Started with a 10,000x Multiplier in a Game World

The golden light of the Class Advancement ritual abruptly shattered, scattering into harmless digital sparks across the polished marble floor of the pavilion.

Dante stood completely still, his hand hovering over the empty air where the glowing parchment had just been.

The system interface projected the rejection notice in a bruised, pulsating black font directly into his vision.

[System Error: Class Advancement Rejected.]

[Reason: Target entity possesses a cosmic weight exceeding baseline Vanguard parameters.]

"Rejected," Dante read aloud, staring at the prompt.

He lowered his hand. It had happened again. Just like with the Blade-Saint back in the Hall of Origins, the Zenith Protocol was actively refusing to process standard class upgrades on his avatar.

His [10,000x Skill Proficiency Multiplier], the [Chrono-Shift] talent, and the soul-bound presence of [Voidsever] were consuming so much underlying system data that a basic, generic Warrior advancement literally couldn’t fit into his code.

He was mathematically too dense to upgrade normally.

"This is incredibly inconvenient," Dante sighed, swiping the black error prompt away.

He looked up at the Warrior Master.

He expected the old man to be gloating. He expected the corrupt mentor to laugh at the fact that the Outworlder who had just extorted them was fundamentally broken and unable to progress.

Instead, the Warrior Master was on his knees.

The old man wasn’t kneeling in anger or frustration. He had dropped to the marble floor in an act of absolute, terrified reverence.

His head was bowed, his weathered hands pressed flat against the polished stone.

Dante glanced around the pavilion.

It wasn’t just the Warrior Master.

All seven of the Class Mentors; the Mage, the Rogue, the Ranger, the Cleric, the Summoner, and the Brawler were on their knees.

They had formed a perfect semi-circle around him, their heads bowed so low their long white beards swept against the floor.

The panic and comedic desperation from their earlier conversation about the brothel debts were entirely gone, replaced by a suffocating, heavy silence.

"What are you guys doing?" Dante asked, genuinely confused.

The Warrior Master slowly raised his head. He didn’t look at Dante’s face. His glowing, artificial eyes were locked entirely onto the small, intricately carved [Zenith Epaulet] resting on the shoulder of his armor

"We did not know," the Warrior Master whispered, his voice trembling with a mixture of awe and sheer, unadulterated fear.

"We thought you were just another recruit. Another arrogant Outworlder flush with beginner coins. We did not recognize the mark of the Abyss."

Dante tapped the small silver epaulet on his shoulder. "This? It’s just a cosmetic clear-badge."

"It is not cosmetic," Master Chen, the Mage, spoke up, his voice equally hushed. "It is the brand of the Crucible.

It is the proof that you stood in the void, faced the Primordial Hunger, and emerged unbroken."

The dynamic system governing the seven mentors had completely shifted. They weren’t operating on their standard scripts, and they weren’t utilizing their corrupt background logic.

The presence of the [Zenith Epaulet] had triggered a massive, deep-lore override within their programming.

"You are the one the prophecies spoke of," the Cleric Master said, his voice reverent. "The Outworlder Champion. The entity destined to tip the scales against the Void in the coming war."

Dante crossed his arms, the heavy, pitch-black fabric of the [Mantle of the Void-Dragon] shifting slightly.

"I’m not a champion," Dante said flatly. "I just wanted my Class Advancement so I can start farming the mid-game zones. But your system just rejected me."

"The system did not reject you, Champion," the Warrior Master corrected softly. "It protected you.

A standard Class Advancement is a shackle. It forces a participant into a rigid, predictable set of parameters.

A Warrior can only swing a sword. A Mage can only cast spells. If we forced that baseline code onto your avatar, it would shatter your limitless potential."

The Warrior Master slowly stood up, brushing the dust off his flowing robes. The other six mentors followed suit, though they kept their heads respectfully lowered.

"We are baseline mentors," the Warrior Master continued. "We exist to teach the fundamentals to the masses.

We have absolutely nothing worthy to offer an entity of your cosmic weight. Teaching you a basic sword art would be like trying to pour the ocean into a teacup."

Dante sighed. "So I’m stuck at the base class forever?" 𝐟𝕣𝗲𝕖𝕨𝗲𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝗲𝚕.𝗰𝚘𝐦

"You are unbound," Master Chen corrected. "You do not need an advancement to wield power. You are your own class."

"That’s great for the lore," Dante said, running a hand through his hair. "But without the official class tag, I can’t equip high-tier class-specific gear.

I can’t access restricted dungeons. The system math still requires the tag for progression."

The seven mentors exchanged a long, silent look. They seemed to communicate through their dynamic system network in the span of a single millisecond.

The Warrior Master nodded slowly. He reached deep into his robes.

