The midday sun bore down on them heavily, as if determined to highlight every wound and every drop of sweat. In front of the group lay the massive body of a Viking Bear, its brown fur marked by a distinctive white collar that adorned its chest like a regal mantle. Its front paws were coated with a strange metallic gleam, as if it wore gauntlets forged from iron. Even in defeat, it commanded respect.
The team's health bars glowed in yellowish tones, a reminder of how close the battle had been. Only Yuna and Keyki, protected in the rearguard, still retained some green.
"I thought we weren't going to make it," Keyki let out, still breathing heavily.
"You barely did anything besides hiding behind Yuna," Historia replied with cold naturality.
"Hey! It's just… well… you didn't take any damage either, you know? You were way too far," he tried to justify himself, cornered.
Historia raised her bow with elegance, her sharp eyes glinting like blades."Because I'm long-range. Don't you see that?"
Keyki swallowed hard."That's the weird thing… in a world of swords, why choose a bow? Almost no player uses one…"
Historia's gaze sharpened, sharper than any dagger."That has nothing to do with you."
Before the tension could rise further, Michael spoke up:"Historia practices archery in the real world. It's her specialty. Of course she'd use it here too."
The young leader had barely finished when a chill ran down his spine. Historia was staring at him with the intensity of someone who would rather see a person burn for revealing secrets without permission.
Aomine, as always, seemed oblivious to the tense air as he checked his virtual map."If we follow this path, we'll find more Viking Bears. That means there must be treasure nearby."
"Really? How do you know?" Yuna asked with enthusiasm, hugging her guitar as if sparkles glimmered around her.
"Viking Bears are greedy for shiny things. Gold, jewels, treasure… whatever. If we want a house, we'll need that money," Gundou explained, rubbing his hands with ambition.
"A house? But the ones available now are ugly," Historia commented, crushing an illusion with the same calm she used to draw a bowstring.
Michael lifted his gaze, his eyes glowing with the light of a dreamer."On floor 22 I saw a beautiful country house during the beta. If we get it, it'll be our refuge. A place to rest from battles—a true team home."
There was a short silence. Some hesitated, others smiled, but Michael's warmth softened their doubts.
"Come on, Liberation Army!" he proclaimed with enthusiasm, raising his sword to the sky.
Elsa raised an eyebrow."Liberation Army?"
"That's the fifth group name this week…" Aomine added, flatly.
"Sounds militaristic." Gundou was sweating nervously.
"Another lame name," Historia muttered.
"It sounds encouraging!" Yuna gave a big thumbs-up, completely sincere.
(It's a good name…) Keyki thought, hiding his smile.
Michael coughed, embarrassed by the rain of criticism, but kept his conviction:"It's final. We are the warriors who will free the players from this world of death. And… well… I was thinking of turning it into a guild."
The words hung in the air like a lightning bolt.
"A guild…" Yuna repeated, curious.
"A big group of players who follow a leader. They're often respected, sometimes feared. It's a big responsibility," Aomine explained.
Yuna's eyes sparkled even more."So Michael-san wants us to form one. That sounds amazing!"
Historia dropped the comment with casual cruelty, like salt on an open wound:"He tried in the beta. Spent money on uniforms and a motto, but no one wanted to join. He was depressed for an entire week."
Michael's ears burned red. His smile trembled like glass about to shatter.
"I would join!" Yuna declared sincerely, holding her hands to her chest. "Having a leader like you, who spreads hope, is something special."
"Yuna-chan!" Michael cried, comically tearful, his face streaming with exaggerated emotion.
The group burst into laughter. Gundou gave him a friendly thump on the chest, Historia a pat on the shoulder, and even Aomine offered a half-smile. One by one, everyone gave him some sign of support.
(Hehe… thanks, guys…) Michael smiled inwardly, wiping the shame from his face.
"Yuna? Coming?" the leader asked when he noticed she was the only one lingering behind.
She jolted, clutching her guitar."Ah, yes! Sorry. It's just that… I got carried away. Michael… don't ever change, okay? Your spirit is unique… and it inspires me to sing."
He responded with a cheerful thumbs-up."Then sing. A good song is always needed on the road."
Yuna nodded firmly. Her fingers brushed the guitar strings, drawing out a chord that filled the air with a warm, gentle melody. Bit by bit, she quickened her pace to walk beside Michael, as the group resumed their march toward adventure.
Yuna's voice began to flow, clear and soft, as if every word carved a path through that world of dangers and wonders.
"What will happen when the end arrives, will I hear the nostalgic voice of that person, waiting on the other side…?"
The echo of her song intertwined with the metallic clash of weapons. Just a few meters ahead, the Liberation Army fought fiercely against massive Viking bears, beasts clad in thick fur and iron helmets. Keyki, however, seemed lost in another world: his clumsy attempts to dodge looked more like awkward dancing than battle. The tension dissolved into muffled laughter from the others, even as the monsters' claws sliced the air inches away from him.
"All these unforgettable moments will adorn the sky… tomorrow's light will shine upon us…"
The scene shifted. Beneath a rainy sky, mud splattered their boots as a group of deformed goblins emerged from the bushes. Their twisted green faces bore grotesque grins. Some had rusted metal riveted into their bodies, like patched-up warriors. The group didn't hesitate: the sight of a mountain of gold and shiny objects behind the goblins lit the spark of ambition.
"Under the sky, as its colors change, we keep moving through beautiful places, standing only inches apart…"
Now the darkness of an underground dungeon engulfed them. Damp, cracked walls reflected the faint flicker of torches, and from the shadows emerged skeletons with metal helmets and rusted spears. The group pressed on without stopping, defying the dark with laughter and banter, even teasing Historia and Gundou as they hurriedly devoured their travel rations. Danger lurked at every step, but the warmth of camaraderie kept the march alight.
"The days pass quickly, like a tree withering away… symbolizing that happiness was broken… I grew afraid and started being careful…"
A harsher moment struck. They hid among stone columns while, before them, another group of players was mercilessly slaughtered by skeletons. The crunch of bones and desperate screams filled the air. Just when all seemed lost, a figure appeared amidst the chaos: a cloaked man with silver hair tied into a long ponytail, who in a flash of skill cut down the creatures with a calm smile before vanishing into the shadows.
"Though I was smiling, I imagined a word to say 'Goodbye!', but it stuck in my throat… and I realized, for the first time… that I wanted to live."
With that strength, the group celebrated a victory. Keyki, having overcome his fears, reached level 4 in just a few days. Amidst laughter, Aomine and Gundou lifted him high like a hero, while he flailed awkwardly, overwhelmed by the unexpected glory.
"Ah, the radiant sun will guide me, as long as I keep walking, in this mortal world, I'll decide my way forward… and I'll enjoy each day as if it were the last, because they'll become an important part of my memories."
