— EMPIRE OF AZ’DAWN, YEAR: 7298. SEASON: NEW BEGINNING.

  Luke Walker inhaled—a long, deep thing that brought in the arid scent of the barren, hot desert of Az’Dawn into his nostrils. He looked at the few figures behind him.

  Stratioti.

  Blades of the Chosen of Madris.

  Once, he was in their place…

  Once.

  His gaze returned to the front, his slow steps leading the small group forward through a sea of sand. He exhaled, a long, deep sigh escaping with it. He was dressed in medium armor, mixed with parts of metal and leather. A long desert shawl covered most of him, matching the light sand beneath his feet. Only his eyes were revealed, showcasing a cold, confident sky blue.

  Is this really it? Is this truly the start of the Game this time?

  Luke Walker couldn’t answer his question. In fact, he couldn’t answer much else after living three lives with three different outcomes, all resulting in destruction. His thoughts weren’t even on the Great War, but what happens after.

  He glanced upward, his gaze seemingly piercing the veil and stars beyond—beyond.

  Time…

  That was all he had left. Too many attachments, too many mistakes. Dreams are a crushing force when Creation lacks them.

  He had to plan now, act now, and from this moment forward, every step, every action had to be the right one. It HAD to be the right now. Luke Walker couldn’t afford mistakes.

  “Status,” Luke whispered, checking over his current progress.

  His thoughts rambled as he gazed at his status, steps steady and path straight.

  I am stronger than Lawruthian in terms of attributes.

  Luke’s thoughts were certain, his clear sky blue eyes forged ahead as his mind overviewed everything. Three lifetimes of experience gave him the confidence to do so.

  At his stage, he is no more than level 150… perhaps level 170 since I’m not at his side by now. I match him, but that is not enough—not when he is levels beneath me, and I’m only just on par. His Base Attack will be significantly stronger. Sighhhhh, being a Hero like him certainly is a cheat.

  Luke smirked, but I have cheats too. This will work—I will not have the chance to escape the River of Time for the fourth time… Damn, I miss my wife.

  “Are you certain this is the correct way?”

  A voice interrupted his thoughts, breaking him from his contemplations.

  Luke frowned, his pace grinding to a halt. He turned around, hot sand burning against his armored, enchanted boots. Luke coolly observed the people following him, then he turned and continued.

  Stratioti.

  Blades of the Chosen of Madris… in reality… they were Blades of Minerva. Designed by her—no, not designed, but sculpted. Each mission, each person, had a profile so dense with behaviors that the outcome of the meeting was nearly predictable. These men and women were becoming what Minerva wanted them to be.

  Minerva… Lawruthian…

  Both were the same, but different people, at least, they had always been in the past. Luke shook his head. The price they were paying wasn’t something he could necessarily mess with. He had his job to do, and they, there’s. The measure that would craft the steps necessary for victory wasn’t something that came without bloodshed or shaping yourself into something your past would hardly recognize.

  As Lawruthian would have once said: Prices must be paid, but for Luke… he would decide who pays them. The smirk slowly faded. The man he knew was not the man now. This realm was dying, and Lawruthian would save it. Luke would decide what was allowed to exist afterward. He had to—he would crush the Dreams of anyone who stood in his way.

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  He had to.

  Tasha paused, glancing uneasily at her squad-mates. Reinhardt gestured again—out of all of them, she was the best people person.

  “Sir, we are fifteen kilometers off course.”

  This time Luke halted; he didn’t turn around, but his voice reached their ears anyway.

  “Are you concerned, Stratioti Tasha, with my leadership and direction?”

  His voice was neutral, but a hint of coldness was layered within its depths.

  Stratioti Tasha stared at his back as if able to see his powerful, scalding gaze. His icy blue eyes seemingly burned into her. She responded, her voice measured but mixed with hints of frustration. “No, sir. It’s just that, according to the map, we’re fifteen kilometers off course.”

  Stratioti Tasha—she was a young woman who found herself in a place Luke wasn’t quite sure she belonged. Her profile was basic, a Shoemakers background. A class her family had run for the past three generations. Tasha was someone who didn’t want to go down that path. She was a rock in a rushing river, going against the grain. This was the first life he recognized her in. Perhaps in the previous, she hadn’t resisted her fate.

  The young woman glanced at the figure in the rear, but the covered person chose to remain silent.

  Luke Walker kept his gaze steady. The sand crunched under his feet as he continued down his path. The flaming head of a God was what he needed to pick up… and these Stratioti were going to help him. Well, them and another.

  Godhood was in reach—perhaps the fastest it’s ever been.

  They followed, exchanging glances but still resolute in following this incredibly powerful and mysterious soldier.

  Imperials.

  Luke shook his head, his hand reaching up and clutching the necklace tightly coiled around his neck. His thoughts on its mysterious properties.

  If he didn’t need Lady Madris’s approval, then he’d have gone for a Heroic class. Mythical was good, but what he needed next was to be more Unique.

