LIGHTNOVELWORLD Chapter 3: Trial By Fire
Arlen stepped out of his small, modest apartment, his breath visible in the chilly morning air. He fished his phone out of his pocket, scrolling through a local hunter app that listed available raids. His fingers paused over a listing for a D-rank Gate, a manageable challenge for his current abilities. What truly caught his attention, however, was the name of the raid leader: Merika Loma, one of the survivors of the infamous raid annihilation incident from the previous week.
The incident still loomed large in Arlen's memory. Out of fourteen hunters who had entered that dungeon, only four had come out alive, their escape fraught with horror and confusion. No one knew who had defeated the boss—a powerful undead sorcerer—but rumors abounded. Many credited Merika, the highest-ranking survivor, with the feat, even though she had remained tight-lipped. Arlen knew the truth, though. He had been the one to kill the sorcerer, though his contribution remained his secret, shrouded in mystery even to Merika herself.
"Merika Loma…" Arlen murmured under his breath.
After signing up for the raid, he headed to his car, an aging sedan with peeling paint and a rumbling engine. As he drove toward the raid site, his thoughts drifted. His fingers unconsciously tightened around the steering wheel as he recalled his recent battles. The corrupted flowstone now embedded in his sword pulsed faintly, its dark energy adding weight to his every move. Then there was his newfound flame manipulation, a gift—or perhaps a curse—from the System. Though weak, it was effective and filled him with equal parts excitement and unease.
Lost in his musings, Arlen barely noticed the miles slipping by. When he finally arrived at the designated raid location, he found himself at an old construction site, abandoned save for a cluster of hunters milling around. The group varied in appearance and demeanor, but one thing was clear: none of them paid him any mind as he approached.
Arlen kept a smile on his face as he walked among the crowd, hoping to blend in. The atmosphere was heavy with tension and camaraderie, hunters boasting about past raids and gear while eyeing their potential competition. His quiet presence, however, didn't go unnoticed for long.
"Hey, who the hell are you, and what are you doing here?" a burly man in a battered leather jacket demanded, his voice gruff and dismissive.
Arlen stopped and lowered his head slightly, trying not to show the nervousness bubbling inside. "I'm Arlen Gruz. E-rank. I came to participate in the raid. Please… let me join."
The man raised an eyebrow, then let out a short, derisive laugh. "An E-rank, huh? You're either desperate or suicidal. Fine, kid, suit yourself. Just don't slow us down or get yourself killed too quick."
Several others chuckled at the exchange, already writing him off as dead weight. Arlen clenched his fists, their laughter stinging more than he cared to admit, but he kept his head down and moved away from their sneering gazes.
Amid the noise, one voice cut through like a blade.
"Quiet, all of you."
The air seemed to grow heavier as Merika Loma stepped forward. The crimson-haired huntress commanded attention effortlessly, her mere presence silencing the mocking voices around her. She was a striking figure, her crimson-red hair cascading down her back like a fiery waterfall. Her ruby-red eyes seemed to pierce straight through Arlen as she approached, their intensity sharp and unrelenting.
She was clad in a combination of practicality and elegance that showcased her dual identity as a hunter and a leader. Her legs were encased in sleek black stockings, accentuated by light iron plating that provided both mobility and protection. Her torso was shielded by an intricately crafted chest piece, its steel shimmering faintly in the morning light, evidence of both expert craftsmanship and countless battles. A scimitar hung at her hip, its curved blade gleaming with a menacing edge that hinted at her skill.
Arlen gulped, feeling suddenly small under her gaze. He turned his head slightly, hoping to avoid eye contact, but it was no use.
"You're staring too much," Merika said flatly, her tone as sharp as the sword at her side.
"Sorry!" Arlen stammered, bowing his head quickly in an attempt to recover.
Merika studied him for a moment longer before speaking again. "You were there, weren't you? The E-rank who somehow survived that dungeon a week ago?"
Arlen felt his stomach drop. Her words weren't accusatory, but her fierce gaze pinned him to the ground all the same. "Y-yes," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.
Her eyes narrowed slightly. "I'll keep my eye on you," she said simply before turning and walking away, her every step exuding confidence and authority.