The celebration quickly spread. Inside a cavern lit by torches, they met Klein and his group. Laughter, the aroma of drinks, and the clinking of cups made them forget, for a few hours, the looming fear of death. Michael, generous as ever, paid for the round, and the echo of laughter filled the cavern like a spell of relief.
"We'll travel all across this world, hey… let's walk again. I know the time we have may be short, but let's enjoy every experience to the fullest… it'll always be pleasant… to be together, even if we never dared to express it better."
The final scene showed them shoulder to shoulder with other groups of players, facing a pack of red dogs clad in wooden armor and wielding rusted swords. They were countless, but in that chaotic battle, the strength of their unity shone brighter than the edge of any blade.
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
December 2, 2022 – Tolbana
The city spread out in the middle of a vast ocean of endless forests, like an island of civilization rising between hills and mountains. At first glance, it looked like a hidden jewel within the thicket, built with such harmony that every building occupied a precise place within a natural balance.
In the widest section, situated on a cleared plateau, the streets stretched out in surprising order, straight and neat, lined with rows of houses with reddish roofs and pale walls. These dwellings, simple but sturdy, clustered around a central square where large trees offered shade and coolness. Not far from there, a stone coliseum stood out as the heart of the city: circular, robust, with stands that opened like a fan, ready to host crowds or serve as a point of importance.
At the edges of this same section, two windmills rose on the heights, their blades turning calmly in rhythm with the breeze blowing from the forest. From there, the creaking of wood mixed with birdsong, creating a rural symphony that brought peace to anyone who listened.
On the opposite mountain, a second district stretched in terraces, clinging to the rock with admirable tenacity. The houses seemed to climb the slope, staggered one atop another, as if defying gravity itself. Among them stood three more windmills, guardians with long blades spinning tirelessly, giving that part of the city a solemn and hardworking air.
Both sectors were connected by a suspension bridge that crossed a gorge covered in dense greenery. Its wood creaked with every step, yet it was the vital link between the two sides, uniting the city into one whole. From above, crossing it offered a view both dizzying and majestic: below, the sea of trees seemed infinite, while the damp air rose from the depths of the valley.
Beyond the city stretched an immense, vibrant forest, surrounding the region as if it were a natural wall. The green line extended until it vanished in the distance, where bluish mountains rose like a backdrop. But what dominated the entire scene was a colossal structure on the horizon: an immense, white, silent tower that rose into the sky with an imposing presence. Its smooth surface reflected the light like an eternal monolith, reminding everyone that the world they were in was not ordinary, but one ruled by strange laws and colossal challenges.
Altogether, the city conveyed a unique duality. It was at once picturesque and strong, welcoming and challenging, a place of refuge in the middle of a vast, uncertain world. Its quiet streets, its proud windmills, and its suspended bridge spoke of a life trying to bloom beneath the shadow of the unknown.
Inside the stone coliseum —an ancient, austere structure that seemed to resist the passage of time— the bluish system light filtered through invisible slits, creating reflections on the polished floor and the semicircular stands. players and weapons. The air carried a faint metallic echo, as if the stone itself remembered every battle fought there.
The stands, dark gray in color, were full. Some players spoke enthusiastically, trying to distract themselves from the tension; others, with serious expressions, stayed silent and observed. Several figures hid their faces under hoods, shadows avoiding the eyes of others. At their feet, weapons rested, glowing faintly with emerald or scarlet flashes each time the blue light touched them.
Amidst all that murmur, one group in particular stood out, sitting halfway up. The way they sat conveyed confidence: they had shared battles, and though their posture seemed relaxed, their eyes reflected a latent alertness, as if they were waiting for the sound of a horn announcing combat.
Aomine, with heavy eyelids, yawned almost without being able to help it. The gesture, though minimal, contrasted with the group's apparent calm.
Michael, sitting with his elbows on his knees and a crooked smile, glanced at him from the corner of his eye.—Got tired so quickly, Aomine —he said mockingly, raising a brow.
Aomine turned, frowning, dark circles marked under his eyes.—Shut up for a while —he replied harshly—. You insisted on doing a mission until dawn, and I couldn't get any sleep.He shrugged afterward, clasping his hands between his knees as if to contain his irritation.
—It's not that big of a deal. Besides, those missions won't do themselves, you know it too —Michael retorted, drumming his fingers on his armor with an innocent air.
Gundou, leaning back against the stone support, raised a hand in a pacifying gesture.—Come on, Michael, I don't think Aomine deserves that. He's the one who guided the entire expedition so we wouldn't fall into traps inside the dungeon —his tone sounded neutral, but his gaze fixed on both of them.
A female voice broke the calm with a mocking whine; she leaned forward with her arms crossed on her lap.—Hmph… I say he stayed up more thinking of perverted ways to look at me and Elsa.
Aomine clicked his tongue, ran a hand over his neck, and straightened up a little, visibly tired.—There you go again. I messed up, alright? There's only one bath, and we have to share it. Besides, you said you'd bathe after Gundou, and he hadn't even gone in when I entered before running into you.
Historia huffed and turned her head, the strand falling over her shoulder shaking with the motion.—Yeah, excuses of a pervert —she spat, lips pressed tight.
Another girl, calmer, tilted her head toward Historia and placed a hand on her arm.—Come on, Historia, it's not that serious… —her voice sounded conciliatory.
Aomine, now red with annoyance, blurted out without thinking:—Pervert? Why the hell would I want to look at a cow-breasted girl like you?His fists clenched on his knees, veins standing out across his hands.
Historia shot up, the bench creaking, her eyes blazing with anger.—What did you say, you puny runt? —her hands trembled, whether from rage or embarrassment was unclear.
Yuna, ever serene, watched them with a tired smile.—That's why those two always fight, Elsa —she murmured, turning to her companion.
Elsa shrugged and let out a resigned sigh, fiddling with her bowstring; her fingers were red from drawing it so often.—It's natural between them, Yuna. They'll calm down eventually. Though… it was a bit awkward being watched while the three of us bathed —she confessed, averting her gaze.
Yuna, lowering her voice, tilted her face slightly toward her knees.—I think so, but honestly Aomine has a point. Historia said it would be fine; without saying anything, we went in.
—Maybe. We should just let it go —Elsa laughed nervously, tucking a strand behind her ear.
Meanwhile, Keyki watched them with his head low, his sharp gaze fixed on Aomine. His fingers tapped against the stone ledge.(Damn it, I wanted to look at Yuna-chan first, and you beat me to it. The three girls… you're lucky, damn lucky bastard) —he thought, clenching his jaw.
Gundou cleared his throat, straightening.—Moving on, why didn't Klein want to come with his team?