  They crossed another large dune; in the distance, red sand could be seen. The area of the Redsan Clan was one of the hottest in the desert. It was no wonder they constantly produced strong affinities with Fire. The average temperature could easily reach 65° Celsius, and on the worst days it would increase by another 20°. That would kill people underneath a certain level and resistance, yet even then, debuffs like Heatstroke, Dehydration, and worse.

  Luke set his eyes on a large dune mixed with the red and desert sand. Underneath this was an entrance to a dungeon. And, in that dungeon was the flaming head of Az.

  His steps never faltered, nor halted. The Stratioti were here to help him, but…

  They weren’t liabilities. They could die here, and not much ruckus would be caused.

  Luke glanced back, his eyes grazing over those of the second Imperial.

  Koa Indrius—sister to Alexandria Indrius—a young woman set on differentiating herself from her sister’s shadow. This was the fourth time she’d completely changed career paths from what Luke remembered.

  If Koa died…

  Luke returned his attention to the front

  The wind picked up, the hot air blowing not in relief for those it pushed against, but danger. Its wild flails flung the scalding sand and threw it at them… a storm approached.

  Luke could taste it in the air, and soon, he would see it. He looked back, this time calling out as he picked up the pace. “Hurry, a sandstorm is coming!”

  His followers, fewer than five in total, picked up the pace. Tasha watched his back, her eyebrows scrunched in concern. She didn’t quite understand what this Imperial was thinking. Stratioti Tasha and the rest had been thoroughly trained since their initial start with several missions under her belt. It took another three missions before the name Stratioti officially became a Magical Combatant Class offered. That was nearly a year of hard work—two years passed since and she’d grown even further.

  She’d been trained in reading the stars, wilderness survival, and many, many more areas that turned her into something of a Ranger or Elite Soldier, and, as Her Highness Minerva liked to call it, a Special Operations Agent. Stratioti Tasha had grown used to weird situations and missions, and her skills accounted for such. She was now able to work in teams or solo and had nearly a hundred levels.

  This gave her a level of confidence. Confidence in herself—confidence in her strength. She was no longer Tasha the Shoemaker, who was hesitant to kill a man. She was Stratioti Tasha—spartan amongst men.

  Luke Walker didn’t seem like a man. He seemed like a weapon, a blade forged through the harshest of flames and quenched by the blood of all who blocked his path.

  This was an Imperial?

  Those Mythical soldiers who reported to none but the Chosen of Madris.

  His steps carved a path, and she followed in its wake.

  “Sir, it’s time to report our location.”

  Another Stratioti spoke up, a large rectangular backpack strapped to their back.

  “Do not stop moving.”

  “Sir, it’s protocol.”

  “If you fall behind, you will die.”

  Luke didn’t stop; he moved even faster. A light glow activated on his feet, and he was already a hundred meters away by the time any other Stratioti reacted. Imperial Koa urged them forward, but made no moves to correct her counterpart.

  Tasha frowned but picked up the pace, activating the enchantment on her equipment. Its imbued skill would draw mana from her suit’s power source, and if necessary, Tasha could supply it with her own.

  They moved. Slowly catching up to Luke over the distance of a kilometer—no, not catching up, he slowed for them.

  Bastard, at least you have something of a responsible conscience, Tasha complained. She was starting to not like the man, but for this assignment, she didn’t have a choice in its leadership.

  The air shifted—no longer giving Tasha time for errant thoughts or complaints.

  It wasn’t sudden, but gradual, as if the desert itself had decided to stop pretending. The temperature rapidly dropped as the wind thickened. Visibility dropped in uneven waves, the horizon blurring and sharpening in cycles that made distance impossible to judge.

  Luke slowed again.

  He swept his head forward, looking left and right as he climbed this impossibly tall dune. Tasha glanced up; her last measurement of location put them twenty, nearly thirty kilometers off course, but the sand blocked her vision.

  Sand?

  A dense wave of sand covered the sky as if the ground extended upwards, challenging the authority of clouds. Tasha paused, breathless at the beautiful and horrifying sight. The sand snuffed out the sky, blocking the sun’s radiance and casting the Red Dunes into a deep darkness.

  Tasha refocused, looking back toward the last direction she’d seen Luke. He’d vanished, and a small panic built in her chest.

  Abandoned?

  Did the Imperial abandon them here as the storm approached? Tasha had never seen the power of a God before, but the approaching weather felt like the anger of the Goddess was upon them. In moments, it would smash down, covering them in a red haze. Already, its forerunners reached them, small red grains battering against her armor.

  Had they been on course, a small, hidden oasis would have held the perfect protection, yet they’d followed the lead of an Imperial and would be buried underneath a storm that swallowed the sky.

  Tasha was unwilling.

  “Stratioti.”

  The voice snapped Tasha from her thoughts and she let out a breath. She moved swiftly, following the beckoning Imperial as he led them forward.

  Their steps only halted as a large, cavernous maw opened before them, jagged stone teeth threatened to swallow them whole. Its entranced uncovered by the shifting sands.

  A notification appeared in all their visions.

  Luke Walker didn’t halt as his steps advanced.

  Tasha, formerly known as the Shoemaker, followed.