Arlen watched her retreating figure, swallowing hard. He couldn't tell if her words were a warning or an acknowledgment of his potential—or both. Either way, they sent a shiver down his spine.
As the raid group began to gather for final preparations, Arlen found a quiet corner to inspect his gear. His hand brushed over the hilt of his corrupted sword, its faint, malevolent energy a stark reminder of the challenges ahead. He also thought about his flame manipulation skill, how he had yet to fully understand its potential. These were the tools he had to rely on to survive—and maybe prove himself to someone like Merika.
The raid leader's voice rang out, calling the hunters to attention. "Listen up! This gate isn't anything fancy, but it's still dangerous. Stick to your roles, don't wander off, and we'll get through this cleanly. If anyone decides to be a hero and messes up, you'll be on your own."
Arlen exhaled deeply, steadying himself. This was his chance—not just to survive, but to grow stronger, to carve out a place in this world of hunters. His journey was just beginning, and he knew the road ahead would be fraught with danger, ridicule, and pain. But for the first time in a long time, he felt a spark of hope.
As the group began to move toward the gate, the air crackled with anticipation. Arlen tightened his grip on his sword and followed, ready to face whatever lay ahead.
The gate shimmered like liquid light, a swirling vortex that connected two worlds so alien and distant that no mortal mind could fully comprehend the distance. For Arlen, gates were a familiar sight—part of a hunter's daily life. But they still had a strange allure. They were paradoxical things: cold and warm, alien and familiar, chaotic and yet the only bridge to the unknown.
Merika's sharp voice cut through the group's quiet anticipation. "Get ready. We're about to start." Her crimson hair reflected the swirling light of the gate as she moved to the front. Her scimitar rested on her hip, gleaming with the promise of precision and lethality. With a decisive gesture, she stepped into the portal, and the rest followed, one by one.
As Arlen passed through the gate, he felt the familiar sensation of being torn apart and put back together again, like his body was a jigsaw puzzle tossed into the air and then reconstructed piece by piece. The world on the other side was unlike anything he'd ever seen.
They stood in a sprawling forest that defied logic. The grass beneath their feet was purple, soft as velvet, and the trees towered into the sky, their trunks as wide as castle towers and their canopies brushing the clouds. The air was thick with the scent of flowers, but there was an underlying metallic tang that hinted at danger. Leaves glittered like shards of glass in the faint light filtering through the canopy, casting prismatic shadows that danced across the forest floor.
Merika took the lead, her movements as silent as the wind. Her gloved hand rested lightly on the hilt of her scimitar as she surveyed the area with practiced ease. She raised her arm, signaling the group to halt.
"Keep your eyes open," she said, her tone clipped but calm. "This place is new. We don't know what we're dealing with yet. Stay together and stay alert."
The hunters nodded, their weapons drawn and ready. Arlen trailed near the back of the group, gripping the hilt of his sword tightly
As the group moved cautiously through the forest, Arlen's thoughts wandered to the weapon in his hand. The corrupted flowstone he'd used to enhance his longsword had made it heavier, more ominous in its presence.
"System," he whispered under his breath, trying not to draw attention, "can you analyze the sword now that it's been enhanced?"
The familiar notification window materialized before his eyes:
[Notification]
The flowstone enhancement has turned a standard longsword into a Tier 1 weapon. Compared to low-tier swords, it deals significantly more damage, is sharper, and…
[Analyzing…]
… wields a new skill. This skill can be unlocked once the user's Swordsmanship reaches Level 5. (Current level: 3).
Arlen frowned slightly, his fingers tightening around the hilt. The weapon looked ordinary at first glance, but he could feel its latent power. It was heavier in his hand, as if carrying an unseen weight, a potential that had yet to awaken.
"I see," he muttered to himself.
He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he almost didn't notice the growing sense of unease. The faint rustling above them seemed to grow louder, but when he glanced upward, the dense canopy obscured his view.
The system chimed again:
[Notification: Welcome to Fer'Thar, Forest of the Fey.]
Arlen's stomach tightened. He had heard stories about the Fey—beings of great beauty and even greater danger. If they truly were in the Fey's domain, then they were trespassers in a place that followed its own set of rules.