The question was enough to dissolve the tension. Historia sat back down, Yuna withdrew her hand, and the group exhaled deeply. Some nearby players had turned their heads to look, and they didn't want to keep being a spectacle.
Aomine rubbed his neck and answered in a lower tone:—Well, he told me personally before leaving our lodging that he didn't want to risk his team yet. They still need to improve, and it's not worth it. Though, well, he's still part of our guild at the end of the day.
Michael smiled, resting one arm on his knee and relaxing the other.—Well, that's true. Lately, we're a very eye-catching guild because of how good we are with everyone.
Historia, still frowning, rolled her eyes at the coliseum ceiling.—I'd say way too good with too many people —she muttered.
—Yeah, all thanks to Michael and his kindness —Yuna said positively, the corners of her lips barely lifting.
Elsa, carefully checking her bowstring, spoke in a low voice:—Though that makes us an easy target. Lately, there've been red players joining guilds to kill during joint missions. Distrust is spreading, even if they're just rumors.
Aomine nodded slowly, his gaze hardening and his shoulders squaring, as if once again feeling the weight of his sword.—Rumors are just truths not fully confirmed. But the growth we have as the first guild on floor one is something very noticeable for many, especially for new players who want protection and guidance.
The murmur of the coliseum returned to being just that, a distant echo. The blue light bathed their faces, and in their expressions lingered a mixture of weariness, pride, and concern. Outside, the tower rose in silence, reminding them that the true challenge still awaited. The very air seemed charged with expectation, about to shatter like glass,
Clear, resounding applause echoed between the crumbling columns and the bare stands, drowning out almost every other sound.
Heads lifted, restless, searching for the source. There, framed by the broken arches of an ancient temple that loomed at the far end of the arena, a figure emerged as if sculpted by the very grayish light filtering through the open ceiling.
At the center of the circular stage, a young man stood with natural poise. His hair, a vibrant sky blue, fell in slightly disheveled locks that framed a face serene yet full of resolve. His eyes, as blue as a clear sky after a storm, seemed to study each person present with a sharp, almost calculating gleam.
He wore a deep-blue tunic adorned with elegant golden trims that seemed to shift with his movements. A leather belt fastened the garment firmly around his waist; over his shoulders, protecting arms and legs, a light armor of earthy brown leather clung to his body as if it were part of his skin.
His posture was impeccable: one foot set slightly forward, his left hand resting on his hip, the right relaxed near the hilt of the sword hanging at his side, held by a worn leather strap. A sturdy circular shield of wood and metal rested on his back, tilted, reflecting the faint glimmer of the sky.
The young man smiled. It was not a wide smile, but a contained, almost ironic gesture, made sharper by the silence that had settled after the applause. His fingers drummed calmly on the hilt of his weapon, as if measuring the pulse of the place. Then, he inclined his head slightly, his eyes sweeping across the stands, and the gesture grew warmer—though no less firm.
In the stands, some averted their gaze, others clenched their fists, unsettled by that presence. Amid the ruins of the coliseum, with no torches nor ornaments, there was only the wind dragging dust, the fading echo of applause, and the bluish figure of the young man, who seemed to have claimed the center of the stage with nothing more than a few steps and a smile.
"Well… it seems I've got your attention now. That truly makes me glad."The young man's voice echoed with restrained calm across the empty coliseum, his gaze sweeping over the faces watching him."To begin this meeting, I want to thank each and every one of you for taking the time to come to today's gathering. My name is Diabel, I wor—"
A different murmur cut through his words, like a thread snapping. A ripple of surprise spread through the air, silencing him mid-sentence. Several heads turned at once toward the source of the sound.
Aomine, cheeks flushed, hid his face in both hands as if trying to vanish. Gundou gave a nervous smile, swallowing hard as his eyes darted sideways at Diabel. Elsa and Historia exchanged tense glances, while Yuna shifted half a step aside, uneasy, as though seeking room to breathe. Keyki, on the other hand, stared blankly at the open sky above the coliseum, his expression completely vacant, as if he had switched his mind off.
"Oooh! Diabel! Hey, it's you, right?"An energetic voice, overflowing with cheer, suddenly broke the atmosphere. The speaker stood with one arm raised in greeting, a wide, confident grin lighting up his face.
At the front, the young man tilted his head, frowning in confusion. His eyebrow arched in disbelief; he clearly didn't recognize him.
"Excuse me," he replied, his tone sharpening. "That was quite rude to interrupt me… besides, do I even know you?" His blue eyes sought out the boy, his hand still resting at his hip.
"Ah, sorry, sorry! Don't you remember me? I'm Jesús, we met—"
The reaction was immediate. At the sound of that name, Diabel's expression stiffened; the muscles in his jaw tightened. In a blink, he closed the distance, raising a hand to cut the boy short—firm, almost commanding.
"Please, stop right there. We'll talk after the meeting. Just… don't say anything else."His voice was low but sharp, with a trace of discomfort flickering in his gaze.
"Uh… well…" Jesús faltered, shrinking slightly before dropping back into his seat, his smile dissolved.
Diabel inhaled deeply, coughed discreetly to compose himself, and stepped forward again, reclaiming the center. The eyes and murmurs pressing in from all sides only thickened the air. With one hand, he smoothed his tunic, forcing himself back into rhythm.
"…Did something happen? Doesn't he remember me?" Jesús wondered, scratching his cheek in confusion, his eyes fixed on the ground.
"Idiot… is that all you ever think about? Don't you ever think before you act?" Aomine muttered under his breath, finally lowering his hands and glaring at him.
"Michael, you shouldn't draw so much attention. It's embarrassing… even Yuna has her limits when she sings for people," Gundou scolded quietly, scratching his neck, his eyes still flicking toward the center of the coliseum.
"The sky's all bluish…" Keyki mumbled, cheeks faintly red, eyes still lost upward as if desperate to flee the moment.
The open coliseum stretched around them, bathed in daylight. The wind carried soft spirals of dust, and at the center of it all, Diabel stood firm—though the unease in his eyes betrayed that this meeting would be far less simple than he had imagined.
Ahem… everything returned to normal.
"You already know my name, Diabel. Though I had a better introduction prepared… I suppose that moment's been ruined now," he joked with a forced smile, shrugging as if trying to pass it all off as a joke.
A murmur ran through the crowd; some laughed, others let out uneasy chuckles. It was clear Diabel was trying to change the subject, but the shadow of his annoyance still lingered at the corners of his lips.
Then, his expression shifted. He straightened at the center of the circle, his eyes hardening, his voice carrying a weight of authority.
"Today, our group discovered the boss chamber at the top of that tower," he announced, raising his hand to point toward the colossal structure.