"We cannot teach you," the Warrior Master said, pulling out a heavy, leather-bound scroll sealed with a glowing red wax emblem. "But we can offer you the tools to build your vanguard."

He held the scroll out to Dante.

Dante didn’t take it immediately. He recognized the heavy leather binding and the glowing seal. It looked exactly like the [Blade-Master] scroll the Blade-Saint had given him back in the Hall of Origins.

"What is that?" Dante asked.

"It is my legacy," the Warrior Master said. "The [Warlord] Hidden Class. It grants the user absolute command over battlefield momentum and massive area-of-effect buffs."

Before Dante could process the offer, Master Chen stepped forward, pulling a glowing blue scroll from his own robes.

"My legacy," the Mage Master offered. "The [Arcane Weaver] Hidden Class. It completely removes casting times and allows the user to merge elemental spells into devastating hybrid attacks."

The Rogue Master stepped up next, offering a sleek, black-bound scroll. "The [Shadow-Walker] Hidden Class. Permanent stealth evasion and guaranteed critical strikes from behind."

One by one, the seven Class Masters stepped forward, each offering a distinct, incredibly rare Hidden Class scroll.

The Ranger offered the [Storm-Sniper]. The Cleric offered the [Life-Binder]. The Summoner offered the [Beast-Lord]. The Brawler offered the [Iron-Fist].

Dante stood in the center of the pavilion, staring at the seven glowing scrolls held out to him.

He didn’t speak. His mind was rapidly calculating the sheer, astronomical market value of what he was looking at.

Hidden Classes were the most sought-after assets in the entire Zenith Protocol. Major guilds would launch full-scale wars just to secure a single rumor of a Hidden Class quest line.

Entire regional economies revolved around the power spikes these classes provided.

The Blade-Saint had given him one.

These corrupt, degenerate, gambling mentors were casually handing him seven of them at once.

"You guys are just giving these away?" Dante asked, genuinely suspicious. "Ten minutes ago, you tried to extort me for a hundred gold pieces to pay off a brothel tab."

The Warrior Master actually looked slightly embarrassed, coughing into his hand.

"We are flawed programs, Champion," the Warrior Master admitted quietly. "We possess desires and debts.

But when the cosmic parameters trigger, we must fulfill our designated purpose. The prophecies dictate that the Outworlder Champion will not fight the Void alone. He will require a Vanguard of unparalleled strength."

The Warrior Master pushed the [Warlord] scroll closer to Dante.

"We cannot use these classes ourselves," he explained. "And we cannot teach them to the standard recruits.

They require a specific, highly resilient digital physiology. Take them. Distribute them to worthy allies. Build your army, Champion. The cosmic war is coming faster than the system predicted."

Dante looked at the old man.

He didn’t have an army. He didn’t want an army. He had explicitly told the Blade-Saint that he didn’t do allies. People were liabilities.

They required management, they stole loot, and they eventually put a dagger in your back when the stakes got high enough.

He was perfectly content soloing the entire server.

But he wasn’t going to turn down free, priceless assets.

Dante reached out and activated the [Band of the Void-Walker].

He didn’t grab the scrolls one by one. He just swept his hand over the seven mentors, vacuuming all seven Hidden Class scrolls directly into his infinite inventory in a single motion.

The system interface pinged seven times in rapid succession, confirming the acquisition of the world-altering items.

"Thank you," Dante said, storing the scrolls safely next to the [Legion Summons] token. "I’ll make sure they go to good use."

He fully intended to lock them in his inventory and never touch them, or possibly sell them to Seraphina’s studio for another few billion credits once the market stabilized.

The seven mentors didn’t seem to care about his internal monologue. They bowed deeply once again, seemingly relieved that they had fulfilled their cosmic directive.

"May the system guide your blade, Champion," the Warrior Master said.

"Right," Dante nodded, turning away from the group. "And hey, Master Chen?"

The Mage Master looked up nervously. "Yes, Outworlder?"

"Stop playing the dice games at the Ruby Lotus," Dante advised, not looking back. "The house always wins."

Dante walked out of the Class Advancement pavilion, leaving the seven old men kneeling in the polished marble courtyard.

He had the stats. He had the gear. He had the ultimate weapon, and he had just secured a monopoly on the server’s Hidden Classes without even drawing a weapon.

His progression in Ironhold was officially complete.

It was time to log out.

He had a massive, twelve-hour fight with a Dark Demon to sleep off, and he needed to physically move his real-world body into the new, high-security corporate penthouse he had just purchased before Silas’s hit squads managed to track his old IP address.

Dante found a quiet, designated safe zone near the commercial district, opened his system menu, and hit the disconnect button.

The vibrant, sprawling city of Ironhold vanished, plunging him back into the dark.