Marcus

As Marcus strode through the bustling marketplace of Lumera, his thoughts drifted to the levels and ranks that defined every resident of the Lost Gamers Island. The island's harsh reality meant that only the strongest survived and thrived, and the difference between levels wasn't just a number—it was a testament to one's power, experience, and place in the pecking order.

He passed by a row of stables, where various flying mounts were tethered, each one a potential tool in his search for the promising Acolyte who had wielded the Hellflame skill. Marcus knew the importance of acting quickly; every moment wasted was an opportunity for another temple to snatch up a valuable recruit.

He considered the levels as he examined the mounts. On this island, anyone below Level 100 was still an Acolyte, no matter how skilled or cunning they might be. The vast majority of residents never broke through this barrier. For some, it took a lifetime. Others, more determined or perhaps luckier, managed it in 5-10 years. And then there were the rare geniuses—those who reached Level 100 within a single year, propelled by an endless series of battles and the hunger for more power.

But reaching Level 100 was only the beginning. The next threshold, Level 200, marked the entrance to the ranks of the Masters. Only 20% of the island's residents ever made it this far, most of them aligning with one of the island's powerful temples. The temples offered resources, training, and most importantly, protection—a necessity on an island where the weak were preyed upon mercilessly. Some Masters operated outside the temples, but they were few and far between, often hunted by those who wished to absorb their power or eliminate them as threats.

Marcus had long since surpassed those thresholds. At Level 348, he was a Grandmaster, one of the elite who stood at the pinnacle of the island's power structure. Less than 5% of all residents ever reached this level, and those who did were forces to be reckoned with. They wielded immense power, commanded respect and fear, and were often the deciding factor in the temple's internal and external conflicts. But even among Grandmasters, there were sub-ranks, distinctions that separated the truly terrifying from the merely formidable.

He stopped in front of two mounts that had caught his eye. The first was a sleek black wyvern, its scales glistening like obsidian in the sunlight. It was fast, agile, and loyal—an ideal choice for many riders. But his gaze lingered on the second option: a large, red-scaled lizard that bore a striking resemblance to a wyvern, but was something much more dangerous. This creature could spit fire and, more intriguingly, could use its fiery breath to accelerate, allowing it to outpace almost any other mount for short bursts.

The red lizard was a temperamental beast, known for showing disrespect to riders who couldn't assert their dominance. It required a strong hand, a rider who commanded respect and fear. For Marcus, a Grandmaster, taming such a creature was hardly a challenge.

Marcus was no ordinary rider. As a Grandmaster, he commanded respect, not only from the people around him but from the creatures of the island as well. He approached the red-scaled lizard, its fiery eyes narrowing as it sensed his presence. For a moment, the beast seemed to consider challenging him, but as Marcus held its gaze, the creature eventually bowed its head in submission.

"This one will do," Marcus said, a small smirk playing on his lips. The lizard may have been difficult for others to handle, but for him, it would be no problem at all. Besides, its fire-based abilities resonated with the very essence of the Red Temple—a perfect match for the task at hand.

As he mounted the lizard and prepared to take off, his thoughts returned to David's group. If these Acolytes truly had the potential to reach the level of Master—or perhaps even Grandmaster—then they were worth any effort to recruit. Time was of the essence. The other temples would be scouting for talent as well, and if they were to secure the best and brightest, they needed to act quickly. The Red Temple's standing depended on it, and Marcus would not let his temple down.

As Marcus selected his mount, a large, red-scaled lizard that resembled a Wyvern, his thoughts drifted to the upcoming tournament. Betting on candidates had become more than just a pastime for him; it was a crucial part of his strategy. Over the last century, Marcus had learned that the rewards of winning bets could fund his experiments, buy rare relics, and even secure powerful skills. The tournament was not just about showcasing power—it was an opportunity to increase his wealth and influence.

The island's ranking system was clear in his mind. He knew that reaching the rank of Grandmaster, as he had, was a feat only 5% of the island's residents could achieve. To maintain his status and continue growing stronger, he needed resources, and that required betting wisely. The Acolytes, those under level 100, were mostly cannon fodder. But every once in a while, a diamond in the rough appeared—someone with the potential to reach the coveted Grandmaster rank.

That's why these new candidates were so important. If he could find one with real potential, the returns could be enormous. The thrill of the gamble was exhilarating, but Marcus was also calculating. He needed to secure a win, and the best way to do that was to find a candidate who could rise through the ranks quickly. With the right support, one of these newbies could bring him a fortune in the tournament.

As the lizard snorted flames and took to the skies, Marcus smirked. He had a good feeling about this year. If these newbies turned out to be as promising as he hoped, he could turn a significant profit—and that would mean more power, more influence, and perhaps even a chance to break into the next level.