The tower loomed above them like a giant of stone and steel, cutting into the blue sky. Its shadow stretched across part of the field where they stood, swallowing courage in the contrast between light and darkness. It was the only path to the second floor. It was the goal… and also the abyss.
A shiver ran through the crowd. The murmurs died. Some lowered their eyes, others gripped the simple weapons hanging from their belts. Fear was palpable—mixed with nervousness, but also a spark of anticipation glimmering in certain eyes.
Diabel drew in a deep breath and spoke again, louder:
"We need to defeat the boss to reach the second floor and prove to everyone in the Town of Beginnings that it's possible to clear this death game. If we succeed, more players will join us, and they won't fall into the void of fear and despair. It is our duty, here and now, to take this first step! Am I wrong?"
His voice thundered through the air. No one answered at first. A soft breeze stirred the dust on the ground.
Then, a single person in the crowd stepped forward and began to clap. The sharp sound of palms striking echoed like a shot. The person said nothing; they only smiled confidently and nodded slowly, as if giving their approval.
One by one, the others followed. The clapping grew. Some raised their swords, others whistled loudly. In a matter of seconds, the atmosphere had shifted: where tension had ruled, now crackled a flame of hope.
It was still small, fragile, but it was there. A different vibration, a murmur of faith running through every heart. For a fleeting moment, everyone believed again—that they could survive… and that, someday, they would return to their normal lives.
The thunder of applause kept growing, bouncing off the coliseum walls like a wave that refused to break. Diabel raised his hand—a calm yet firm gesture—asking for silence.
"Alright!" His voice rang out clean, vibrant. "Then, without further delay, I'd like to begin this meeting for the boss raid."
His hands, which had remained together, slowly separated. The right closed into a fist, the left stayed open, palm upward. It was a deliberate, almost ceremonial movement that caught everyone's attention.
"First things first. Form teams of six members. If you have more, I won't object. A conventional party has no chance against a floor boss. You need to join with others, become one, to increase your odds of survival," Diabel explained, his blue gaze sweeping through the rows like a gust of wind.
A murmur spread among the players. Swords clinked softly against the ground as people shuffled, reorganizing. Some were already in groups—old acquaintances exchanging tense smiles—while others improvised, seeking trust in the eyes of strangers.
Amid the commotion, four figures stood together: Keyki, Michael, Gundou, and Aomine. Their faces reflected a mixture of seriousness and anticipation.
"Would it be alright to add another person to this group?" Michael asked, his tone measured but curious.
"I wou—" Gundou began, but Aomine cut him off coldly.
"No. We're fine as we are. One more won't be able to keep up with our formation," Aomine snapped, his words sharp enough to shatter any hope of expansion.
The air grew heavy. Only the distant murmurs of other players could be heard. Then, a female voice broke in like a ray of light.
"Look, we found another member for our group. This is Sakuragui," Yuna announced with a hint of cheer.
Aomine froze, heat rising to his cheeks as he realized his words had been ignored. Gundou patted him on the back in consolation, while Michael bit his lip to hold back a laugh. Aomine let out a deep sigh and lifted his gaze, just like the others, to see who had arrived.
In his imagination, the figure of a tall, burly warrior clad in heavy armor had filled that space. But reality proved otherwise.
From within the circle of players emerged a young woman with a slender silhouette. Her long violet hair fell like a silk cascade down to her waist, with a rebellious strand framing her delicate face. Her deep red eyes radiated a calmness that commanded respect without words.
She wore a short, purple-toned outfit cinched at the waist by a belt. Black gloves covered her slim hands, and boots with golden details reached up to her thighs. Over it all, a silver cape floated behind her, swaying with every step like a veil of mystery.
Most striking of all was the weapon she carried: a colossal scythe, nearly as tall as she was, its curved blade gleaming. She held it with ease, as though the instrument of death were simply an extension of her arm. A single metallic gleam from the blade was enough to send chills crawling over anyone's skin.
"We're tied on votes," Aomine muttered with a thread of resignation.
"I guess now, whenever we vote for a mission, we'll be stuck in a tie and won't have much of a say," Keyki added, visibly disappointed.
"Well, I suppose it's not so bad if you look at it another way," Michael tried to ease the mood, shrugging.
Then, in a spontaneous gesture, he stepped forward with a broad smile. Standing before the girl, he took her hand with exaggerated courtesy, shaking it up and down.
"It's a pleasure to meet you. My name is Michael, and I'm the leader of this group. I hope we can get along. Thank you for joining—hopefully our presence doesn't bother you, and we can move forward together…"
"Uh, wait. I only joined this group for the floor boss. After that, I'm leaving."
Sakuragui's firm, clear voice crushed any budding hope of friendship.
Michael's expression faltered. His smile faded slowly as he released the girl's hand. He walked back and sat beside Aomine, disheartened.
"Come on, come on, yeah… it sucks to get turned down by a girl, but cheer up," Aomine teased with a half-smile, trying to lighten the mood.
"She didn't turn me down as a girl. She just rejected my offer of friendship," Gundou clarified in a conciliatory tone.
But the remark only made Michael sink deeper into his seat, head lowered.
"Is he going to be alright?" Sakuragui asked, tilting her head with mild curiosity.
"It's always like this," Historia explained from the side. "When he tries to make friends and they come to him without being called, it's gratifying for him. That's just who he is."
"Michael-san is an incredible person. Don't be misled by this first impression," Elsa added calmly. "If he doesn't manage to win you over now, he'll try again later. He knows when a 'no' is a 'no.' So don't worry."
"Michael-san's a good guy. He's just really energetic when it comes to new friends," Yuna smiled, folding her arms gently.
(I feel like I got myself into a strange group… but oh well. It's not like anyone wanted to team up with me anyway. I avoided plenty, and those three convinced me. I guess I'll stick around for a while—at least until this boss is done with.) Sakuragui thought, hiding her reflection behind an impassive expression.
"Then… about my invitation to the group," Sakuragui asked, her voice carrying a faint thread of nervousness, her fingertips brushing against the handle of her scythe.
A translucent window unfolded before her eyes: "You have received a request to join a party." Two options hovered like crystals—Accept or Decline. The young woman glanced toward Michael, who remained downcast, silently fiddling with settings, the glow of the interface reflecting against his weary face. Without giving it too much thought, she pressed Accept. The window dissolved into a shower of blue particles.
The moment she did, Diabel—patient until now—spoke again, his tone steady.
"Alright. Have you finished forming groups? Then—"
"Hold it right there!"
A voice cut through the air like the edge of a blade. This interruption was different from the earlier ones. Every head turned at once, all eyes converging on the figure who had just stepped forward.
It was a man of sturdy build, his arms crossed with ease, as though that single stance alone was enough to proclaim his character. His short, reddish-brown hair framed a face hardened by resolve. In his eyes burned a mix of defiance and camaraderie—a fire that could be felt even from afar.