He glanced at Merika, who had stopped moving. She stood still as a statue, her ruby-red eyes scanning the canopy above. Slowly, she raised her scimitar.
"Something's above us," she said softly. "Everyone, stay close and get ready to fight."
The group tensed, their weapons drawn. The rustling grew louder, and Arlen's heart began to race.
Without warning, a swarm of creatures descended from the trees. They were humanoid in shape but impossibly thin, their skin pale and glistening like moonlight. Their eyes were entirely black, and their mouths twisted into sharp, toothy grins. Each one carried a weapon crafted from bone and shimmering crystal.
"Fey warriors!" someone shouted, panic creeping into their voice.
Merika was already moving, her scimitar flashing as she cut through the first attacker with a single, precise stroke. "Focus! Take them down quickly!" she barked, her voice cutting through the chaos.
Arlen felt a surge of adrenaline as one of the Fey lunged at him. He raised his sword just in time to block its bone blade, the force of the blow jarring his arms. The creature hissed, its grin widening as it pressed the attack.
You can do this, Arlen thought, summoning every ounce of courage he had. He parried the next strike and swung his sword, the blade slicing cleanly through the Fey's chest. The creature let out a shrill scream before dissolving into a cloud of shimmering dust.
Around him, the battle raged. The Fey were fast and relentless, their movements almost dance-like as they weaved through the hunters' defenses. But the hunters fought back with equal ferocity, their skills honed by years of experience.
Merika was a whirlwind of motion, her scimitar cutting down enemy after enemy with ruthless efficiency. Arlen couldn't help but admire her. She moved with such grace and precision that it was almost hypnotic.
"Gruz!" she shouted, snapping him out of his thoughts. "Watch your left!"
Arlen turned just in time to see another Fey lunging at him. He ducked, driving his sword upward and impaling the creature through the chest.
After what felt like an eternity, the last of the Fey warriors fell. The group stood panting in the aftermath, their weapons dripping with the shimmering residue of their foes.
"Everyone okay?" Merika asked, her voice calm but firm.
There were murmurs of affirmation, though a few hunters nursed minor wounds.
Arlen wiped the sweat from his brow, his arms trembling from the effort of the fight. He glanced at Merika, who was already scanning the area for more threats.
"We need to move," she said. "The Fey don't attack without reason. There's something here they're protecting."
The group began to move again, their steps more cautious than before. The forest seemed even more oppressive now, the air thick with tension.
As they pressed deeper into the forest, Arlen couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched. The trees seemed to whisper, their leaves rustling with secrets only they could understand.
Finally, they came to a clearing. At its center was a massive tree, its trunk blackened and twisted. Its roots dug deep into the ground, surrounding a crystal that pulsed with dark energy.
Merika's eyes narrowed. "That's the source," she said. "Whatever corruption is spreading through this forest, it's coming from that crystal."
Before anyone could respond, the ground began to shake. The roots of the tree writhed like serpents, and a figure emerged from the shadows—a towering Fey lord, its body crackling with corrupted energy.
"Prepare yourselves!" Merika shouted, raising her scimitar.
Arlen gripped his sword tightly, his heart pounding. This was it—the real test.
[The battle for Fer'Thar had begun.]
The Fey swarmed relentlessly, their small, darting projectiles raining down like deadly hail. Though the attacks were minor in size, their rapid pace and painful impact made them nearly impossible to avoid. The tanks did their best to shield the marksmen, forming a wall of defense to protect their vulnerable allies. But for the brawlers and fighters, who were forced to battle in the front lines, the situation was dire. With the Fey attacking from the air, they found themselves at a severe disadvantage, unable to effectively counter their agile, airborne enemies.
Merika stood apart from the chaos, her crimson hair a vibrant streak of color in the dark, otherworldly forest. In her hand, she held a sleek rapier, the blade glinting menacingly in the eerie light. Her ruby-red eyes locked onto the swarm above. With a determined leap, she propelled herself into the air, a sudden burst of wind surging behind her as her skill, [Glide], activated. The gust rocketed her forward, and within moments, she was amongst the Fey.
