Atlas raised his right hand to shield his eyes as the storm winds lashed violently across the open ground around them. They had just left the cover of the forest, stepping into a wide clearing. Only to find the winds here made moving forward a brutal challenge.
He glanced ahead at the rest of his party: the other three were managing far better than he was. No surprise there. Hell, he was the one with the lowest level among them.
"Atlas, if you keep dragging your feet, we're leaving you behind!" one of them called over his shoulder with a laugh. Probably meant to be playful, but to Atlas, it grated like nails on stone.
His role on this expedition was support. Not in the sense of healing or casting barriers, more like scouting ahead, gathering resources from fallen monsters. And as of late, they'd added looting duty to his tasks too. Which was why he now carried a ridiculously heavy pack strapped to his back.
It slowed him down, dragging at his every step, while the others, already several paces ahead, seemed completely at ease. The fierce wind only made it worse, pushing against him with every stride.
They had just escaped a monster's pursuit back in the forest. What had started as a six-person hunting expedition was now whittled down to four, Atlas included.
And then, after what felt like an eternity, they came to a halt at the edge of a cliff. A wooden bridge stretched before them, linking the two towering cliff sides. It swayed violently in the storm winds that had only grown more vicious.
"We're almost at the small settlement on the other side. Finally," said the massive guy with the hammer slung over his back, grinning like this whole thing had been a joyride. "We could use a break. And hey, not bad for today's hunt, right?"
"Yeah, though with a storm like this, and only the three of us left in the party... I don't think we'll be pressing on any further," added another, raising his voice over the howling tempest.
None of them even glanced back at Atlas. Not even once.
Damn it. Fuck you all. Then again... it's not like he could complain.
[Name: Atlas Blackthorn]
[Level: 36]
[Strength: 150 | Agility: 54 | Intelligence: 39 | Constitution: 58 | Stamina: 65]
[Class: Warrior]
[Iron Will (B) - Tactical Awareness (C) - Instinctual Command (C) - Measured Strikes (F) - Unbreakable Routine (S) - Reliable Aura (A)]
Level 36. That's all he was. The rest had already crossed into the 40s, and some well beyond. And even in terms of battle talent, he only had one, Measured Strikes. And it was rated F.
The only thing on that status window that looked even remotely impressive was Reliable Aura, smugly sitting at an A rating. But really? That didn't mean anyone actually relied on him.
Then there was Unbreakable Routine, marked with an S. That one helped, a little. It made grinding levels more efficient, thanks to his ridiculous obsession with repetitive tasks most people would find mind-numbingly boring.
Every time he opened that damn status screen, it only reminded him how far behind he was. And he was so sick of looking at it.
A few of the others squinted up at the sky, shielding their eyes before one of them pointed upward.
Atlas followed their gaze, and there they were. Two massive floating islands, drifting close together, suspended high above the clouds.
"Damn," someone muttered. "Looks like two Lords are at war. That's probably what stirred up this sudden storm down here."
"Shit, look at the size of them. If we can still see them clearly from this distance, they've got to be the size of a city."
"Oh, if only I were a Lord…" another grumbled. "I wouldn't have to be stuck down here, wasting my time on these dumb hunting runs. Goddamn it."
Those floating islands...
People say they started appearing a thousand years ago. And ever since, each one seems to choose its own Lord, a ruler destined to command from above. It's like... they have their own separate worlds up there.
They recruit soldiers from below, or who knows where, gather resources, and build entire kingdoms atop those airborne lands.
They even go to war with one another. Sometimes, so fiercely, that bodies fall from the sky, raining down without warning.
But seriously... Those Lords were monsters in battle. Unmatched.
They grow their islands, raise armies, and wage endless war for dominance. A constant, merciless struggle for power that never stops.
Sure, everyone knew life up there was a never-ending battlefield. Yet still, many awakeners from the Lower Lands, as they called this world beneath the floating realms, chose to devote themselves to those Lords.
And yeah, under a Lord's command, power came easier. Those Lords had access to rare resources. Even things like experience scrolls that could boost one's level in an instant. Some even promised wealth beyond imagining.
But... could someone with an F-rank talent even dream of being chosen… as a Lord's subordinate?
He was already struggling. At twenty-two, he was still stuck at level 36, and with only one combat talent, and a pathetic one at that. Most others his age were already soaring past level 50.
Maybe... just surviving down here in the Lower Lands was good enough. Right? Even if that meant clinging to life one monster hunt at a time.
"Let's go, time to move," said one of them, a blond-haired archer with a cool smile.
The man approached Atlas, stepping closer through the wind.
"Come on, Atlas. Let me carry your load. There's no way you're crossing that bridge with all that weight. You know you're too weak," he said, tugging the massive pack from Atlas's back.
He slung it over his own shoulders with practiced ease, then turned and made his way toward the swaying wooden bridge. The others followed right behind him.
The storm was vicious now, making the bridge rock violently as all three stepped onto it.
