Dante walked away from the arrival platform, his iron boots clicking against the smooth cobblestones of Ironhold.

He didn’t get far.

Just fifty yards down the main thoroughfare, a massive, ancient stone archway stood completely out of place among the city’s industrial steel architecture.

The archway glowed with a faint, pulsing celestial light. The system interface popped up in his peripheral vision.

[Location Discovered: Hall of Origins]

[Objective: Finalize Outworlder Registration to unlock open-world interactions.]

Dante sighed. He couldn’t go find an appraiser or hit the local market until he formally checked the last bureaucratic box of the Zenith Protocol’s phase.

He stepped through the glowing archway.

The interior of the hall wasn’t a standard building. It was a massive, circular pocket dimension filled with swirling galaxies and drifting nebulas.

Standing in the absolute center of the starry void, waiting for him, was a very familiar face.

It was the Blade-Saint.

The Guardian wasn’t projecting his standard Outpost Elder NPC disguise. He wore his tattered, ancient battle armor.

His celestial greatsword was strapped to his back, and his glowing white eyes tracked Dante as he approached.

"You actually came back," Dante said, stopping a few feet away. "I thought you were stuck in Outpost 404 managing the new spawns."

"My physical form remains bound to the sanctuary," the Blade-Saint replied, his voice carrying a heavy, resonant echo that vibrated through the starry room. "This is a astral projection.

Every Outworlder who survives the starting zones must pass through the Hall of Origins to finalize their biological parameters."

"Biological parameters," Dante repeated. "You mean racial selection."

"Correct," the Blade-Saint nodded. He waved his armored hand through the empty air.

A massive, multi-tiered holographic interface erupted in front of Dante. It didn’t look like the standard blue system menus.

It was colored in rich golds, deep reds, and vibrant greens, displaying five distinct, highly detailed avatars.

[Outworlder Registration: Racial Selection]

[Please select your permanent biological alignment. This choice cannot be reversed.]

Dante looked at the options. He knew how racial mechanics dictated the mid-game of the Zenith Protocol. Picking the right race could instantly skyrocket a player’s power level.

He tapped the first option. The hologram expanded, showing a towering, muscular figure covered in thick fur and heavy horns.

[Race: Beast]

[Base Stat Modifier: +300% Strength, +300% Maximum HP.]

[Innate Trait: Feral Regeneration. Recovers 5% HP per second in natural environments.]

"That is a ridiculous amount of raw stats," Dante muttered.

"The Beast faction relies on overwhelming physical dominance," the Blade-Saint explained calmly. "They are the vanguard of the cosmic war.

They do not rely on complex magic or strategy. They simply crush what is in front of them."

Dante swiped to the next option. A sleek, shadowed figure with jagged horns and burning red eyes appeared.

[Race: Demon]

[Base Stat Modifier: +400% Magical Attack, +200% Agility.]

[Innate Trait: Siphon Strike. 20% of all damage dealt is returned as health. Grants immunity to fire.]

"Lifesteal and magic scaling," Dante noted. "Perfect for assassins and dark casters."

He quickly checked the next two. The Fey offered a massive 500% boost to evasion and movement speed, rendering the player functionally untargetable in forested environments.

The Celestials offered innate, mana-free flight and a monolithic 500% boost to magical defense, alongside a suite of holy healing magic.

Every single option offered an immediate, game-breaking advantage. If a standard player walked into this room, they would instantly pick one of the four cosmic factions just to survive the brutal scaling of the open world.

Dante looked at the fifth and final option on the list.

It was just a standard, unarmored human.

[Race: Human]

[Base Stat Modifier: 0%]

[Innate Trait: None.]

Dante stared at the human stat block. It was entirely blank. No multipliers, no passive healing, no flight. Just a baseline zero.

"Why is this even an option?" Dante asked, crossing his arms. "If the other four races give you godhood right out of the gate, picking Human is just nerfing your own account."

"It appears that way to the shortsighted," the Blade-Saint said, taking a slow step forward. "The Zenith Protocol tempts you with immediate power.

It offers you massive multipliers to ensure your survival in the short term. But the system demands a cost."

Dante’s eyes narrowed. "What’s the catch?"

"Cosmic bindings," the Blade-Saint stated, his voice turning grim. "If you choose to become a Beast, a Demon, a Fey, or a Celestial, you accept the fundamental laws of their creation.

A Demon can never wield holy magic. A Celestial takes triple damage from localized void energy. A Fey is instantly crippled by cold iron."

The Guardian pointed at the holographic menu.

"But more importantly," the Blade-Saint continued, "they possess an absolute biological ceiling. The cosmic races are stagnant.

If you select one of those four factions, your maximum level in the Zenith Protocol is permanently capped at Level 100. You will never progress beyond that threshold."

Dante stopped breathing for a second.

A hard level cap. In a game that relied entirely on infinite scaling, capping your level at 100 meant you would eventually hit a mathematical brick wall.

You would be incredibly strong for the first few months, dominating the mid-game zones. But when the true end-game raids unlocked, you would be entirely useless.

"And Humans?" Dante asked, looking back at the blank stat block.

"Humans possess nothing," the Blade-Saint said. "Your lifespans are brief. You are fragile. You have no innate elemental affinities. But because you possess nothing, you are not bound by the rules of creation."

The Blade-Saint met Dante’s eyes.

"Humans possess limitless potential," the Guardian declared. "You have a uniquely uncapped level limit.