He wore plain earth-toned clothes, practical for combat, free of needless adornment. A leather plate guarded his chest, and the wrappings on his forearms spoke of experience—this was a warrior accustomed to staring danger in the face. Across his back rested a short sword, strapped diagonally, ready to be drawn at a moment's notice.
The aura he exuded wasn't mysterious or solemn, but solid and dependable—the kind of comrade who didn't shine spectacularly, yet never once faltered. When he spoke, his voice struck like a hammer on hot iron.
"My name is Kibaou. And I've got a few words to say before we face the boss."
He descended the stands, stopping beside Diabel. All eyes were on him, expectant.
"Someone needs to apologize for the two hundred people who have died so far!" his voice thundered, reverberating across the coliseum.
A chill ran through the hall. Some players widened their eyes in shock; others lowered their gazes, uncomfortable. Sakuragui frowned at the tension in the air. Michael, beside her, wore a hardened expression, his lips pressed tight.
"Kibaou-san… the people you're referring to… are you perhaps talking about the ex–beta testers?" Diabel asked carefully.
"Isn't it obvious?!" Kibaou shot back, his restrained fury spilling over. "When this damned game began, the ex–beta testers abandoned us to our fate! Some couldn't handle the crushing fear and killed themselves before their minds broke. This game shattered many, and yet those same people are here now—wanting to use us as pawns so they can show off and advance without a second thought for the rest of us!"
Diabel narrowed his eyes."And how can you be so sure of that?"
"If they didn't care about us when this started, why would they care now—fighting a floor boss?" Kibaou's words hammered the crowd. "They exploit their knowledge to farm easy quests with massive rewards. The skilled ones become tyrants with more power than they ever had in the real world, doing whatever they please. This world is a curse…" His voice cracked for an instant with frustration. "…There's nothing cursed about it…"
The silence that followed was almost tangible. Doubt flickered across the players' faces—some nodding in secret, others shaking their heads with lips pressed thin.
Then, someone rose. He walked toward the center unhurriedly. Aomine saw him and reached out a hand to stop him, but the boy kept going until he stood before Kibaou. He bowed low, turning to face the crowd.
"I'm really sorry," Michael said, his head bowed, his voice trembling with honesty. "I never intended for you all to suffer so much. If you want to hate me, Kibaou-san… here I am."
Kibaou blinked, taken aback, as though he'd suddenly been cast as the villain. Michael, humbly, pulled out a small leather pouch.
"I don't have much, but this is all the gold I've gathered. It's not hard to find more… but if you need it, take it."
A murmur rippled through the crowd. Some snickered, others exchanged uneasy glances. Keyki and Yuna looked shaken, bewildered by the scene.
"Why are you coming at me in such a humiliating way?" Kibaou asked, his tone now more vexed than furious. "You could've done it differently… you're making me feel bad."
Michael lifted his gaze just slightly, his clear eyes shining with sincerity.
"Because it matters to you, doesn't it? In this death game, we're still human—different attitudes, different strengths. But fear changes us all. I know many have died, and I couldn't do a thing, just like you said. That's why… even if this gesture is humiliating, it's my sincere way of showing regret. Because I truly want to be friends with everyone and help us move forward together. So… please accept my apology, Kibaou-san."
The words—so simple, so direct—disarmed Kibaou. He scratched the back of his head, glancing around, unsure how to respond. They might have sounded like the words of a fool… yet the sincerity in Michael's eyes couldn't be dismissed.
High in the stands, four figures observed in silence. Their cloaks and hoods concealed their faces, but their postures revealed three men and one woman. The woman snapped her fingers before striding toward the exit; the three men followed.
"Something bother you, Risu-chan?" a playful, mocking voice asked.
"Shut it, Anomari. Hearing you comment on what we just saw is irritating," another male voice replied, sharp with annoyance.
"Calm down, both of you. We need to return; the time hasn't come yet," the third intervened, walking beside the woman like a second-in-command.
Risu smiled faintly, raising her head just enough, her lips curving into an elegant line.
"Those comments… It must be frustrating for you to hear such words of hope, isn't it? Or what do you think, Poh?" she whispered with venomous sweetness.
The three men nodded, each wearing a different expression: an irritable grin, a grimace of displeasure, and a hollow glare, seething with suppressed anger.
"Hope like that needs to be cut at the root," Risu murmured, closing her eyes with a perfect smile—the coldest mask of her irritation. "If not, it will become a disease too difficult to control. And that… bothers me greatly."
.......................................................................................................
The murmurs in the coliseum had swelled into a thick current of voices. Their echoes bounced against the stone walls, crossing into broken phrases and suspicious glances. Aomine made a move to stand, but Gundou stopped him with a firm hand on his shoulder and a downcast, almost pleading look. He knew Michael was also holding back any reaction, doing everything he could to earn the crowd's trust and keep them from discovering that he, alongside Elsa, Gundou, and Historia, had once been part of the ex-beta testers. It was an obvious, almost theatrical sacrifice: Michael had chosen to become a pawn on this board if it meant keeping everyone united—even if it meant exposing himself.
Then, a deep, calm voice broke through the air.It wasn't just a sound—it cut through the murmurs like a blade, leaving behind a silence sharp and expectant. Heads turned in unison, drawn by an invisible force.
Standing in the stands was a burly man, dark-skinned and unshaken. His shaved head revealed every line of expression—a cartography of experience—and a dark beard shadowed his jaw, giving him a mature edge. He didn't need to move to command respect; his presence alone filled the space.
His attire was practical: light armor reinforced with leather straps across the chest, fitted trousers designed not to hinder movement, boots trimmed with hardened leather for hostile terrain. His right arm was protected by a leather bracer, his left hanging loose, like someone who knew he didn't need a fighting stance to impose authority. Across his back rested a short sword, sheathed diagonally. He didn't need to touch it—the implied threat was enough. His aura wasn't arrogant or theatrical, but calm, steady.
He stepped forward, the wood beneath him creaking under his weight."May I say something?" he asked, his low voice resonating among the columns.
The crowd followed him with their eyes as he descended to the center stage. He stopped beside Diabel and Kibaou; the latter watched him warily, but also with respect."My name is Egiru," he introduced himself, his tone low and firm, like a hammer striking the anvil.
He raised his gaze, his dark eyes locking onto Kibaou."Kibaou-san, let me make this clear. Are you saying that the ex-beta testers don't care about inexperienced players? That they should be humiliated like the young man bowing his head before you, and that he's the killer of those people even though he wasn't with them when they died? And you want compensation for that?" His words weren't an attack, but questions that pierced.
