Rin sprinted through the ruined medbay, the acrid smell of smoke and burnt wood still heavy in the air. Injured players lay scattered on the ground, some moaning quietly, others clutching wounds too deep to ignore. Natsuro and Iryosuki worked tirelessly, their faces pale but focused—the last healers left. Kusahi's absence was a bitter sting Rin didn't bother to hide from himself.
Beyond the medbay, the chaos of battle pressed in. From the backline, mages and archers struggled to hold their ground. Several had fallen or were limping away, wounded by goblins who had slipped past the frontline. The sharp cries of pain and despair echoed in Rin's ears, mixing with the clash of weapons.
Rin's eyes scanned the battlefield, and a faint surge of relief stirred as the tide began to turn. The relentless wave of goblins—once overwhelming—started to thin, their numbers fading beneath the frontline's desperate defense.
The front line fighters gritted their teeth, standing firm, their spirits refusing to break. Slowly but surely, the chaos dimmed, and the line held.
Rin paused for a moment, his breath steadying. The battle was far from over—but this was the first sign that survival was still within reach.
Finally, Rin arrived at Hairu's side, where the relentless orc and the goblin shaman still wreaked havoc. Hairu's stance was unwavering, blocking strike after strike, but Rin could see the weariness creeping into his movements—the battle was taking its toll.
Nearby, Nariku and Tyuri formed a protective circle around Aiko, who remained frozen in place, her eyes fixed on Nori's lifeless body sprawled on the blood-soaked ground. The arrow wound in Aiko's abdomen bled steadily, her breath shallow, but it was the shock that truly held her captive.
Rin's gaze fixed on Aiko, who knelt frozen beside Nori's lifeless body. The blood seeping from Nori's abdomen darkened the soil beneath them, stark proof of the cost of battle.
Aiko's trembling hands hovered helplessly over her fallen comrade, her wide eyes vacant and stunned. Nariku and Tyuri called out to her, voices tight with urgency, but she remained motionless—caught in the crushing weight of loss.
Rin's expression remained calm, his warm smile never faltering. Inside, his mind was cold and sharp. Sacrifices like this were inevitable. Necessary.
Rin's lips barely curled into a faint, cold smirk as he observed Aiko, frozen and broken beside Nori's lifeless body. Regret did not touch him. Sacrifices—painful, cruel sacrifices—were inevitable in this game.
He turned away without a word, spear gripped tightly, eyes narrowing toward the relentless battle raging before them.
Hairu's fierce voice cut through the chaos like a blade, his sword flashing with ruthless precision as he kept the towering orc pinned. On the orc's shoulder, the goblin shaman hissed, weaving dark, crackling magic that threatened to turn the tide.
Rin stepped forward, his movements cold and deliberate. "Distract the shaman," he ordered quietly but firmly. "If he casts, we lose everything."
Hairu's gaze met Rin's—hard, fierce, and tinged with reluctant respect. "Got it. Cover me."
Side by side, they moved as one—Hairu baiting the orc with brutal strikes, forcing it into reckless swings fueled by rage, while Rin circled the shaman like a predator, striking swiftly at its hands to silence the deadly magic.
A fiery bolt hissed through the air, but Rin's spear intercepted it with a ringing clash. Without hesitation, Hairu lunged, driving his blade deep into the orc's shoulder. A roar of fury and pain shook the battlefield.
"We break them here, or we die trying," Hairu growled, every muscle taut with determination.
Rin's gaze sharpened, cold as ice. "No mercy."
Amidst the roaring chaos, their movements intertwined—a deadly dance of steel and strategy, two warriors united in ruthless resolve, fighting to tip the scales of a war drenched in blood and shadow.
Despite their relentless assault, Rin and Hairu found themselves locked in a brutal stalemate. The orc's massive frame absorbed every strike, while the shaman's protective spells wrapped around the beast like a shield of dark energy.
The orc swung with devastating force, each blow threatening to crush them, while the shaman chanted incantations that healed wounds and deflected attacks. Together, they formed an unbreakable barrier—each guarding the other with fierce loyalty.
Rin's spear glanced off a shimmering shield just as Hairu narrowly dodged a deadly blast of magic.
"This won't end until one of them falls," Rin muttered under his breath, frustration flickering behind his composed facade.
Hairu nodded grimly, wiping blood from a cut on his cheek. "They're not just fighting—they're protecting each other. We have to break that link."
The battlefield around them roared with chaos, but Rin's eyes never left the orc and shaman, calculating, searching for the weakness that would shatter their bond and turn the tide of battle.
Rin's spear gleamed as it cut through the air, each strike faster and more erratic than before. His laughter, wild and almost manic, rang out—fueling the chaotic rhythm of the battle. The orc snarled, surprised by Rin's sudden burst of energy, while the shaman's eyes narrowed, urgently casting protective wards.