Her movements were a blur, each stroke of her blade precise and deadly. Several Fey fell to the ground, lifeless, as she unleashed a technique from her signature combat style, [Skystrike Swordsmanship]. This unique fighting method allowed her to excel in aerial combat, combining her skill in swordplay with the advantages of high-speed mobility. As she descended gracefully to the forest floor, Merika flicked her rapier with a practiced motion, sending droplets of Fey blood scattering into the air.
Below her, the hunters struggled to maintain control. Arlen, positioned at the back of the group, observed the chaos with mounting frustration. He gripped his sword tightly, his mind racing for a solution. The idea of using magic crossed his mind briefly, but he dismissed it. Multiclassing—possessing abilities from more than one hunter specialization—was unheard of for someone of his rank. If he revealed his newfound skill in fire magic, it would raise too many questions, questions he wasn't ready to answer.
Instead, he tried a different approach. Fixing his gaze on a cluster of airborne Fey, Arlen activated his [Dash] skill. He surged forward, moving in a wide circle around the clearing. The speed of his movement stirred the air, creating a faint but noticeable current. The swirling wind disrupted the flight patterns of the Fey, forcing several of them to descend closer to the ground.
Arlen came to a sudden halt, his instincts screaming that something was off. Before he could process the feeling, a deafening roar echoed through the forest, the sound so powerful it seemed to shake the very ground beneath their feet.
Every head turned toward the source of the noise. Emerging from the shadows behind the marksmen was a massive creature—a monstrous, two-headed bear with glowing red eyes and jagged claws that gleamed like polished steel. Its fur was matted and blackened, pulsating with veins of dark, corrupted energy.
The marksmen froze in terror, their fear palpable as the creature loomed over them. For a moment, time seemed to stand still. Then, with another bone-rattling roar, the beast lunged forward. Its massive claws swept through the air, tearing into the marksmen with horrifying ease. Screams of agony filled the clearing as the hunters fell one by one, their bodies broken and lifeless
Merika spun toward the new threat, her expression hardening as she assessed the situation. "Everyone, regroup! Focus on the bear! Leave the Fey to me!" she commanded, her voice cutting through the panic like a blade.
The remaining hunters scrambled to comply, rallying around the tanks to form a defensive line. Arlen found himself at the edge of the group, his heart pounding as he stared at the monstrous bear. The creature's sheer size and ferocity were unlike anything he had faced before.
He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to think. The corrupted flowstone-enhanced sword in his hand felt heavier than ever, its potential still locked behind his insufficient skill level. But Arlen couldn't afford to wait. If he hesitated, the beast would annihilate them all.
"System," he whispered under his breath, his voice shaking, "any advice?"
[Notification: The creature is a Tier 2 corrupted monster. Current strength levels indicate low probability of survival. Recommended action: strategic retreat or utilization of all available resources.]
Arlen grimaced. Retreat wasn't an option—not with so many lives at stake. He took a deep breath, his mind racing as he considered his options.
While Arlen deliberated, Merika charged at the bear without hesitation. Activating [Glide], she propelled herself toward the beast, aiming for its right head. Her rapier glowed faintly as she channeled her energy into the blade, activating her skill [Piercing Tempest]. With a powerful thrust, she drove the rapier into the creature's eye.
The bear roared in pain, thrashing violently as it tried to shake her off. Merika clung to her weapon, her movements fluid as she twisted the blade deeper. The creature's left head snapped at her, but she leapt away just in time, landing lightly on the ground.
"Don't just stand there!" she shouted at the group. "Attack its legs! We need to bring it down!"
The hunters hesitated for only a moment before rushing to follow her orders. Tanks moved to engage the beast directly, using their shields to block its powerful strikes, while the brawlers aimed for its legs, trying to cripple its movements.
Watching the chaos unfold, Arlen tightened his grip on his sword. He knew he couldn't hold back any longer.
"Fine," he muttered to himself. "Let's see what this sword can really do."
He activated [Dash] again, moving to flank the creature. As he closed the distance, he raised his sword, channeling every ounce of strength he had into the swing. The blade glowed faintly, the corrupted energy within it responding to his determination.
