In Dreadspire, monsters came in many forms—ordinary creatures, field bosses, non-combative entities, floor bosses, and more. Each monster, upon defeat, dropped something of value—with one exception: special monsters.


    Unlike their common counterparts, special monsters left behind no loot, no equipment, no treasures. Instead, they offered something far more precious—a direct, permanent enhancement to the one who landed the final blow.


    Here, in Redridge Mountain, where the skies were ruled by Harpies, the special monster of this region was the elusive Golden Harpy.


    Summoning one was no easy feat. A series of prerequisites had to be met, but even then, luck played the greatest role. The appearance rate of a Golden Harpy was abysmally low—far rarer than even a Field Boss.


    In all my twelve years of playing, despite fulfilling the conditions multiple times, I had only ever encountered four Golden Harpies.


    That was how absurdly rare they were.


    Or maybe… I had just always had terrible luck.


    In terms of power, the Golden Harpy wasn’t particularly threatening. It possessed the strength of three, maybe four regular Harpies, and its attack patterns were nearly identical. Nothing extraordinary. Nothing unmanageable.


    So it was obvious why they were after it.


    "Hurry up and cast your fuckin’ spell!" a sharp, impatient voice rang out. A wiry archer, his face lined with cunning and arrogance, glared at the robed wizard beside him.


    "Shut up before I shut you up myself," the wizard snapped, his features twisted in irritation.


    "Both of you, shut the hell up! You''re breaking my focus!"


    The one barking orders was a towering warrior, his massive frame radiating authority. Judging by his presence, he was the leader of this dysfunctional group.


    His cold, narrowed eyes scanned the battlefield, his grip tightening around his weapon.


    "If I don’t get it, I’ll kill every last one of you."


    Instant silence.


    The archer and wizard exchanged venomous glares, but neither dared to utter another word.


    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    It was easy to tell—the dynamics in this team were a mess.


    No doubt Redridge Mountain had taken its toll on them. The grueling battles, the dwindling resources, the exhaustion creeping into their bones. After all, this was the final stretch of their tower exploration. Survival wasn’t just about skill anymore. It was about endurance.


    "Boss, the monster''s almost dead!" A rat-faced man, likely the team’s guide, scurried to the warrior’s side. His beady eyes gleamed with anticipation.


    No further commands were needed. The rest of the party halted their attacks, their weapons lowered. They had already planned this. The warrior alone would deal the finishing blow.


    A twisted grin stretched across his face, his eyes filled with pure, insatiable greed. He could already see the jackpot before him—a permanent stat boost that could push his power to the next level.


    One strike.


    Just one final strike—


    WHOOSH!


    A pillar of fire erupted around the Golden Harpy, its flames swirling wildly as fierce gusts of wind tore through the battlefield.


    The monster let out a piercing shriek, while the warrior’s body instinctively retreated, forced back by the unbearable heat.


    The warrior’s eyes widened in fury.


    "What the hell was that?!"


    His head snapped around, his gaze locking onto the wizard behind him.


    "I—I didn’t do anything! I swear on my parents’ graves!" the wizard stammered, his face pale with panic.


    A beat of silence.


    The archer beside him snorted. "Your parents are dead, you idiot."


    "Then I swear on yours!" the wizard barked back, his expression twisted between frustration and the urge to cry.


    The warrior clenched his fists. It wasn’t them. And yet, his boiling rage needed an outlet. With a feral roar, he swung his weapon wildly, striking his own teammates in blind fury. Even if he knew the truth, even if he knew the attack hadn’t come from them—


    Someone had stolen his kill.


    And he would make them pay for it.


    ***


    +20 Luck.


    +2 to all primary stats.


    That was the reward for slaying the Golden Harpy.


    And Luck was no ordinary stat. In this world, Luck was nearly impossible to improve—it was considered a permanent, almost finalized attribute.


    It influenced various things from drop rates and monster spawn rates, to combative power like evasion and critical hit chance.


    That was why the Golden Harpy was regarded as the golden treasure of the first floor—not for its combat prowess, but for the immeasurable advantage it bestowed.


    [Eryndor Leafshade]


    [Soul Level: 1


    Vitality: 29 → 31


    Strength: 61 → 63


    Agility: 15 → 17


    Wisdom: 41 → 43


    Luck: -31 → -11


    Willpower: 134]


    [Spells: Rejuvenation, Windstride, Wind Cutter]


    A strange lightness settled over me, as if the burden pressing on my shoulders had eased.


    I exhaled slowly. The feeling was subtle, but undeniable—like I was on top of the world. If I were still in my old life, back in reality, I would’ve bought a lottery ticket right this second.


    Or walked straight into a casino.


    And left a very, very rich man.