A human can learn any magic, wield any weapon, and adapt to any environment. You start at the absolute bottom, but your ceiling is entirely dependent on your own willpower."

Dante didn’t need to hear anything else.

He was currently Level 55. With his [10,000x Skill Proficiency Multiplier] allowing him to instantly max out any skill he absorbed, his scaling was already completely broken.

If he picked a cosmic race, he would ruin his own infinite loop.

"I’ll stick with what I know," Dante said.

He reached out and tapped the fifth option.

[Race Confirmed: Human]

[Limitless Potential Unlocked. Level Cap Removed.]

The massive holographic interface shattered into golden light, washing over Dante and fading away.

"A wise choice," the Blade-Saint smiled. It was a rare, genuine expression that softened his battle-hardened features.

"You have the spirit of the Vanguard. You understand that true power is not handed out by a system menu. It is forged."

The Blade-Saint stepped closer. He reached up and unclasped a heavy, glowing silver pauldron from his ancient armor.

"You have cleared the Abyss, Dan," the Blade-Saint said, his voice dropping to a solemn, ceremonial tone. "You have purged the Void-Blight, and you have rejected the easy path. You are worthy of my legacy."

The Guardian held his hand out, pressing his glowing palm directly against Dante’s [Sun-Forged Cuirass].

"I pass my title to you," the Blade-Saint commanded. "Accept the Hidden Class: [Blade-Master]."

A surge of blinding white energy erupted from the Guardian’s hand, attempting to flow directly into Dante’s chest.

Dante braced himself for the power spike. Hidden Classes were the most sought-after assets in the game, completely overriding standard class mechanics with unique, overpowered skill trees.

The white energy hit Dante’s armor.

It didn’t absorb.

A loud, jarring mechanical buzzer echoed through the starry hall. The system interface violently projected itself between them, flashing with aggressive, dark red warning text.

[TRANSFER REJECTED]

[Error: Target entity lacks sufficient structural capacity.]

[Reason: Cosmic weight is too dense.]

The white energy violently rebounded, throwing the Blade-Saint a few feet backward.

The Guardian stumbled, looking at his glowing hand in absolute shock.

"What happened?" Dante asked, checking his own health bar to make sure he hadn’t just taken damage from a botched class transfer.

The Blade-Saint stared at Dante, his glowing eyes wide with disbelief. He looked at the system prompt hovering in the air.

"Your cosmic weight," the Blade-Saint whispered. "It is too dense. The system physically cannot integrate the class code into your soul matrix."

"I don’t understand," Dante frowned. "I’m just a standard Warrior."

"You are not standard," the Blade-Saint shook his head. The multiplier. Furthermore, you are bound to a primordial fragment."

The Guardian pointed at the black brand of Voidsever on Dante’s right wrist.

"The Zenith Protocol has a finite amount of data it can assign to a single player avatar," the Blade-Saint explained, realizing the sheer absurdity of the situation.

"Your innate talent and that cursed weapon are consuming nearly one hundred percent of your allocated capacity.

There is simply no room left in your code for a Hidden Class. You are too heavy."

Dante let out a short, completely deadpan laugh. "The system says I’m too fat to learn sword magic. That’s a new one."

"It means you must walk your own path," the Blade-Saint said, recovering his composure. He waved his hand, dismissing the blaring red error prompt. "You cannot inherit my skills. But my legacy must still be passed on."

The Guardian reached into the folds of his armor and pulled out a heavy, physical item. It was a thick scroll bound in deep blue leather, sealed with a glowing silver sword emblem.

He handed the scroll to Dante.

[Item Acquired: Class Scroll - Blade-Master (Hidden)]

[Description: A physical manifestation of a Guardian’s legacy. Unlocks the Blade-Master Hidden Class for the user. Cannot be used by entities with maximum cosmic weight.]

Dante stored the scroll in his infinite inventory.

"If I can’t use it, what do you want me to do with it?" Dante asked.

"Find someone who can," the Blade-Saint instructed, his form beginning to slowly dissolve into floating motes of white light.

His astral projection was running out of energy. "The war requires generals, Dan. You cannot fight the Void entirely alone. Find a worthy ally. Someone who understands the weight of a blade."

"I don’t really do allies," Dante warned him. "People tend to throw daggers at my back when they get the chance."

"You will learn to trust again," the Blade-Saint said softly. The light began to consume his armor, starting from his boots and rapidly working its way up.

"When you are ready, travel to the capital city of Aethelgardia. Seek out my descendants. Tell them the Warden of 404 remembers his oath."

"Aethelgardia," Dante repeated, committing the location to memory.

"Survive, Outworlder," the Blade-Saint said.

The Guardian completely dissolved into light, the particles scattering into the starry void of the pocket dimension.

A moment later, the swirling galaxies and nebulas faded away.

Dante was standing back on the cobblestone street of Ironhold. The ancient stone archway behind him was completely dark, its celestial glow extinguished. His Outworlder registration was officially finalized.

He opened his inventory, looking at the glowing blue [Blade-Master] scroll sitting safely inside his void ring.

It was useless to him in combat, but it was arguably the most valuable bartering chip on the entire server. Guilds would trade entire fortresses for a guaranteed Hidden Class.

"Find a worthy ally," Dante muttered, turning back toward the bustling center of the frontier city. "Right. I’ll add that to the to-do list, right below completely destroying Vanguard’s Legacy."

He adjusted the heavy dark plating of his armor and started walking. It was time to find out what kind of trouble he could cause in the capital.