January 15th, Solar Year 999.

Weather: Overcast, light rain.

The sky was a blanket of dull gray, with thin strands of icy rain occasionally brushing against one's cheeks—dreamlike, almost surreal, yet steeped in a quiet sorrow. Maria stood still in her black dress outside the Radiant Church's grand hall, gazing up at the gloomy sky, breathing in the chill air, lost in her thoughts.

The weather was not exactly fitting.

Today was the celebration honoring those who had distinguished themselves during the Root of Man incident. After the morning prayers, the frail Archbishop had made his appearance, shuffling out with great effort. Every time Maria saw Archbishop Mark's shaky form, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of blasphemous amusement.

She mused quietly:

You're clearly tougher than most healthy men, yet insist on playing the part of a fragile elder. What's the plan here? Wait for some unlucky assassin to get close, then crack his skull with a sneak attack from your staff while he's still gaping in disbelief?

"Sister Maria."

A dry voice prompted Maria to glance sideways. She offered a flawless profile as she turned. Phylin, looking utterly drained, walked unsteadily toward her. He was now dressed in the formal garb of a Follower, having just been honored inside the main chamber.

"Phylin. Congratulations."

"Thank you."

He hadn't taken any class advancement potion—just broke into the supernatural ranks with sheer willpower and raw potential. People like Phylin, with levelheaded judgment, relentless drive, and hands-on combat experience, had nearly limitless potential. Maria had always had high expectations for him.

And if she believed in someone's potential, she never hesitated to invest.

While she haggled with the sly Archbishop and those self-important nobles, she'd also quietly put in a good word for the aloof tough guy in front of her. Thanks to that, Phylin's reward for the Root of Man incident ended up far better than what others received.

But in Maria's eyes, the real reward was his advancement to Iron Rank.

He didn't receive rare potion ingredients or skill books. His reward was a set of high-quality Follower-grade gear—equipment, accessories, and weapons all blessed by clergy of bishop rank, imbued with the pure divine power of the sun god. On top of that, Phylin earned the right to switch classes in the future, if he could meet the requirements himself.

In Fractured, the class system was actually quite flexible.

Once someone reached Iron Rank, they could qualify for additional classes if their attributes and resources matched. As long as the classes weren't inherently incompatible, players could stack as many as they could handle. Of course, spreading oneself too thin had its consequences—overextending often led to tragic ends.

In Maria's past life, the most absurd player she'd seen was a pioneer from the New World colonies. That lunatic had mastered 26 classes and still managed to reach Silver Rank. He was briefly considered a living legend. But that was as far as he went. The weight of so many class demands crushed his growth.

In the brutal future that lay ahead...

Even a Silver-ranked individual could barely make a ripple. Without true power and presence, trying to play the hero meant nothing. History wouldn't even notice you.

"You should be up soon, right?"

The ceremony continued, but Maria had stepped outside under the pretense of catching some air. Her mood had been heavy lately. Not being an official member of the sun-god's clergy gave her some leeway—no one would dare criticize her for skipping protocol. Besides, she'd spent so long building goodwill with everyone that she was practically untouchable.

"I know." The damp stones underfoot shimmered faintly as the raindrops struck, forming a strangely poetic scene.

Maria slipped her hands into her voluminous sleeves. Her elegant figure pivoted lightly, like a flower turning in bloom—then she was gone.

Phylin blinked.

Gone.

In the instant it took to clear his vision, the black-clad nun had already vanished.

Her speed was unreal.

She'd always leaned toward an agility build. But since her other attributes were so balanced—and because she preferred overwhelming enemies with superior force—her speed had often gone unnoticed.

Phylin silently stared in the direction she'd disappeared.

By his estimate, the burst of movement he'd just witnessed meant she could easily unleash over twenty slashes within a single second when entering her Slaughter Dance stance. Even without raw strength, that kind of blade storm would tear an enemy to shreds.

Terrifying...

The stronger someone was, the more others longed to chase after them.

Phylin didn't let his awe show on his face. Just as he was about to turn and leave, a ruckus near the bottom of the cathedral's stairs caught his attention.

A young man, dressed in somewhat luxurious clothing, was frantically trying to rush into the upper levels of the Radiant Church—only to be stopped by several Temple Knights.

Today was supposed to be a day of celebration. What was this noble getting all worked up about?

"Let me through! I need to find someone!"

Face flushed red with anxiety, the youth tried to barrel past the guards. The burly Temple Knights, unimpressed, raised their meaty fists like hammers. They looked just about ready to give the poor guy a "warm" greeting.

"I'm looking for the nun—Miss Maria! Don't hit me! Don't hit—!"

His protests were soon drowned out by the sound of fists meeting flesh. But fate was kind to him that day.

When Phylin heard the name "Maria," a subtle shift in tone caught his attention. He walked over.

Fishing the bruised and battered boy out of the hands of the friendly-but-rough Temple Knights, Phylin couldn't help muttering to himself: Does Sister Maria really know such a low-value NPC? Or... is this her secret?

"Who are you?"

"Li… Liwei..." The freckled boy stammered, clearly regretting his decision now that his adrenaline was wearing off and reality had set in.

"What do you want with Sister Maria?" Phylin cut straight to the point.

"A letter! A very important letter—I have to give it to Miss Maria personally!" Liwei—son of the mayor of Seth Town—was here under very strange circumstances. Oddly, he referred to Maria as "Miss," not "Sister."

That made Phylin pause.

The quest prompt from the system also referred to Maria as "Miss," not "Sister." That meant this NPC probably really knew her from a time before her nun identity. And if he'd risked so much to come here, the contents of that letter had to be important.

"Give it to me. I'll pass it on."

"No! I have to give it to her myself!" Liwei shook his head fiercely. The letter had been entrusted to him by Pastor Lynn, with strict instructions to deliver it overnight to Torrent City—and to hand it to Maria directly, no one else.

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