Worldwide Class Change: Minimal Effort, Maximum Reward!-Chapter 116, Celestial Ruined World?!

The moment Lin Yi stepped through the threshold, the world changed.

It did not shift gradually, nor did it fracture like the layered dungeon instances he had grown accustomed to. There was no sense of transition, no buffering distortion of space or artificial reconstruction. One step forward, and the reality behind him ceased to exist as though it had never been.

What replaced it was vast.

Vast to the point that the concept of boundaries itself seemed insufficient.

The first thing he noticed was the sky.

It stretched endlessly, a deep and boundless firmament where constellations did not remain fixed, but flowed—slowly, majestically—like drifting continents of light. Stars shimmered not as distant points, but as luminous bodies, some pulsing faintly as though alive, others streaking across the heavens in silent arcs that left behind radiant trails like ink brushed across eternity. Between those stars, vast rivers of astral light coursed through the sky, winding like celestial veins. They glowed in hues of silver, violet, and pale gold, flowing not downward but across the heavens themselves, defying gravity, defying logic, as though the laws governing this place were written by something far older than reason.

Below that sky—

Floating islands.

Thousands upon thousands of them.

They drifted at varying heights, some no larger than a courtyard, others vast enough to hold entire mountain ranges. Stone, jade, crystal, and unfamiliar materials composed their surfaces, many fractured, many weathered by time beyond reckoning. Broken palaces clung to their edges. Collapsed pavilions stood in silent ruin. Stairways led nowhere, severed mid-ascent. Entire temple complexes lay half-submerged into the island surfaces, as though they had once sunk under an invisible tide and never risen again.

Some islands rotated slowly in place. Others drifted, gliding through the air with no visible force propelling them. Occasionally, two would pass near each other, their edges almost touching before continuing on separate paths, like strangers brushing past in an endless sea.

Between the islands, currents of energy flowed.

They were not visible in the conventional sense, but Lin Yi could feel them immediately. Streams of power, dense and pure, moving through the air like unseen rivers. Each current carried a different attribute—lightning, flame, wind, void, something deeper, something harder to name. They intertwined, separated, collided, and merged again, forming a chaotic yet strangely harmonious network that filled the entire space.

Then came the sound.

A melody.

At first, it was faint, barely perceptible beneath the overwhelming visual expanse. But as Lin Yi stood there, his senses adjusting, it grew clearer.

It was not a single tune.

It was countless.

Layers upon layers of sound intertwined—soft chimes, distant strings, resonant bells, low, almost imperceptible hums that seemed to vibrate directly within the bones rather than the ears. The melody did not come from a single direction. It came from everywhere. From the sky, from the islands, from the flowing astral rivers, from the very air itself.

It was ancient.

And it was endless.

"..."

Lin Yi did not speak.

He did not need to.

His gaze moved slowly across the expanse, taking in detail after detail, his mind already processing, categorizing, reconstructing.

This was not a dungeon instance.

The conclusion formed almost immediately.

Dungeon instances, even the higher-grade ones, operated within defined parameters. Bounded environments. Structured ecosystems. Controlled spawn patterns. Even when they simulated vastness, there were limits—edges hidden beneath layers of illusion.

This place had none.

There was no edge to the sky. No repetition in the terrain. No sign of artificial generation or systemic constraint.

It was real.

Or, at the very least, it operated under rules that exceeded the framework of standard instance construction.

His gaze shifted downward.

Movement.

Across the floating islands, on distant platforms, along narrow bridges of broken stone that connected fragments of terrain—figures.

Hunters.

Dozens at first glance.

Then hundreds.

Then, as his perception extended further, thousands.

They were scattered across the expanse, each occupying their own fragment of space, their own island, their own path. Some stood still, meditating, their auras rising and falling in steady rhythms. Others moved cautiously, testing the environment, probing at the edges of the ruins. Some were already engaged in combat—flashes of skill activation, bursts of elemental power, the clash of weapons echoing faintly across the void.

None of them interacted directly.

Not yet.

Each hunter seemed isolated despite the shared space, separated by distance, by caution, by the unspoken understanding that this place was not something to be navigated carelessly.

Lin Yi observed them for a moment longer.

Then—

A sound split the sky.

A roar.

It came from above, tearing through the layered melody like a blade through silk. Deep, resonant, filled with power that pressed down on the entire space.

The astral rivers trembled.

Clouds—if they could be called clouds—parted as a massive form moved within them.

A dragon.

No—

A thunder dragon.

Its body stretched across the sky, scales formed of condensed lightning, each one flickering with violent energy. Its length was impossible to fully perceive, vanishing into the luminous currents of the heavens. When it moved, the entire sky responded—thunder rolled, not as a sound alone but as a pressure, a force that pressed against the senses.

Lightning cascaded from its body in branching arcs, striking the floating islands below. Where it landed, the terrain did not shatter. Instead, it absorbed the energy, veins of light spreading through stone and crystal like living circuitry.

"..."

Lin Yi’s eyes narrowed slightly.

Not hostile.

Or rather—not indiscriminately hostile.

The strikes were precise.

Controlled.

As though the dragon was not attacking, but maintaining something.

"Is this... part of the environment?" a voice muttered from somewhere to his left.

Lin Yi glanced sideways.

A hunter stood on the edge of a nearby fragment of stone, his expression tight, gaze fixed upward.

"Or is it a boss entity...?" the man continued, more to himself than anyone else.

Another voice responded from behind him, low, cautious. "If that’s a boss, then this place isn’t something we should be in at all."

Lin Yi did not engage.

His attention had already shifted.

Because beneath the thunder dragon’s path, another presence emerged.

From one of the larger floating islands, where a shattered palace complex still retained fragments of its former structure, a figure stepped into view.

It was... elegant.

Massive, yet composed.

A qilin.

Its body was covered in scales that shimmered with soft, multicolored light, like refracted starlight. Its mane flowed as though underwater, strands of luminous energy drifting and reforming with each movement. Antler-like horns extended from its head, branching in intricate patterns that seemed to echo the constellations above.

Where it stepped, the broken ground repaired itself.

Cracks sealed.

Fragments rose, reassembling into whole structures, if only for a moment, before settling back into ruin once more.

It lifted its head, gazing into the sky.

The thunder dragon passed overhead.

For a brief moment, the two presences aligned.

Then the dragon continued on, its roar fading into the distance, while the qilin lowered its gaze once more, returning to its silent traversal of the island.

"Spirit beast..." someone whispered.

Lin Yi remained still.

His perception extended further, brushing against the flows of energy that permeated the space.

This entire world—this ruined celestial expanse, these floating islands, these astral rivers, these entities that defied standard classification—it all revolved around a single function.

Awakening.

Subclass Awakening.