The arena for Rank 22 was different. It wasn't wide. It wasn't open.
It was a maze—a labyrinth of obsidian glass and fractured reflections, every corridor a shard of someone else's nightmare. And the air? Still. Heavy. Deceptively quiet. Like holding your breath too long underwater.
Leon stepped inside alone.
There was no fanfare this time. No announcer's voice. No elder's presence.
Just a whisper behind the walls:
"He cannot die… until you forget."
Then came the thrum.
Like a heart beating behind the glass.
The torches flared—and he saw him.
A man wrapped in bone-white armor, faceless, nameless, holding twin greatswords taller than Leon himself. His presence sent a ripple through the glass around them, warping reflections. His title glowed in runes above his head:
Rank 22: Sleepless Shatter — He Who Must Be Forgotten
And then… the world reset.
Leon struck first—he always did.
