I Own EVERY Class in This World: Life Set to HELL Mode!

Follower stalked the empty, decaying streets of Termina, his vision fixated on the arrow floating above him, its gleaming edge supposed to guide him toward Stark's aura.

He had trailed it without question, but then, without warning, it simply vanished.

"Lord?" he muttered, confusion twisting his face. "What happened?!"

The familiar, chilling voice of his patron spoke into his mind:

[The connection has been cut. Either Chosen has died, or he used an item that teleported him somewhere.]

Follower clenched his fist, frustration bubbling under his calm exterior. "Then bring it back! I don't care how. Just bring the arrow back!"

[Impossible. His aura is the key. Unless he uses it again, I won't be able to locate him.]

The voice grew colder, almost amused.

[It's rare to find an aura so filled with raw hatred. It's one of the strongest I've ever sensed.]

Follower suppressed a snarl.

Stark's aura was supposed to lead him, yet now it slipped through his grasp, leaving him in silence.

For now, he'd have to bide his time, he could maybe try to complete his own tasks, or get rid of the other participants/commanders.

The weight of loneliness settled in—he despised the company of people as much as he did monsters.

Only Godless, the true power in this planet, earned his admiration.

Everyone else was nothing more than a distraction, and Follower's pulse quickened with the prospect of being rid of them.

Follower trudged forward, sweeping through a horde of minor creatures, tearing them apart with single-handed strikes, his movements bored yet lethal.

Another beast—a twisted, hulking wolf—lunged at him from the shadows, but he dodged with barely a shift of his foot, his eyes glazed with boredom.

[You should be careful of Chosen,] Godless warned, the voice prickling in his mind.

A message suddenly appeared in front of Follower.

"Hm?" Follower barely reacted, brushing off the warning.

It wasn't the Godless Demon himself speaking, but the curse that he had infused into him using his aura.

"Why should I be careful of him, he is far weaker than we are," Follower shrugged, nonchalant about it.

Then, out of nowhere, a message materialized in front of him, the voice deeper now, almost hesitant:

[Chosen... He's not what he seems.]

Follower raised an eyebrow, ready to question it further, but was interrupted by a thunderous roar.

Startled, he glanced toward the direction of the sound, the ground rumbling beneath his feet as it grew louder.

[Never mind.]

The voice cut off abruptly, vanishing as Follower's curiosity peaked.

"'Be careful'?" he echoed, still half-distracted by the warning, "of Chosen?"

He followed the direction of the noise, moving swiftly between alleyways until he caught sight of the source: a massive, monstrous beast roughly the size of a car, its claws digging deep into the ground as it fought a lone figure.

His eyes narrowed as he recognized both the beast and its opponent.

[Basement Demon], the creature's name blazed above it in crimson letters.

This was the same creature that had recently escaped from the mayor's mansion.

Across from it, a lean, elderly man stood in place, facing the monster.

Follower didn't know him well enough, but there was no doubt this was Clever, the old, unassuming participant who, despite his frail appearance, radiated an aura of cold calculation.

Clever's silhouette was backlit by a golden glow, which took the form of a towering, serene statue of a woman, her arms folded in rest.

It had at least a hundred arms, each golden hand gracefully poised as if waiting to be called into action, her main arms grouped in a prayer, and her eyes closed.

The statue was at least three times the size of a skyscraper, by the way.

Follower watched, transfixed.

With a single motion from Clever, the statue's hands came to life, following his every command.

The old man didn't even need to do anything other than clasp his hands together in some sort of prayer, mimicking the statue's pose to command it, the dozens of hands slamming down and blocking every attack.

Each hit from the golden hands sent shockwaves echoing through the streets, creating deep fissures in the ground.

[This guy is dangerous.]

"Obviously," Follower replied under his breath, watching as Clever effortlessly controlled his golden guardian.

Follower knew instantly—if he tried to face this man, he'd be overpowered.

[This guy is... don't fight him.]

[No matter what.]

"Fighting him is not worth it anyway," Follower shook his head, "I'll watch."

The [Basement Demon], which had been named as one of the strongest beasts of this trial, a level 600 monster that could cause havoc in the real world, even going as far as destroying whole cities, was currently being fought by Clever alone.

And yet, that old man didn't seem scared.

In fact, his eyes weren't opened either.

He didn't move at all as all the arms and hands of his giant golden status did the work.

The monster clawed and screeched, but each of its attacks was met by the golden statue's massive hands, crushing its defenses.

SLAM! SLAM! SLAM!

The relentless barrage echoed across the city, each strike widening the cracks in the ground.