With a powerful strike, he slashed at the bear's hind leg. The enhanced sword bit deep into the creature's flesh, drawing a spray of dark, viscous blood. The bear roared, turning one of its heads toward him with a furious snarl.
Arlen barely had time to dodge as the massive claws swept toward him. He rolled to the side, his heart pounding as the ground where he had been standing exploded into shards of dirt and rock.
"Keep going!" Merika shouted, her voice filled with urgency. "It's weakening!"
Working together, the hunters gradually wore the beast down. Merika landed a devastating blow to its left head, severing one of its massive horns. Arlen, his arms trembling from exhaustion, managed to land another strike on its hind leg, causing the creature to stumble.
Finally, with a coordinated effort, the group delivered the finishing blow. Merika's rapier pierced through the creature's heart, while Arlen's sword struck the base of its spine. The bear let out one final, ear-splitting roar before collapsing to the ground, lifeless.
The hunters stood in silence, their breaths ragged as they stared at the massive corpse.
"Good work," Merika said, her voice steady despite the exhaustion evident in her posture. She turned to Arlen, her crimson eyes locking onto his. "You did well, Gruz. But don't think this means I'm done watching you."
Arlen managed a shaky nod, his heart still racing. He glanced down at his sword, the corrupted glow still faintly pulsating. He couldn't shake the feeling that this was only the beginning.
Arlen stared at Merika as she walked away, her presence lingering like a shadow. His mind churned with unease.
"She knows something," he thought to himself. "Could she have seen what happened with the Sorcerer? Did she witness me using Divine Piercer?" The memory of that fateful moment sent a chill through him. If she had seen it, he would have a lot to explain. But if not, why was she so suspicious? Was it just her nature, or was there something deeper at play? He clenched his fists. "One way or another, I need to figure this out."
Merika led the group forward after their victory over the bear, her commands precise and unwavering. The battle had left its marks; the ground was soaked in blood, and the air was thick with the scent of death. The remnants of the Fey, now leaderless after the bear's demise, had scattered into the forest. Merika swiftly dispatched those that dared remain, her movements like poetry in motion, cutting down any stragglers.
But deep within the forest of Fer'thar, something darker stirred—a shadowy presence watching, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
The group pushed further into the forest, encountering more creatures as they progressed. Without the marksmen to provide ranged support, the tanks and melee fighters bore the brunt of the battles. They faced off against more Fey, a few additional bears, and even a fearsome Bicorn, a monstrous two-horned predator with jet-black fur and piercing red eyes. Each victory came at a cost, as the relentless fighting chipped away at the group's morale and strength.
For Arlen, the battles felt like a personal trial. He fought with everything he had, but his efforts were overshadowed by the more experienced hunters. Whenever a creature was slain, the others quickly claimed the valuable flowstones, leaving Arlen with little to show for his efforts. Frustration bubbled inside him, but he kept it to himself, unwilling to draw unnecessary attention.
During a brief rest, the group gathered in a small clearing, their breaths heavy and their bodies weary. Arlen sat at the edge of the group, quietly inspecting his sword and trying to think of a way to improve his performance.
Suddenly, a shadow loomed over him. A man clad in massive armor approached, his hulking figure blocking out the light. The man's face was etched with irritation, his eyes narrowing as he stared down at Arlen with contempt. Without warning, he shoved Arlen to the ground, the weight of his armored hand pressing down on his chest.
"Hey, what the hell?!" Arlen exclaimed, his voice a mix of confusion and anger.
The man sneered, slamming the blunt end of his massive battle axe into the ground beside Arlen's head. The force of the impact sent a shudder through the earth. "You think you can impress Merika, you little worm? Huh? What could a weakling like you possibly do to stand out?!"
"Impress? Wait, what?" Arlen's mind raced as he processed the accusation. He raised his hands in a defensive gesture. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Look, there's no way—no way—I'm trying to impress Merika. Why would you even think that?"
The man's expression darkened further, his lips curling into a sneer. "Don't play dumb with me. I see the way you look at her. You're nothing but a bottom-feeder, hoping for scraps of recognition. It's pathetic."
Arlen sighed, exasperated. "I'm not trying to impress anyone. I'm just here to survive, same as you."
