Platinum thinned quickly after that.
Not because fewer people played—but because fewer people stayed.
Queues grew longer. Opponents grew quieter. Names repeated more often. Familiar IDs began appearing on both sides of the screen, players who had learned each other's habits through dozens of close, restrained games.
This was the upper ladder.
Where mistakes were no longer random.
They were personal.
Nightwalker climbed alone now.
Without Starguard beside him, the pace changed.
He took more risks—not reckless ones, but decisive ones. His positioning sharpened. His timings grew narrower. Fights ended faster, not because of damage, but because space collapsed all at once.
Platinum II became Platinum I without ceremony.
No celebration.
Just another win.
World Chat shifted tone again.
Not louder.
More focused.
"He's about to break through.""Crusader still undefeated.""This isn't a streak anymore.""This is a statement."
Daniel closed the panel.
Statements were for people who needed them.
The match that pushed him into promotion came late.
Nearly forty minutes of deliberate pressure.
The enemy team refused to engage. They split, rotated, tested flanks, denied vision, waited for impatience.
Daniel did not oblige.
He held central space. Anchored objectives. Forced inevitability.
When the decisive fight came, it lasted less than five seconds.
Shield slam.
Perfect angle.
The enemy carry disappeared before reacting.
The rest followed.
VICTORY
The system message appeared:
[System] Promotion Match Available: Diamond Tier]
Daniel exhaled slowly.
Platinum was finished.
Diamond promotion felt different.
Not heavier.
Cleaner.
The queue took its time.
Players dodged. Re-entered. Dodged again.
Someone recognized his name and typed a single line in pre-game chat.
"Let's see if the Crusader's real."
Daniel didn't respond.
The match loaded.
The enemy lineup was disciplined. Balanced. Confident.
This was no longer ladder chaos.
This was rehearsal.
The early game was controlled to the point of silence.
No kills. No forced trades. Vision wars decided inches of territory.
Daniel watched carefully.
Diamond wasn't faster than Platinum.
It was quieter.
The first fight broke out near the river at thirteen minutes.
Calculated.
The enemy committed first.
Daniel absorbed the opening burst.
He didn't counter immediately.
He waited.
Half a second.
Then stepped sideways.
The formation cracked.
One enemy mispositioned.
That was enough.
The fight flipped instantly.
Two down.
The rest disengaged.
No celebration.
Just adjustment.
Mid-game pressure escalated.
The enemy tried to isolate him.
It failed.
They tried to ignore him.
That failed too.
Every path narrowed.
Every rotation met resistance.
Diamond players didn't panic.
But they adapted.
And adaptation was slower than instinct.
The final fight came at the enemy base.
No one spoke.
Daniel stepped forward.
Shield raised.
Space declared.
The enemy hesitated.
Not long.
Just long enough.
Daniel engaged.
Shield slam.
Clean.
The enemy carry vanished.
The rest collapsed.
VICTORY
The system message appeared without flourish.
[System] Congratulations!Player "Nightwalker" has entered Diamond Tier.]
Daniel leaned back slightly.
Diamond.
Above this, the ladder stopped pretending.
Above this, players knew each other.
Above this, people watched replays instead of chat.
He queued again.
Because Diamond wasn't the peak.
It was the threshold where only intent survived.
And somewhere ahead—
Someone else was already waiting.