Kibaou shifted uneasily."W-Well… y-yes, but not in that way… just a sincere apology…" His voice lost its edge, stumbling like someone tripping and trying to walk it off.
Egiru didn't reply immediately. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a thin booklet, just the right size to hold with one hand. The dark cover was plain, bearing only a faint sheen along the edges that reminded everyone it was still part of the system. A faint embossed image of Aincrad's floating castle could be seen: Guide Book.
"You received this guide too, didn't you?" he asked, raising the booklet to the light for all to see. "After all, it was distributed for free to every player at the item shop."
Kibaou frowned, his jaw tightening."Of course I have it… so what?" he shot back irritably.
"It was the ex-beta testers who distributed this guide to everyone," Egiru continued calmly. "Anyone can hold the same knowledge they have in these pages, except for farming details. Even so, it warns us about what to fight and how, up to a certain number of floors. It can even be updated with new input from other players. And yet, if so many still died with this guide at hand, what are we supposed to learn from those failures?" His gaze swept from Kibaou to the crowd, like a lighthouse beam. "Is it fair to judge someone who was just playing, never knowing this world would trap us?"
He stepped closer to Michael, extending a hand. The simple gesture, loaded with intent, made many hold their breath. Michael, feeling the heavy stares on him, stood and accepted the handshake.
"Besides," Egiru added, his tone colder now, "I thought this meeting was about defeating the boss. Yet here we are, straying into secondary matters instead of focusing on the main issue: escaping this game."
Kibaou swallowed hard. His shoulders, once tense, slackened slightly. He turned on his heel and was the first to leave the stage, retreating back to the stands with his group. Egiru nodded, then turned again toward Michael.
"Never bow your head if you've done nothing wrong," he said kindly, almost brotherly. "Humans can be cruel with words, but if you're not that kind of person, don't throw yourself into the fire."
Michael let out a small laugh, tilting his head."That was pretty pathetic, wasn't it? But I have my reasons. This is the first step so everyone can be united. First trust, then acceptance, don't you think?" he smiled, a gesture of genuine gratitude.
They parted ways. Michael had barely taken a few steps when Historia met him with a punch to the arm, her face a mix of anger and concern. Aomine sighed, weary of his companion's reckless actions. Yuna, frowning, jotted something in a small notebook no one could read, while the others in the group chuckled quietly at the scene. Michael only nodded, accepting their reactions like a child caught after pulling a prank.
Diabel, still smiling as he saw the tension finally dissolve, snapped his fingers twice to reclaim the crowd's attention.—"Well then, shall we resume the meeting…?"
From his back pocket he drew out the Guide Book, the very same one Egiru had shown moments earlier. With a measured gesture, he opened it, the pages glowing faintly under the white system light. His voice shifted, firm and almost like that of an instructor:
—"Regarding the newly added information about the first floor boss… according to the guide, the boss's name is Illfang the Kobold Lord. It is also accompanied by guards called Ruin Kobold Sentinels, which can appear in groups of up to three. The boss wields an axe and a shield…"
The murmurs among the players gradually faded. All eyes and ears turned to him—some leaning forward, others crossing their arms in silent thought. Nervous gleams flickered in some eyes, while others shone with a kind of feigned composure.
—"He has four health bars," Diabel went on. "And once the last one turns red, he discards his initial weapons and switches to a curved blade known as a Talwar. Along with this change, his attack patterns become unpredictable."
A wave of small exclamations rippled through the audience. For many, this was the first time they heard such details. Others merely nodded, faces unreadable—as though they already knew more than they let on.
With a soft clack, Diabel closed the book.—"That concludes the information session. Lastly, about loot distribution: money will be split equally, experience goes directly to the group who defeats the monster, and items remain with whoever obtains them. Any objections?"
He scanned the assembly. Silence answered him. Some exchanged glances, but no one raised a voice.—"Good," he declared. "We set out tomorrow at ten in the morning. Dismissed!"
The echo of his command unraveled into a burst of animated chatter—benches scraping, laughter spilling, footsteps scattering. New groups were being formed, hands were clasped in agreement, and the once rigid atmosphere was now charged with anticipation.
—"Well then, I suppose it's about that time," Michael muttered, stretching until his shoulders cracked faintly.
—"Time for what?" the newest member asked, tilting her head.
—"Isn't it obvious?" Michael flashed an eager grin—the kind that always preceded mischief.
—"Here we go again…" Aomine sighed.
—"I just hope there's money left for tomorrow," Gundou added pragmatically.
—"There's never any left. Better to enjoy it," Historia resigned with a long exhale.
—"Let's have some fun!" Yuna cheered brightly.
Sakuragui blinked at them, half-confused by how naturally they shifted into celebration. Elsa, on the other hand, stood with a smile, easily swept up by their energy. The sun slowly dipped, handing the sky to the moon and her escort of stars. What could have been a quiet night exploded into shouts and revelry.
Tolbana's plaza shone under the trembling glow of oil lamps, swaying gently in the breeze. By the fountain, whole groups were drinking and laughing; even Kibaou and Michael, once tense, now danced and shared drinks like old comrades. Diabel himself, relaxed, joined in the chatter. Joy and festivity filled the air.
A little apart from the chaos—but not far enough to appear aloof—stood Aomine and Sakuragui. Each held a cup of liquor, though neither intended to drink.
—"I thought you'd be the same as your friends," Sakuragui asked, sneaking a sideways glance.
—"Heh… do I look like the kind who eats and drinks himself silly?" Aomine answered with a teasing smile.
—"No, not really," she admitted with a faint smirk.
—"My companions are special. I envy them for it. Each of them shines in their own way. Me… I live more in their shadow, like a conductor while they take the spotlight. Even Keyki's leveling fast to shine. I'm happy for him… but it bothers me too… a little… maybe a lot… just a little," Aomine chuckled bitterly.
—"I see. And are you fine with your friend being a former beta tester?" she asked.
—"Is that supposed to be a bad thing?" Aomine twirled his cup idly between his fingers. "Since you're with us now, it won't surprise you. Aside from Yuna and Keyki, the rest of us are ex-beta testers."
Sakuragui raised her brows.—"And doesn't that make you disliked if people find out?" she pressed, a flicker of concern in her tone.
—"Not really. Sure, people might know, but once we clear the thirtieth floor, that's where any tester knowledge ends. Beyond that, we're no different than anyone else. Don't you think?" His voice was calm, even.
—"You might be right…" she conceded softly.
Aomine eyed her sidelong.—"You're a beta tester too, aren't you?"
—"Eh? How do you…?"
—"Let's just say beta testers have a bad habit of revisiting the same places. We saw you with a girl on a quest—one we were planning to take ourselves. But since you cleared it, we left." His tone was light but certain.
—"…Yeah, I guess you're right. A bad habit," Sakuragui admitted with a shrug.
