Nathan sat alone in the guild's common room long before dawn. In the heavy, suffocating dark, his status panel hung in the air like a quiet accusation written in glowing blue light.
[Name: Nathan Cross]
[Class: Archer]
[Level: 46]
[Magic Aptitude (MA): F-Grade++]
The plus signs were a hollow comfort. It didn't matter how many Towers they conquered or how many levels he accrued; the F-Rank remained an immovable wall. The Capacitor strapped to his wrist hummed with its stored energy. The Leyline Ring on his finger pulsed, working tirelessly to replenish what he spent. Moonlight rested across his knees, a B-Rank masterpiece forged from the spoils of their victories.
But it was all just scaffolding. Armor plated over a foundation that could never truly bear the weight.
