The queue popped almost instantly.
Daniel didn't look surprised.
Bronze Tier was crowded—new players, casuals, and people who logged in after work just to unwind. Matches filled quickly, decisions were sloppy, and discipline was rare.
Perfect.
The loading screen faded in.
Five avatars appeared on the map, their movements hesitant, uncertain. Voice chat came alive immediately.
"Who's tank?""Wait, where do I go?""Uh… I think I'm top?"
Daniel's Holy Crusader moved without hesitation.
He didn't announce his role.He didn't give orders.
He simply took space.
The first thirty seconds told him everything.
The enemy jungler mirrored his own jungler's path almost exactly, copying a guide he had probably watched earlier that day. The mid laner hovered too far forward, poking without an escape route. Bottom lane pushed aggressively, mistaking pressure for control.
Mistakes stacked on top of mistakes.
Daniel adjusted his route.
Not to punish immediately—but to prepare.
The first skirmish broke out near mid.
Two enemies collapsed on Daniel's mid laner, confident they had the numbers.
Daniel arrived half a second before the stun landed.
Shield raised.
Impact.
The enemy assassin froze in place—just long enough.
Daniel didn't chase.
He stepped sideways instead, cutting off the angle, forcing the enemy mage to reposition into an awkward line.
A missed skill.A wasted cooldown.
The mid laner survived.
The fight ended before it properly began.
"Nice save," someone muttered in voice chat.
Daniel was already gone.
By the fifth minute, the map belonged to him.
Not through kills—but through presence.
Wherever the Holy Crusader appeared, the enemy hesitated. Their movements slowed. Their aggression softened. They weren't afraid of damage.
They were afraid of being stopped.
Daniel rotated between lanes with surgical precision, always arriving early, never late. He blocked jungle entrances, stood in narrow corridors, and forced enemies into predictable paths.
Every time they thought they had an opening—
They didn't.
The enemy jungler tried to force a gank bottom.
Daniel was already there.
Shield bash.
Crowd control chained just long enough for his teammates to react.
First blood.
The voice chat erupted.
"Wait, how did he know?""Did he have vision?"
Daniel said nothing.
He didn't need vision.
He understood timing.
By ten minutes, the kill score was lopsided.
Not because Daniel was farming kills—but because he denied the enemy the ability to play.
Objectives fell one by one.
A tower here.A dragon there.
The enemy tried to group.
Daniel welcomed it.
He stepped forward, shield high, positioning himself at the exact point where retreat became impossible.
The enemy team hesitated.
That hesitation was fatal.
The fight broke instantly.
Two enemies fell.The rest scattered.
The base push was inevitable.
When the crystal shattered, the screen flashed:
VICTORY
Daniel leaned back slightly.
Another win.
He checked the post-game screen.
No flashy numbers.
High damage taken.Zero deaths.High objective participation.
A Holy Crusader's perfect report card.
Someone typed in all-chat.
"Is Crusader actually broken?"
Daniel exited the lobby.
He didn't smile.
Bronze wasn't where strength mattered.
It was where habits formed.
And bad habits were easy to dismantle.
The next match ended the same way.
Then the one after that.
Win.Win.Win.
Daniel stopped paying attention to individual games. They blurred together—different names, identical mistakes.
His rank climbed steadily.
Bronze II.Bronze I.
No losses.
No close calls.
The system chimed.
Promotion Match Available.
Daniel cracked his knuckles.
Bronze was done.
He queued again.
The climb had only just begun.