Cassandra McConnell's Perspective
Cassandra's voice felt trapped in her own throat.
It had been her idea to come to this dungeon.
She was the one who insisted.
She was the one who dragged her friends into this dark hole, brimming with confidence and bravado.
And now, staring at Hana's unconscious body sprawled on the ground like a broken doll, the weight of guilt crushed her chest.
If anything happened… if Hana didn't wake up… Cassandra knew the blame would be hers.
Her mind kept screaming that this was still just a game.
That even if someone died here, resurrection existed.
That there was no real danger.
But her eyes refused to believe that narrative.
Seeing her friend pale and motionless, her chest rising in short, shallow breaths…
It made everything feel real.
Too real.
The tightness in her throat only eased when Hana finally opened her eyes.
Air rushed back into Cassandra's lungs, though her voice still wouldn't come.
Fortunately, Eleanor spoke in her place.
"—Hana, Hana! Are you okay?!"
The archer, still half-lying on the ground, lifted a hand to her head, her gaze drifting across each of them.
Then, with a goofy smile, she murmured:
"Feels like a hangover… just like the first time I snuck wine from my dad…"
The tension gripping Cassandra almost broke inside her.
Only when she saw her friend had enough strength left to crack a joke did she allow her body to relax.
But not entirely.
The knot of fear was still there, burning in her throat, reminding her this game was far crueler than any she had ever played.
Cassandra drew in a long breath. The knot seared, but finally let the words slip out:
"I think we should give up. We're still too weak for this dungeon. It's better to fall back… and return once we're stronger."
Her voice sounded firm, almost like a rational analysis of the situation.
But deep down, she knew the truth.
It wasn't strategy.
It wasn't prudence.
It was fear.
All Cassandra really wanted was to get out as quickly as possible.
She wanted distance from the memory of Hana lying on the ground, unconscious, as if truly dead.
She never wanted to see that again.
But her friends' reactions weren't what she expected.
None of them replied right away.
But their eyes spoke clearly.
Stubborn, steady, determined eyes.
Even Hana, still leaning partially against Eleanor's shoulder, had that same look.
They weren't willing to retreat.
Hana was the first to break the silence.
"I'm fine…" she said, forcing a smile and looking straight at me. "Guess I just overdid it with my skills. Didn't know I could pass out."
Her tone was light, almost playful, but Cassandra knew: she was trying to calm her.
"No." Lumina cut in, her voice thick with guilt. "It was my mistake. If I had restored your mana, you wouldn't have collapsed. Next time, I'll be faster."
Cassandra's chest tightened.
The scene before her felt absurd.
The two of them trading apologies as if that would fix anything.
Heat rushed to her face, and before she could hold back, she burst out:
"You're insane! Do you really think we can keep going? That was just the first sub-boss!"
She hadn't meant to sound harsh, but her emotions were already boiling over.
Her words echoed through the hall.
And for the first time, she saw a flicker of doubt in her friends' eyes.
A crack in their confidence.
This was her chance to convince them.
To put an end to this madness.
To get out of this dungeon quickly.
But before she could gather her arguments, before she could hammer in the obvious — that pushing forward was suicide — Cassandra noticed it.
Their eyes were no longer on her.
Hana and Lumina had shifted their gaze.
Now they were fixed on Aslan.
The Tank stood nearby in silence, watching them with that unreadable, cold, analytical expression, as if he were weighing each one of them without hurry.
Cassandra swallowed hard.
She knew exactly what that meant.
They didn't want her opinion.
They wanted his.
And, to her own irritation, she realized she did too.
At some point — she wasn't sure when — she had started trusting that brute.
The same man who first struck her as an annoying pest was now… something else.
Something solid.
Something that radiated security, even if laced with arrogance.
And Cassandra hated to admit it, but it was true: she also wanted to hear what he would say.
The man remained silent.
For a good ten seconds.
Even as every eye in the room locked on him.
Cassandra almost wished to skewer him again with a sharp ice spear.
Just to force him to speak.
Even if only out of anger.
But when he finally did speak… his words at least carried some comfort.
"The next sub-bosses are about the same difficulty as this one," he said, calm as if describing the weather. "Their patterns are repetitive. When their health drops low, they summon goblins. And that's all. As for the final boss… depending on the strategy, it might even be easier than the sub-bosses."
The words echoed in her mind.
Simple. Cold. Direct.
And honestly, Cassandra still had doubts.
Was he telling the truth?
Or was he just trying to convince them to stay, to keep them from splitting off?
It was hard to trust any man these days.
And no matter how flawless his behavior had been since they met, Cassandra still wasn't ready to place too much faith in him.
Who could guarantee this wasn't all an act?
A carefully crafted façade that could crumble any second, revealing hidden intentions.
But there was no point in overthinking.
She simply had no choice anymore.
She realized it the moment he finished speaking.
She saw it directly in her friends' eyes.
She was already outvoted.
Excitement gleamed in their gazes.
Fear had already been replaced by anticipation.
They were fully ready for another round of madness.
All Cassandra could do was accept it.
She drew in a long breath, pressed her staff against her chest, and let the weight of exhaustion sink onto her shoulders.
Her journey through this dungeon had only just begun.