The man's sneer faltered for a moment, but his annoyance quickly returned. He stepped back, crossing his arms. "Name's Bukan," he said, his voice dripping with disdain. "I'm the tank who keeps people like you alive. Don't forget that."
Arlen picked himself up, brushing dirt off his clothes. "Thanks for the introduction, Bukan. I'll try to stay out of your way."
Bukan snorted, turning to leave. "You'd better."
As the group resumed their march, Arlen couldn't shake the tension from his encounter with Bukan. The tank's hostility felt personal, but Arlen couldn't understand why. He kept his distance, focusing on keeping up with the group and avoiding unnecessary attention.
The forest grew darker as they ventured deeper into its heart. The massive trees, with their towering trunks and purple leaves, seemed to close in around them, their branches intertwining like a web. The air was heavy with an unnatural stillness, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves or the distant call of some unknown creature.
"Stay alert," Merika called out, her voice cutting through the silence. She moved with purpose, her hand never straying far from the hilt of her rapier.
Unbeknownst to the group, a pair of glowing eyes watched them from the shadows. The creature moved silently, its massive form blending seamlessly with the darkness. It was a predator unlike any they had faced before, its body covered in jagged, obsidian-like scales that seemed to absorb the faint light filtering through the trees. Its claws dug into the ground as it crept closer, its gaze fixed on the hunters.
As they pressed on, Arlen felt a growing sense of unease. The forest seemed alive, its very atmosphere pressing down on him like a physical weight. His instincts screamed that something was wrong, but he couldn't pinpoint what.
The group moved cautiously through the dense, otherworldly forest. The air was thick with magic, a weight that pressed down on their shoulders as they trudged forward. The massive trees of Fer'Thar loomed above, their twisted trunks glowing faintly with an eerie bioluminescence. Purple grass crunched underfoot, releasing faint, sweet-smelling mists with every step.
Merika raised her hand, signaling the group to halt. "Stay sharp," she said, her voice low but firm. "We're close to something... something powerful." Her ruby-red eyes darted around the trees, her hand tightening on the hilt of her rapier.
Arlen, walking near the back of the group, felt a chill run down his spine. The forest was silent—unnaturally so. No rustling leaves, no chirping fey creatures, just an oppressive, unnatural quiet. He glanced around nervously, his fingers brushing against the hilt of his sword. The weapon felt heavier than before, as if the energy within it resonated with something nearby.
Then, from the shadows ahead, a deep, resonant voice echoed through the trees. It was melodic and sharp, like wind chimes carried by a storm, speaking in a language unfamiliar to anyone else in the group.
"Intruders... You dare to defile this sanctuary. Your greed and destruction end here."
Arlen's breath hitched as he immediately understood the words. He had learned to expect this after realizing the system translated foreign tongues for him. Still, the weight of the words sent a chill down his spine. The others, confused, glanced at one another.
"What was that?" one of the tanks muttered, gripping his shield tightly.
Merika narrowed her eyes, scanning the shadows ahead. "Eyes up. That wasn't human."
Before anyone could respond, the darkness ahead coalesced into a figure. From the depths of the forest stepped a knight unlike any they had ever seen.
The Fey Knight, Auron, Warden of Verdant Grace, emerged, his towering form cloaked in shimmering armor that seemed to breathe with life. His antlered helmet cast an imposing silhouette, the faint glow of his armor illuminating his emerald-green eyes. The living metal of his armor pulsed with mana, and the massive glaive he carried was etched with intricate runes that glowed faintly, radiating power.
The hunters instinctively backed away, their faces pale. "What the hell is that?" one of the brawlers hissed, gripping his weapon tightly.
Merika stepped forward, her rapier gleaming in the dim light. "Formation!" she barked, her voice cutting through the rising panic. "Tanks in front, marksmen and support to the back! Don't hold back—this isn't like anything we've fought before!"
As the group scrambled into position, Auron raised his glaive, his voice ringing out again, loud and clear. "Your kind knows no bounds. Your ceaseless hunger for Flowstones, for power, has desecrated these lands. You will not take more from us. Prepare for judgment."