The Basement Demon stumbled, its body bruised and bleeding, its monstrous strength crumbling under the assault.

"Guess I'll need to adjust my rankings," Follower muttered, watching in awe as Clever's powers unfolded before him.

In his mind, he made a note:

Follower could barely believe Clever's strength.

Though they were in a level 100 trial, Clever was operating on a completely different plane.

[Clever - Level 156]

This old man could take on level 700 monsters if he wanted, maybe a bit more thanks to his abilities.

Because right now, Clever was quite literally only using his basic skills.

[Hand Slam], [Golden Chop], and [Hand Synchro] were the skills he was using among the 25 he currently had.

It made no sense for this old man to even be here.

In fact...

[That old man has an Immortal-Level skill.]

Clever had a skill from the highest category.

A skill so powerful it could possibly rival Stark's [Heaven's Spears].

[Follower's Power Ranking:]

[1. Clever]

[2. Follower]

[3. CEO]

[4. Artist]

[5. Shock]

[6. ??? (Girl that didn't tell her name)]

[7. Chosen.]

[8. Sora.]

This was the power ranking he made, and he gradually changed it as he saw the others unleash more abilities.

Chosen was last because he was one of the weakest, the only problem was the [Angel of the Spear] that was protecting him.

He would need to find a way to get through that.

Meanwhile, with a final, devastating blow, Clever's golden statue slammed one of its hands down, slicing the Basement Demon cleanly in half.

The creature let out one last, anguished roar before collapsing, its body lifeless as the remains sizzled in the dirt.

[Global Announcement: "Basement Demon" has been killed by "Clever!"]

Follower took a breath, glancing around to see if other participants had been drawn by the noise.

But the streets remained silent.

The other players had work of their own and, for now, stayed distant.

Clever, however, didn't seem fazed by the announcement.

He finally exhaled, dispelling his aura, causing the golden statue to dissipate as he cracked his neck with a faint sigh. "This trial's too easy."

Follower narrowed his eyes, his curiosity piqued as Clever muttered under his breath.

Clever could probably take care of the [Crimson Moons] that stopped them from leaving by himself, and with his basic attacks too.

The other participants were an eyesore, and none of them, except for Chosen, had actually interested him enough.

"This whole thing isn't even a challenge," Clever continued, a slight smile touching his lips. "I might just kill them all and be done with it."

The other participants were an eyesore, and none of them, except for Chosen, had actually interested him enough.

"Maybe I'll save Chosen for last," Clever mused to himself, his gaze turning towards the center of Termina, where the other participants roamed. "But first… a little rest."

A [Moonscorched Cure] had appeared in his hands, and he instantly used it, curing him from his conditions.

The only reason he had been infected in the first place was because he actually allowed the monster to hit him, just to see how it felt.

Clever's skill with his golden arms and statue meant he could summon them in less than a second, rendering any ambush futile.

He didn't even need his eyes open to sense an attack.

As he resumed his calm, leisurely walk through the ruined cityscape, Follower remained transfixed, every instinct urging him to stay out of Clever's path.

"This is insane," Follower's pupils were shaking in place.

He wanted to kill, he wanted to shed blood.

But it would be impossible to kill this guy, there was no chance anyone could do anything, even if all the monsters, commanders, and participants of this trial joined together.

In the end, your [Domination] powers are the result of luck.

Clever's power was named [100-Golden Arms Statue], and it must be among the top 10 strongest domination powers in the entire world.

Why the hell did he end up in this trial? It wasn't fair!

Maybe it was to give them all a chance to actually win by killing every enemy, then the moons?

Who knows...

"That guy is the most dangerous, I'll need to be more careful than I thought," Follower turned around, but not before eyeing the remains of the [Basement Demon], who wasn't even able to get close to Clever.

But suddenly... right as he thought of that...

[No.]

Follower stiffened, feeling Godless' consciousness grow colder and sharper.

[Clever isn't the most dangerous here.]

"What?"

It was the consciousness of the godless demon speaking, meaning that he could detect auras and powers.

He couldn't deny Clever was powerful.

But... power isn't everything.

"Who could possibly be more dangerous?"

[Chosen.]

[No one is as dangerous as Chosen. His hatred, his aura, his potential... they are unlike anything in this world.]

Follower's breath hitched, and he swallowed hard.

The command in the voice left no room for interpretation.

[Stop him while he is in his weakened state, no matter what.]

Follower clenched his fists, feeling a thrill surge through his veins.

"Yes, Master Godless." He turned, determination hardening his gaze.

Stark, weakened or not, would not escape his wrath.

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