I should have known better than this.

  I should have read the signs ages ago. Smelled the danger long before it was already right in front of me. After all, I had thousands upon thousands of hours in other RPGs—games where boss traps like this were almost expected.

  In fact, Great Guild Studios was famous for them.

  Ridiculous boss traps. Sudden difficulty spikes that wiped progress clean and left pyers furious, crying about how unfair it all was.

  Mostly because they couldn't cope with losing what they had earned.

  Great Guild always answered the same way.

  "We gave you more than enough signals to notice.Get good.—Your GGS Team"

  I had always found that line funny.

  Not because I agreed with it—but because I usually didn't have a problem with their designs. Either I noticed the warning signs early enough, or I was strong enough to deal with whatever they threw at me.

  But this time, I didn't.

  I failed to connect the dots in time. Not because they weren't there—but because I was too focused on getting out of the cold. Too focused on surviving.

  And honestly... I never thought Great Guild would be cruel enough to put a boss trap into the tutorial of a one-death game.

  That one was on me.

  I just stood there.

  My body felt stiff—even stiffer than when the freezing debuff had almost locked me in pce outside. Across the room, a pair of menacing yellow eyes stared back at me, unblinking.

  Then the torches ignited.

  Fmes fred to life one after another, illuminating the wide hall that was clearly meant to be an arena.

  My grave.

  At least it was a beautiful one.

  "No step closer, sorcerer! You will not advance further than this!"

  The Dragonborn announced his presence, smming the dull end of his give into the ground, the impact sending shockwaves through the hall.

  His bde ignited, engulfed in bright orange fmes.

  They weren't wild. Not violent.

  The fmes clung to the metal with control and precision, not a single flicker out of line. It looked less like a weapon on fire—and more like a bde forged from fme itself.

  "Fuck it," I muttered quietly, a shiver running through me. "If there's no way out anymore anyway..."

  I took a deep breath and forced myself upright, meeting his gaze—returning it with the same unwavering composure.

  "Who are you to deny me?" I questioned, pointing my practice wand straight at him, forcing the smuggest expression I could manage. "You're nothing more than a glorified crocodile in nice armor."

  Runan frowned.

  His grip tightened around the give. I could hear the handle strain beneath the pressure.

  "You foul-mouthed brat," he growled. "I am Runan of the Give, one of the three grand generals of Lord Kindral's army. Do not dare take me lightly, mortal."

  For a brief moment, he shifted his stance.

  Then he charged.

  The distance between us vanished far too fast. His movement wasn't fshy—it was efficient, practiced. The give came swinging toward my neck with lethal precision.

  "Fuck."

  I barely managed to duck beneath it.

  Heat washed over my scalp as the bde passed, slicing off a few strands of hair. I stumbled past him and jumped back, then again, putting space between us as fast as I could.

  My breathing turned ragged.

  That was way too close for my taste, and it showed.

  I couldn't stop shaking.

  Runan straightened slowly, turning his head just enough to look at me over his shoulder. His give remained steady in his grip.

  "Creating distance?" he said calmly. "You should have realized by now that there is no distance I cannot close, sorcerer."

  My stomach sank.

  His presence pressed down on me, suddenly far more domineering than before. The air thickened, heavy enough that every breath felt like work. For a moment my vision flickered, sliding across the battlefield as instinct took over—searching for anything. A pilr. A crack in the floor. Some overlooked mechanic that could pry open a way out.

  There was nothing.

  No exit. No trick.

  The only way forward was Runan.

  I ground my teeth as the scaled creature fully turned toward me. He lifted his give with deliberate calm, as if the outcome had already been decided. My wand felt almost fragile in my grip as I raised it, arm trembling despite my effort to stay steady.

  Then I drew in a strained breath and shouted.

  "MAGIC MISSILE!"

  The purple sphere tore through the air and struck his shoulder before he could react. It detonated with a sharp crack, light fshing across the hall. When the smoke cleared, all it had left was a shallow scratch across his dark green pting.

  Underwhelming.

  If not for the red health bar at the edge of my vision dipping—just barely—I wouldn't have known I'd hurt him at all.

  But that was enough.

  If I could hurt him, I could kill him.

  There was no such thing as an unfair boss. Just difficult ones. Game devs didn't make unwinnable fights—because unwinnable fights were bad design. Great Guild Studios had always believed that.

  It was their philosophy.

  I straightened, meeting his gaze again, a faint smile tugging at my lips despite the cold cwing at my bones.

  "What?" I called out. "That hurt more than you expected?"

  I didn't wait for an answer.

  I dashed backward as the air around my wand chilled, frost forming along the wood as snow compressed into a dense white sphere at its tip.

  "Snowball!"

  The spell shot forward, deceptively simple. It smmed into Runan square between the eyes at terrifying speed. For a heartbeat, his entire body shimmered in icy blue.

  He snarled.

  "You wretch—too afraid to fight fair?"

  I grinned, my heart pounding faster than my thoughts could run.

  "Why?" I shot back. "Closing the distance not so easy anymore?"

  The freezing curse bit deep. His charge came—but slower. Noticeably slower. The snowball's effect would only st four seconds, cutting his movement speed by more than half.

  For four seconds his speed was endurable, it wasn't much.

  But snowball's cooldown was only ten.

  If I managed my mana right, I could keep him slowed for nearly half the fight.

  If.

  There was no room for mistakes. One missed snowball and I was dead.

  Macro and micro was the key to winning this duel.

  "MAGIC MISSILE!"

  Another purple bolt smmed into his chest, chipping away at his health bit by bit. His roar echoed through the hall as the frost faded—and in the blink of an eye he surged forward again.

  Too fast.

  His give swept toward me, the bde missing by inches as I threw myself back. Fmes licked the air where I'd been standing, heat searing across my side. The burn was brief, but my health ticked down all the same.

  I ducked under the next swing, the weapon screaming through the air above my head. As I passed beneath his reach, I jammed my wand upward beneath his long snout.

  "Snowball—!"

  The spell burst outward in a spray of ice, frost racing across his scales once more. Runan staggered, breath coming heavy as the blue shimmer wrapped around him again.

  I didn't hesitate.

  I jumped back—once, twice, more—putting distance between us. This time I didn't cast Magic Missile. I couldn't afford it. Not if I wanted enough mana for the next snowball.

  Runan straightened slowly, give raised, chest heaving. His eyes never left me.

  Pure killing intent burned in their yellow depths.