Arlen's grip tightened on his sword. He could feel the tension radiating off the others, but none of them seemed to understand the gravity of Auron's words. He swallowed hard, muttering under his breath, "System... Why does he care about Flowstones? What is he talking about?"
[Notification: Fey Knights are guardians of their realms, sworn to protect the balance of magic. Your group's continued harvesting of Flowstones has disrupted the ecosystem of Fer'Thar.]
The explanation hit Arlen like a punch to the gut. This wasn't just a fight for survival. Auron was defending his home, his people.
Without warning, Auron charged. His movements were impossibly swift for his size, his glaive slashing down in a deadly arc. The tanks barely managed to raise their shields in time, the impact sending a shockwave that knocked several hunters off their feet. The ground beneath them cracked, glowing roots bursting forth to entangle their legs.
"Break free! Don't let them trap you!" Merika shouted, her voice steady despite the chaos. She dashed forward, her skill [Glide] propelling her toward Auron with breathtaking speed. Her rapier flicked forward in a series of precise strikes, her crimson hair a blur as she clashed with the knight.
Arlen watched, stunned, as the battle unfolded. The others were doing their best to hold their ground, but Auron's power was overwhelming. The knight's every move seemed calculated, his strikes devastatingly precise.
Auron's glowing eyes locked onto Arlen, and for a moment, it felt as though the entire forest was staring at him. "You understand me, don't you?" Auron said, his voice cutting through the chaos like a blade. "Then hear me: leave this place. Tell your kind to stay away, or more will perish."
Arlen froze, his mind racing. The knight wasn't just some mindless monster—they were being warned. But before he could speak, Auron swung his glaive in a wide arc, forcing Merika to retreat. The knight's aura intensified, the glowing motes around him swirling into a storm of energy.
"You will not desecrate this land further. Face the wrath of the Fey!"
The ground trembled as roots and vines erupted in every direction, glowing with vibrant green energy. The hunters screamed as they fought to avoid the growing entanglement.
Arlen clenched his jaw, stepping forward despite the fear clawing at him. He gripped his sword tightly, feeling the weight of its power. He wasn't sure what he could do, but he knew one thing: if they didn't end this quickly, none of them would leave Fer'Thar alive.
Merika and the hunters fought desperately, their attacks proving futile against Auron. His blackened armor was impenetrable, their weapons either bouncing off or being deftly deflected by his glaive. Even Merika, the leader and the strongest among them, found herself overwhelmed. One sweeping arc of Auron's glaive had taken down several hunters in a single strike. She gritted her teeth, exhaustion visible in her movements, her once-pristine rapier now dulled from the relentless assault.
The tanks were in shambles—most had fallen, their shields shattered like fragile glass. Only Bukan remained, battered but upright, his massive frame the last bulwark against Auron's onslaught.
Auron stood there, motionless yet menacing, as if mocking their struggle. He sighed, his glowing green eyes filled with boredom. "Is this all your kind can muster?"
Arlen remained rooted in place, paralyzed not by fear but by the sheer hopelessness of the situation. He held his corrupted Flowstone-enhanced sword tightly, but the thought of charging forward seemed laughable. What could he do that Merika, with her precision and skill, couldn't? He thought of his fire abilities but dismissed them immediately. Even if he unleashed everything he had, it wouldn't be enough.
The System's glowing window appeared in his vision, a cold reminder of their dire situation.
[Warning! Auron is growing tired of this. Chance of survival: Low.]
Arlen's heart sank further as he saw Bukan lift one of the injured hunters onto his shoulder, his voice cutting through the chaos. "Merika! We need to retreat! We're losing too many, and we haven't even scratched him. Let's call for reinforcements!"
Merika hesitated, her pride warring with her pragmatism. Her grip on her rapier tightened, her knuckles white. She glanced back at the battlefield, at the bodies of her comrades lying lifeless on the forest floor, and then at Auron, who stood untouched.
Bukan didn't wait for her reply. He grabbed her by the arm and began dragging her away. "We can't waste time! Forget the E-ranker! Let him play the hero while we regroup!"
Merika struggled against him, her voice sharp and defiant. "You can't be serious! That's absurd! We can't just leave him here to die!"