—"What happened to your friend?" Aomine asked.
Her expression shifted. The spark vanished, replaced by a pensive seriousness, as if some memory had frozen her blood. She chose not to answer. Aomine, noticing the change, kept silent as well. Yet his eyes caught something else—a hooded figure, feminine in form, watching them from across the fountain.
When the figure noticed Aomine's gaze, she turned and slipped into a dim side street. Minutes later, another youth emerged quietly. The scattered lamplight outlined his frame: black hair, slightly messy, and dark eyes that scanned every corner of the plaza with sharp focus.
He wore a long-sleeved blue shirt patched with bits of leather at the shoulders and chest, giving him a practical air. Straps and small pouches hung from his belt; his worn boots spoke of long treks. Across his back, a sword rested diagonally in a plain brown leather scabbard. The steel, dull but steady, made clear he wasn't defenseless.
With gloved hands—fingers bare—and a calm expression, the boy moved without a sound, following in her direction. Recognizing him from the meeting, Aomine averted his gaze. Whatever it was, it wasn't his business.
The laughter of the night in Tolbana had faded like embers scattered by the wind. Dawn had barely broken the horizon when, at 10:10 a.m., the groups marched in line along the only path, led by Diabel. At his side walked Kibaou and Michael, with the rest of the team following close behind.
—"Why are we going first, like we're the ones who know the most?" Aomine muttered, narrowing his eyes.
—"Because our leader bet that if he lost, we'd be the first team at the front," Gundou answered, a hint of embarrassment in his tone.
—"I hate him for that…" Aomine grumbled in a childlike pout.
Step after step, their march was steady until they reached the dungeon. The gate was colossal: worn stone, torches on either side, and cracks etched like scars of time. Some edges were reinforced with metal, but stone still dominated the sight. In front of it, players adjusted their weapons and gear, checked their items, and glanced nervously at their stats. Tension clung to the air like mist.
Diabel stepped forward, turned, and faced them all with determination. He drew his sword; the blade glimmered faintly in the torchlight, while his shield covered half his arm.
—"Listen, everyone. I only have one thing to say before we go in and achieve something no one else has…" he said with a genuine smile.
He raised his sword.—"Let's win!"
No one replied, but everyone understood. This was the first trial, the first boss. Hands grew sweaty, teeth clenched. The door opened with a low, grinding groan, like a beast awakening. When the sound ceased, Diabel was the first to cross.
Darkness. Silence.
The metallic crash of a weapon striking stone echoed through the chamber. The door shut behind them. Suddenly, the gloom filled with light: silver pillars reflected rainbow hues across the walls and ceiling, as if they stood inside a massive crystal.
At the far end, seated on an improvised throne, the boss waited. His massive axe rested against the ground, lodged so deep it carved a groove into the stone. The creature breathed heavily, jaws slightly parted, yellowed fangs gleaming. It seemed to be sizing them up.
It rose suddenly and leapt. The impact of its landing shook the ground, scattering dust. In full view now, its monstrous figure loomed—skin a fierce crimson, muscles like rock, dark mane trailing down its back. Its sharp yellow eyes glowed with hunger. Blue markings pulsed across its chest, and a metal guard etched with tribal designs covered its right arm.
In its right hand, it gripped a colossal axe; in its left, an uneven shield of bone and iron. It radiated pure menace. Above its head, green health bars appeared one by one, seemingly endless.
The beast's roar thundered through the chamber. Then, from the pillars, blue spheres descended, hovering and sparking with electricity. The ground trembled as they landed, revealing three more figures. Their armor clanked into place as the electric hum filled the air. This wasn't one boss. It was four enemies.
—"Begin the attack!" Diabel commanded, raising his sword high.
The players roared to drown their fear and surged forward. Hammers, swords, and shields rose in unison. The boss lifted its axe and brought it down in a crushing blow. The air whistled before impact. Some dodged by inches; others spread out to force it to choose a target. On the flanks, groups charged the Sentinels. One leapt, armor gleaming, landing a kick that sent a player staggering back. A spear struck back, only to be swatted aside by the Sentinel's axe.
—"Squads A and C, switch! It's heading your way!" Diabel shouted.
—"Don't forget its heels, drip," Elsa muttered, slashing with her daggers at the monster's ankles. The boss roared, trying to crush her, but a shield intercepted. Gundou braced himself, boots digging into the stone.
—"Switch!" Gundou yelled.
—"I'll go in—" Michael started eagerly.
—"Wait! Let it attack again first," Aomine stopped him. Michael held back; Diabel observed closely.
—"Squad B, block!" Diabel ordered.
—"Historia, aim for the brachial plexus; it'll miss the next strike," Aomine instructed calmly.
Historia fired. The arrow hit dead center. The boss faltered, its swing veering off, and dropped to one knee.
—"Team C, legs! Make it struggle to stand!" Aomine called out.
—"You don't have to say it like that!" Kibaou barked, but obeyed regardless.
The boss was pinned. The Sentinels, held at bay. Diabel, panting, glanced sideways at Aomine.
—"You're damn good at directing attacks. Michael was right—you'd make a better leader," he admitted, eyes still locked on the boss.
—"Don't sell yourself short. This is my first time with so many people… Squads D, E, and F! Don't let the Sentinels approach—pull back here!" Aomine commanded.
One health bar vanished: a Sentinel down. But another orb descended, summoning its replacement.
—"Sakuragui, aim for its gut; it's dazed. Michael, hit from behind. A and B, block!" Aomine barked.
Michael's blade flared red as he struck. The Kobold Lord roared, distracted. Sakuragui slipped in like a shadow, scythe sinking into its abdomen. Gundou's shield and Keyki's strike at its heels pushed the boss's health into the final red bar.
(Good thing we left Yuna out… Now the real act begins, Aomine thought.)
The boss roared. It hurled its axe and shield into a pillar, shattering into rainbow shards. Aomine frowned.
—"That sword… it's different from the beta. More refined, more balanced. I don't like this."
—"Aren't you overreacting?" Kibaou scoffed.
—"Maybe…" Aomine muttered.
Diabel charged, sword low.—"I'll take it! Squad C, surround it!"
The Kobold Lord grinned. Its blade flared with fiery red light. Sakuragui and Gundou froze in shock. Michael dashed forward, but a voice cut through the chaos.
—"It won't work! Fall back—it's a ranged attack!" a black-haired youth shouted.
Aomine recognized him—the boy who had followed the hooded figure. Diabel was only a step away when the Kobold Lord leapt. Its blade came down, unleashing a shockwave that ripped across the floor. Players were thrown aside; others collapsed, paralyzed under a yellow aura. Among them, Diabel dropped to one knee, health bar in the red.