Atlas hesitated at the edge of the bridge. "Guys, are you sure we should all cross at the same time?"
They glanced back.
"You can stay behind if you're scared."
No, damn it. But the wooden bridge felt like it could collapse at any second. Still, his teammates were already halfway across, moving steadily. Atlas clenched his jaw and forced himself to step forward.
Each step was a struggle. The storm raged harder now, every gust threatening to hurl him off the swaying planks. Ahead, the others were nearing the far side of the cliff, their figures barely visible in the thrashing wind.
He quickened his pace, the violent rocking of the bridge making it feel like it might give way beneath his feet at any moment.
Midway across now. Almost there. He ran, pushing himself harder, ignoring the howling wind and the pounding in his chest.
The others reached the end. They stepped onto solid ground. And they turned to look back at him.
Atlas pushed forward, breath ragged, eyes fixed on them. Then he saw it… A smile. A cold, knowing smile spread across their faces.
What? Why were they smiling like that?
"Well," one of them said, voice nearly lost in the storm, "this loot isn't worth splitting four ways."
Fuck! No way. Don't you dare!
Atlas surged forward, desperate to reach them. But in that instant, the man with the massive hammer stepped forward... and swung.
Steel bit through rope and wood with brutal ease.
The last thing Atlas saw before the planks beneath his feet gave out, was that same cold, thin smile on their faces.
"You bastards! Idiots! How dare you betray me!"
No way he's dying like this! Not now!
He didn't claw his way to level 36, with a pathetic battle talent, no less, just to be tossed away like garbage!
Atlas screamed in fury as he plummeted, wind roaring past his ears, the ground rushing up to meet him, ready to crush his bones to dust.
But then, suddenly, a glowing screen blinked into existence before his eyes.
[You have been chosen as the new Lord of the Intergalactic Lord Project.]
What?!
Awakened... as a New Lord?!
Damn it. Are you fucking kidding me?!
[You have received your own floating land.]
[Build your kingdom, assemble the strongest army, become the most powerful ruler, and prove that you can compete against all the Lords. Those who rule now, and those yet to rise.]
Just as his body was about to crash into the ravine floor, everything snapped to black. A sudden force yanked him sideways, hurling him through a vortex of raw energy. The world dissolved into swirling darkness, until a searing light consumed everything.
With a jarring impact, he hit solid ground.
Hard.
But he wasn't dead.
Somehow, the fall hadn't killed him. In fact, it hadn't even felt like a real fall at all.
Groaning, Atlas pushed himself up, his head spinning and lungs burning. His body ached, and the sting of betrayal roared louder than the pain itself.
He glanced around. A wasteland. Dry, cracked earth stretched in all directions like a desert frozen in time. He could still see the sky, the clouds drifting above him. He coughed sharply. The air was thin, biting, and difficult to breathe. Especially after screaming himself hoarse on the way down.
He summoned the notification in his mind. The message that had appeared in that strange void.
He'd actually been chosen.
Chosen as a new Lord!
And this wasteland, this desolate stretch of land, was his floating island?
This. This barren place. Was his. His fucking island?!
He got to his feet, scanning the terrain, his boots scattering dust as he paced the cracked ground. It wasn't large. Maybe the size of a football field, at best.
But still.
Still.
This was his island.
He was a Lord now.
[The safety barrier has been activated.]
[Your island will be safe from attacks for 14 days.]
[Prepare while you still have time.]
Atlas's heart thundered.
Fourteen days. Two weeks to prepare.
Then the bloodshed would begin.
The Lords' war wasn't a story or some ancient myth. It was brutally real. Every single one of them fought to expand, to dominate, to survive. No laws. No rules. Only power.
Lose, and you'd be stripped of everything, your land, your freedom, your life.
The battle had raged for a thousand years, growing fiercer with every generation. But still, new Lords emerged. Some rose to greatness. Others vanished in obscurity.
There was always a chance to rise.
Atlas stood tall, black hair whipping in the wind, dust stinging his eyes. He stood over the parched earth of his floating island. It was dry. Empty. Lifeless.
He squinted at the horizon and muttered under his breath, "What the hell am I supposed to do with an island this dry?"
But then, more notifications flickered to life in front of him.
[You have obtained one innate system.]
[Determining the rank…]
Atlas leaned forward slightly, tension tightening in his chest.
Alright... let's see. What kind of ability are they giving me?
The next message hit like a lightning bolt.
[You have received an SSS-rank system: Ultimate Gacha.]
SSS-rank?
Ultimate Gacha?!
***
(Author's Note:)
Hi to all readers, especially those familiar with the original version of this story. Yes, the author has decided to rewrite it, refining the pacing and enhancing the overall reading experience.
There won't be major changes to the plot, but this version is a more polished take on the original. You're welcome to follow the story again from the start, or wait until the timeline catches up with the previous version.
Either way, I hope you enjoy it. Your support means the world and helps keep this story going strong.
Thank you!