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He felt empty .

He did not.

And then, the most terrifying part: sliders he could move.

The air in the Spartan encampment tasted of iron, ash, and cheap olive oil. Kaelos, a Conqueror of modest renown, sat on a crumbling wall, staring at his own hands. They were large, scarred, and calloused—the hands of a man who had driven a spear through the chest of a Gorgon and shield-bashed a Chimera off a cliff. They were also, he had just realized, utterly wrong.

He didn’t understand until he looked at his own character sheet again. A new line had appeared below his class (Conqueror), below his total kills (3,442).

“What are you?” a young hoplite whispered.