"You're already dripping wet... how are you going to last the whole way, Atlas?"

"At least warn me before you go in from behind!"

Atlas raised his right hand to shield his eyes as the storm winds lashed violently across the open ground around them. They had just left the cover of the forest, stepping into a wide clearing. Only to find the winds here made moving forward a brutal challenge.

He glanced ahead at the rest of his party: the other three were managing far better than he was. No surprise there. Hell, he *was* the one with the lowest level among them.

"Atlas, if you keep dragging your feet, we're leaving you behind!" one of them called over his shoulder with a laugh.

His role on this expedition was a support. Not in the sense of healing or casting barriers. More like scouting ahead, or gathering resources from fallen monsters. And as of late, they'd added looting duty to his tasks too. Which was why he now carried a ridiculously heavy pack strapped to his back.

It slowed him down, dragging at his every step, while the others, already several paces ahead, seemed completely at ease. The fierce wind only made it worse, pushing against him with every stride.

They had just escaped a monster's pursuit back in the forest. What had started as a six-person hunting expedition was now whittled down to four, Atlas included.

They came to a halt at the edge of a cliff. A wooden bridge stretched before them, linking the two towering cliff sides. It swayed violently in the storm winds that had only grown more vicious.

"We're almost at the small settlement on the other side. Finally," said the massive guy with the hammer slung over his back. "We could use a break. And hey, not bad for today's hunt, right?"

"Yeah, though with a storm like this, and only the three of us left in the party... I don't think we'll be pressing on any further," added another.

Only three? What the hell. Did they forget how to count or something?!

Damn it. *Fuck you all.* Then again... it's not like he could complain.

[Name: Atlas Blackthorn]

[Level: 35]

[Strength: 150 | Agility: 54 | Intelligence: 39 | Constitution: 58 | Stamina: 65]

[Class: Warrior]

[Iron Will (B) - Tactical Awareness (C) - Instinctual Command (C) - Measured Strikes (F) - Unbreakable Routine (S) - Reliable Aura (A)]

Level 35. That's all he was. The rest had already crossed into the 40s, and some well beyond. And even in terms of battle talent, he only had one, Measured Strikes. And it was rated F.

The only thing on that status window that looked even remotely impressive was Reliable Aura, smugly sitting at an A rating. But really? That didn't mean anyone actually relied on him.

Then there was Unbreakable Routine, marked with an S. That one helped, a little. It made grinding levels more efficient, thanks to his ridiculous obsession with repetitive tasks most people would find boring.

Every time he opened that damn status screen, it only reminded him how far behind he was. And he was *so* sick of looking at it.

A few of the others squinted up at the sky, shielding their eyes before one of them pointed upward.

Atlas followed their gaze, and there they were. Two massive floating islands, drifting close together, suspended high above the clouds.

"Looks like two Lords are at war. That's probably what stirred up this sudden storm down here."

"Look at the size of them. If we can still see them clearly from this distance, they've got to be the size of a city."

"Oh, if only I were a Lord…" another grumbled. "I wouldn't have to be stuck down here, wasting my time on these dumb hunting runs. Goddamn it."

Those floating islands...

People say they started appearing a thousand years ago. And ever since, each one seems to choose its own Lord, a ruler destined to command from above. It's like... they have their own separate worlds up there.

They recruit soldiers from below, or who knows where, gather resources, and build entire kingdoms atop those airborne lands.

They even go to war with one another. Sometimes, so fiercely, that bodies fall from the sky, raining down without warning.

But seriously... Those Lords were monsters in battle. They grow their islands, raise armies, and wage endless war for dominance.

Sure, everyone knew life up there was a never-ending battlefield. Yet still, many awakeners from the Lower Lands, as they called this world beneath the floating realms, chose to devote themselves to those Lords.

And yeah, under a Lord's command, power came easier. Those Lords had access to rare resources. Even things like experience point orbs that could boost one's level in an instant. Some even promised wealth beyond imagining.

But... could someone with an F-rank talent even dream of being chosen… as a Lord's subordinate?

He was already struggling. At twenty-two, he was still stuck at level 35, and with only one combat talent, and a pathetic one at that. Most others his age were already soaring past level 50.

Maybe... just surviving down here in the Lower Lands was good enough. Right? Even if that meant clinging to life one monster hunt at a time.

"Let's go, time to move," said one of them, a blond-haired archer with a cool smile.

The man approached Atlas, stepping closer through the wind.

" Let me carry your load. There's no way you're crossing that bridge with all that weight. You know you're too weak," he said, tugging the massive pack from Atlas's back.

He slung it over his own shoulders with practiced ease, then turned and made his way toward the swaying wooden bridge. The others followed right behind him.

The storm was vicious now, making the bridge rock violently as all three stepped onto it.

Atlas hesitated at the edge of the bridge. "Guys, are you sure we should all cross at the same time?"

They glanced back.

"You can stay behind if you're scared."

*No, damn it.* But the wooden bridge felt like it could collapse at any second. Still, his teammates were already halfway across, moving steadily. Atlas clenched his jaw and forced himself to step forward.

Each step was a struggle. The storm raged harder now, every gust threatening to hurl him off the swaying planks. Ahead, the others were nearing the far side of the cliff.

He quickened his pace, the violent rocking of the bridge making it feel like it might give way beneath his feet at any moment.

Midway across now. Almost there. He ran, pushing himself harder, ignoring the howling wind and the pounding in his chest.

The others reached the end. They stepped onto solid ground. And they turned to look back at him.

Atlas pushed forward, breath ragged, eyes fixed on them. Then he saw it… A smile. A cold, knowing smile spread across their faces.

*What? Why were they smiling like that?!*

"Well," one of them said, "this loot isn't worth splitting four ways."

*Fuck! No way. Don't you dare!*