But Bukan was relentless. He forced her toward the gate, ignoring her protests. As they crossed the threshold, the shimmering barrier sealing them from the dungeon, Merika turned back one last time, her heart heavy with guilt.
Inside, Arlen stood alone.
"What will you do now?" Auron's cold voice echoed, his tone dripping with disdain. "Even your comrades abandoned you. How pitiful."
Auron drove his glaive into the ground with a resounding thud, the force shaking the earth beneath them. His glowing eyes focused intently on Arlen, as if trying to unravel his thoughts. "Tell me, mortal. What will you do?"
Arlen swallowed hard but steadied himself. Fear clawed at his mind, but something deeper—a curiosity, a determination—drove him to speak. "Is there a way to close this gate… without defeating the boss? Someone like you?" His voice was laced with hesitation, but his words carried weight.
Auron tilted his head, as if amused. "Boss?" His chuckle was cold, hollow. "You mistake me for the ruler of this place? No, mortal. I am no boss. I am merely a guardian, one charged with protecting this forest from intruders like you. Beyond here lies an entire kingdom, a realm far greater than your comprehension. And the true ruler of this world…"
Auron's voice distorted, his words turning into an incomprehensible cacophony. The sound made Arlen's head pound as he tried to focus, but the name—the identity—was a blur, as if reality itself refused to acknowledge it.
Arlen stumbled back, shaking his head. His eyes widened in realization. "I couldn't… understand him. That last part. A name or… something beyond language itself."
The pieces began to fit together in Arlen's mind, and the revelation was chilling. "This isn't a gate, is it? Gates are supposed to be locked spaces, isolated dungeons created to test us. But this…" He gestured to the vast, unending forest around them. "This feels alive. It's not just a pocket dimension. It's a whole world."
His breath quickened as the implications hit him like a thunderbolt. "Gates… they're not natural phenomena, are they? They're not random occurrences. They're… created. By someone. Or something."
Auron watched him, his expression unreadable. "You've barely scratched the surface of what you've stumbled upon, mortal. And that ignorance will be your undoing."
Arlen gripped his sword tighter, his resolve hardening. For the first time, he felt like he wasn't just fighting for survival—he was fighting for answers.
Arlen stood firm, his voice trembling but steady as he addressed Auron. "If I—or now, just I—leave this place, will it count as clearing the dungeon, Auron? If what you're saying is true, and this gate isn't like the others, then there's no way we could ever close it. A dungeon break might occur. I… I apologize if our curiosity led us here, but our world, like yours, is under siege. Gates are opening everywhere, and they intrude into our home. I'll gladly leave. Just tell me if it will close the gate. I'm only an E-ranker—the lowest rank my world can give—but I'll do anything if it means I can go."
Auron's glowing eyes narrowed as he listened, his imposing figure standing motionless. For a moment, there was silence, the weight of Arlen's words hanging in the air like a blade poised to strike.
"...Is that so?" Auron finally spoke, his voice carrying a strange mix of amusement and pity. "The lowest rank of your kind stands here, alone, before me… and yet you still speak with resolve." He paused, his gaze piercing as if weighing Arlen's very soul. Then, with a sudden motion, Auron gripped his glaive and snapped it in half, the sound echoing like thunder.
He tossed the broken weapon toward Arlen, the heavy shaft landing at his feet. "This is your reward for defeating the boss," Auron said, his tone dripping with irony. "Take it, mortal. Let the world believe you triumphed."
Arlen looked at the broken glaive, confusion and disbelief etched on his face. "What…?" he whispered, barely able to comprehend what was happening.
Auron stepped back, his shadow looming larger. "But remember this—our meeting never happened. Forget my face, my voice, my name. If you wish to understand more about why this is happening, you must also understand that time is running out."
Arlen's heart raced. "What do you mean by that?"
Auron turned, his voice fading as he walked away into the depths of the forest. "Find the truth before it finds you, mortal. Perhaps then you'll see the world for what it truly is."
The air around Arlen grew heavier, the light of the gate's exit shimmering faintly in the distance. He picked up the broken glaive, its weight both physical and symbolic. His mind raced with unanswered questions, but one thing was clear what is going on?