I was certain, absolutely certain, that I had over one hundred million coins the last time I opened the interface. But as the initial surge of panic subsided and I forced my breathing to slow, the cold logic of the divine realm began to settle in.
I had been on a high-speed shopping spree in a warehouse owned by the Lord of the Dead. There was no such thing as a free sample in a place like that.
"So... that's the trick," I muttered, sucking in a deep, bitter breath of loss. "The last statue didn't give me a boost to my class because I hit a floor. I ran out of liquid capital."
Coins, in the grand scheme of the apocalypse, didn't matter as much to me as raw power. They were a medium of exchange, a tool. But losing a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to fundamentally upgrade my Necromancer class just because I was a few million short? That stung more than any wound I'd received in battle.