The boss charged, sword raised. It slashed upward, launching Diabel into the air. This time, there were no rainbow shards—only blood. His health plummeted, and the assault didn't stop. Michael intercepted one blow to buy time; Diabel was hurled against a pillar, bleeding. The black-haired youth rushed with a potion, but Diabel refused it. A moment later, his body shattered—not into light, but into nothing, leaving only a red stain where he fell.
Despair echoed in screams. Some players stumbled back; others froze in place. More orbs descended, calling forth Sentinels.
—"This can't be—" someone gasped.
—"Weren't there supposed to be only three?!" another shouted.
The Sentinels surged forward. Gundou intercepted a strike to protect a comrade. Sakuragui fought ferociously. Elsa covered her. Historia, fingers raw and bleeding, loosed her final arrows—until her quiver was empty. A Sentinel raised its weapon to strike her from behind, but a hooded girl appeared, blocking the blow.
—"Hey, thanks for—" Sakuragui began.
She never finished. The hooded figure lunged at another Sentinel.
—"Switch!" the girl commanded.
Sakuragui understood and finished the enemy with her scythe. Around them, players found their footing again and pressed the assault. Facing the boss, Aomine calculated swiftly.
(Its attack is ranged now, stunning within three meters. But if I strike before it executes the skill… I can force it to defend instead of using it, he thought.)
The battle was far from over. But the chamber, the air, and the hearts of everyone present—had already changed.
The metallic roar of swords and shields echoed through the chamber like an endless refrain. Sparks leapt each time weapons clashed against the claws or shields of the Kobold Sentinels. The air reeked of iron and tension.
"(It doesn't matter…)" Aomine narrowed his eyes, gripping his sword tighter. The system's light gleamed along the blade as he barked his orders. "Keep pushing forward, there's no other way!"
"Got it—let's go!" Kibaou bellowed, charging headlong into another of the sentinels.
Amid the flashes of steel, Aomine paused for an instant. His gaze sharpened. Through the chaos, he spotted something that unsettled him: a lone player facing the boss itself. His black blade sliced the air with precision, but the monster was a towering fortress that refused to yield.
"(He needs a bishop to strike from the flank… but where…?)" Aomine thought, irritated at not controlling all the pieces of the board. Frustration furrowed his brow; he despised games where luck dictated the rules.
Then he saw her: the girl who had saved Sakuragui moments earlier, now sprinting without hesitation toward the boss to aid the dark-haired youth.
"(The final piece…)" Aomine muttered.
He raised his arm and pointed decisively."Gundou, go for the boss! I'm betting everything on those two." A crooked smile tugged at his lips.
"You and your crazy bets…" Gundou chuckled, but nodded and rushed ahead.
"Teams A, B, and C—hold the Sentinels back! D and E, strike them down! Michael, Sakuragui, Historia, and Keyki—Formation Three!" Aomine's voice cut above the roar of battle. Bodies shifted like living chess pieces, realigning with precision.
The clash of steel grew louder. The hooded figure lunged forward, placing herself between the boss and the black-haired boy. Her rapier, slim and swift, flashed like lightning, forcing the monster to reel back with a guttural snarl.
The boss countered with brutal force. Its massive axe tore the hood clean away, unveiling her face at last. Long copper hair with fiery orange highlights flared like liquid fire, and amber eyes gleamed with feline intensity.
Her attire blended elegance and ferocity: a sleeveless crimson jacket over a fitted white tunic, a short scarlet-pleated skirt, and tall boots that struck the ground with authority. In her hand, the rapier gleamed silver, poised in the elegant, lethal stance of a duelist.
No longer a shadow assisting from the sidelines, she now declared open war against the Kobold Lord.
They moved as though dancing, blades weaving through a deadly improvisation. Lunges, parries, feints—the rhythm unbroken. But a misstep from the black-haired youth left his flank wide open. The monster's blade swept toward him—only to be stopped cold by the clang of metal.
A broad-shouldered figure had interposed his shield."Heh… sorry for being late. You two are way too fast," Gundou grinned, sweat shining across his brow.
"Thanks!" the youth gasped.
"No need. You two are the bet of a friend of mine. I'll cover you with my shield. Keep striking—don't hold back!" Gundou's voice was a steadfast anchor amidst the storm.
"Yes!" they answered in unison.
A perfect dance of offense and defense unfolded. Gundou absorbed the boss's fury, his shield unshaken. Sakuragui slipped into rhythm beside them, her scythe darting with speed. Yet that very addition exposed a gap—one the Kobold Lord exploited, bringing his blade down in a devastating arc toward the girl.
Asuna—her name now clear to all—shut her eyes, bracing for the strike. But the blow never landed. When she opened them, the boss's arm had been severed, dissolving into shards of light. Before her stood a blond, sword spinning effortlessly, a teasing smile on his lips.
"Looks like we meet again," Aomine said, voice edged with mischief.
"You…?" Asuna blinked, stunned.
"What's wrong, Miss Asuna? Don't recognize a rival?" he teased, extending his hand to lift her from the floor.
"How did you cut off its arm?" she demanded, still in disbelief.
"Historia's arrow. I had her shoot a precise spot. I knew eventually it'd weaken the nerves in its arm. While you two pressed him, it wore down until the moment came. You were my key to open that chance." Aomine's explanation was as exact as his strike.
"I feel like I've been used…" Asuna muttered, her tone chibi-like.
"You were used—no denying that. But hey, I just came to help. Unlike the rest of us, you two are fast enough to stun him. So finish it before it's too late. Go on, Miss Asuna and Mr. Stalker—it's your stage." Aomine stepped aside.
"Stalker?" the black-haired youth echoed.
"I saw you trailing her earlier. Didn't know it was her, but now it's confirmed." Aomine smirked.
"Were you… following me?" Asuna's cheeks flared crimson.
"No, it's just… well, we're in the same party, so…"
"Relax." Aomine laughed. "It's normal for boys your age to like girls."
The boy's face hardened, almost fearful."My name is Kirito… nothing else," he said gravely.
"…Weird, but alright. Let's go—Kirito and Asuna, it's your turn. We'll cover you."
The final clash was swift and merciless. Asuna and Kirito pressed forward, their blades tracing arcs of green and silver. The Kobold Lord staggered, cornered and raging.
"Switch!" shouted Asuna, Sakuragui and Gundou.
Kirito nodded. His sword flared with a brilliant green aura, and a grin broke across his face. He sprinted, leapt, and brought his blade down in a vertical slash that cleaved through the Kobold Lord.
The monster erupted into a burst of rainbow particles. The Sentinels dissolved along with it.
Above the chamber, glowing words appeared:
«Congratulations on defeating the Boss!»
For a heartbeat, silence reigned. Then the chamber erupted in a triumphant roar.