitalising properties seeped into his skin, soothing aching muscles and refreshing his spirit. He emerged feeling renewed, his body humming with readiness.
A nutritious meal was waiting for him—a spread of protein-rich foods and energy-dense supplements prepared by the RA's culinary staff. He ate efficiently, consuming the meal with the focused intensity of a warrior fueling for battle. The food would provide the necessary sustenance for the gruelling hours ahead, preventing his body from failing due to exhaustion.
Finally, he donned his new equipment. The customised armour and robe that Zoom Glass had procured were a work of art—functional beauty that merged form and function. The armour was composed of interlocking plates of dark alloy, each one inscribed with subtle enchantments that shimmered faintly when touched. The robe that covered it was of deep blue fabric, woven with threads of silver that caught the light and seemed to shift with movement.
Astartes flexed his arms, testing the range of motion. The armour moved with him, adapting to his every gesture without restriction. He unleashed his entire strength without reserve, a rapid series of strikes and movements that would have torn lesser armour to pieces. The alloy held firm, not even a scratch marring its surface.
"Very good armour," Astartes remarked, a note of genuine appreciation in his voice. "Whoever made this deserves a recommendation."
Zoom Glass, who had been waiting patiently by the door with his characteristic quiet efficiency, responded with a warm smile. "The Magi-Tech Twins are extremely skilled and a source of pride for our RA Branch, and also the most talented geniuses in our city, of course, before your rise." He paused, his expression turning slightly wry. "I must say, though, that their results in battle are not... stellar, and their battle sense is miles away from yours."
He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "This is understandable as they are not Battle-type Rankers but Artificer Rankers, with their inherent skills suited for crafts and invention. You should meet them when you are free."
Astartes nodded, filing the information away for future reference. The Magi-Tech Twins could prove valuable allies, especially if their crafting abilities were as impressive as Zoom Glass claimed. "Very well,"he said, his tone shifting back to business. "There is no time to waste. I shall head out immediately."
"I shall also go with you,"Zoom Glass responded, his voice firm. "I will remain stationed outside the Lava Wyvern Catacomb, waiting for your reemergence."
Astartes turned to look at the older man, seeing the concern and determination in his eyes.
"Thank you, Zoom Glass," Astartes said simply, and the words carried more weight than any elaborate expression of gratitude.
The hovercar glided through the night sky, its sleek form cutting through the cool air with silent efficiency. The city lights below blurred into streaks of colour as they approached the outskirts, where the urban landscape gave way to industrial zones and, ultimately, the desolate area surrounding the Catacombs.
Because the lodging was not far from the Catacomb, the journey took less than twenty minutes. Astartes spent the time in quiet meditation, conserving his energy and centring his mind for the battles to come. He reviewed his strategies, mentally rehearsed his combat rotations, and prepared himself for the gruelling hours ahead.
Zoom Glass sat opposite him, his administrative composure intact but his eyes betraying a mixture of hope and anxiety. He had made all the necessary arrangements, ensuring that the ongoing Catacomb raids were suspended indefinitely. The RA had cordoned off the area for the routine Catacomb cleansing, with the Lava Wyvern Catacomb reaching near-critical levels at this very moment.
It was a delicate operation. The Catacomb's energy levels were dangerously high, and any delay could result in a catastrophic breach. But Zoom Glass had pulled the necessary strings, called in the necessary favours, and cleared the path for Astartes to do what he did best: clear the Catacombs alone.
When they arrived, the scene was one of organised chaos. RA personnel moved with purpose, their uniforms crisp and their faces set in grim determination. Energy barriers hummed around the Catacomb entrance, containment arrays glowing with blue-white light. The air was thick with tension, the weight of the crisis pressing down on everyone present.
Astartes stepped out of the hovercar, his gaze sweeping across the gathered crowd. He could see the shocked and confused expressions of those who did not know him—the new recruits, the visiting Rankers, the civilian contractors who had been pressed into service. They stared at the sight of a single youth, dark-haired and cool-eyed, striding confidently up the stairs into the huge Catacomb entrance.
'Who is he?' their expressions seemed to ask. 'How can one person possibly handle a cleansing of this magnitude?'
But those who were long familiar with the sight and name of the Infinity Mage looked on with burning gazes of admiration and reverence. They had seen him before, had witnessed his incredible feats of power and determination. They knew what he was capable of, and they believed in his success.
Astartes reached the top of the stairs, turning to face the gathered crowd one last time. His eyes met Zoom Glass's, and he nodded once—a simple gesture that conveyed his trust and his resolve.
Then he turned, and without hesitation, he descended into the darkness of the Lava Wyvern Catacomb.
The entrance swallowed him whole, the ambient light fading as he stepped into the depths. The air grew warmer, thick with the scent of sulfur and molten rock. Distant sounds echoed from the tunnels ahead—the skittering of claws, the hiss of reptilian breath, the ominous rumble of something massive stirring in the depths.
Astartes smiled, a fierce, predatory expression that revealed his excitement. His heart pounded with anticipation, his muscles coiled with readiness, his mind sharp and focused.
'Let's begin,' he thought, and he strode forward into the shadows, ready to face whatever horrors awaited him.
The Lava Wyvern Catacomb was vast and treacherous, its passages winding through ancient volcanic rock, its chambers filled with creatures of fire and fury.
But Astartes was not afraid. He had faced worse odds before and emerged victorious. He had survived the darkness, the isolation, the constant threat of death. He had grown stronger with every battle, sharper with every victory.
And he would not stop until he had achieved the power he needed to protect everything that mattered.
The night stretched before him, endless and full of potential. The Catacomb awaited, hungry and dangerous.
Astartes was ready.