Hairu adjusted his stance, muscles coiling with tension. He blocked a heavy blow from the orc's massive club, the impact jarring his arms, but Rin's relentless assault drew the orc's attention away.
The orc swung wildly to catch Rin, but Rin twisted away like a shadow, spear flashing, piercing through the thick hide. The shaman shouted an incantation, sending a crackling bolt of magic toward Rin. Without hesitation, Hairu lunged forward, intercepting the spell with his own blade, sparks flying on impact.
"Stay with me!" Rin called, his voice raw with exhilaration. Hairu nodded, eyes sharp.
Together, they pressed forward—Rin's wild, unpredictable strikes backed by Hairu's precise, disciplined counters. The orc stumbled under the onslaught, but the shaman's magic shield flared, protecting the beast and pushing them back.
Sweat dripped down Hairu's brow as he parried and struck, feeling Rin's chaotic energy intertwining with his own steady determination. The battlefield around them blurred—the cries of players, the clash of weapons fading into the pulse of this deadly dance.
"Keep pushing! We break that shield, we break them both!" Hairu shouted.
Rin's laughter cut through the chaos once more as he lunged with manic fury, spear aimed at the shaman's chest.
With a sudden roar, Rin gathered every ounce of frantic energy from his Mania, his spear striking like lightning. The chaotic strikes pierced through the shaman's magical shield, cracking it like shattered glass. The shaman's eyes widened in shock as the protective barrier dissolved.
Seizing the moment, Hairu lunged forward, driving his blade deep into the orc's side. The beast bellowed in agony, staggering backward.
Rin, still driven by the manic frenzy, delivered a final devastating thrust that pierced through the orc's chest. The giant fell heavily, the ground trembling beneath its collapse.
But the victory came at a cost.
Rin's wild laughter abruptly ceased as his aura dimmed and flickered—the Mania deactivated. He staggered, clutching his side where deep wounds burned fiercely. Blood seeped through torn armor, his breathing ragged.
Hairu quickly moved to steady him, concern flashing in his eyes.
"You pushed too hard," Hairu said quietly, gripping Rin's shoulder.
Rin's lips curled into a faint, exhausted smile. "Sacrifice... always necessary."
Around them, the battlefield shifted—players regrouping, the shaman defeated and the orc dead. But Rin's body, battered and drained, was a stark reminder of the cost behind the triumph.
As Rin staggered back, his breath ragged and chest heaving from the violent strain of mania's surge, Hairu's eyes locked onto the fleeing figure of the goblin shaman. The creature's frantic movements betrayed desperation—knowing the battle was lost but still clinging to life.
Without hesitation, Hairu pushed through the fatigue gnawing at his limbs. His boots thundered against the scorched earth, and his sword gleamed coldly as he closed the distance with predatory precision. The shaman, sensing doom, hastily raised a trembling hand to cast a last-ditch spell—weak, flickering magic that barely shimmered in the air.
But Hairu's strike was faster. His blade sliced clean through the shaman's defenses, a ruthless, unyielding arc that ended the chase in a spray of dark, viscous blood splattering the dirt. The shaman crumpled silently, lifeless.
Hairu stood over the fallen foe, chest rising and falling rapidly, eyes hard and unrelenting.
"No loose ends," he muttered grimly, wiping the blade on the ground.
Behind him, Rin steadied himself, the mania fading like a dying storm, leaving a trail of bruises and cuts marking the cost of its power. His gaze swept the battlefield.
The orc was dead. The shaman was dead.
The remaining goblins, seeing their leaders fall, faltered.
A wave of panic rippled through their ranks as the surviving goblins scattered, fleeing into the surrounding forest like shadows melting under the first light of dawn.
The final wave had ended.
Around them, the battered players began to regroup—some tending to wounds, others simply exhaling, the tension easing at last.
Yet Aiko remained frozen, her eyes fixed blankly ahead, still rooted in shock at the loss of Nori and the brutality of the fight. She barely registered the retreat of their foes or the relief spreading through the others.
Tyuri, Nariku, and the others tried to reach her, their voices soft but urgent, but she remained unmoving—lost in the fracture of her world.
Rin exchanged a glance with Hairu, the unspoken understanding clear: this battle was over, but the war was far from finished.
The air was thick with smoke, sweat, and the scent of blood—but it was over.
The players, exhausted yet triumphant, raised their weapons in the air and let out cheers of victory. Relief echoed across the field like thunder after a storm.
But Aiko didn't cheer.
She stood where Nori had fallen, her eyes glassy, unblinking. Even as Tyuri gently shook her shoulder, even as Nariku knelt and whispered her name, nothing changed. She didn't move. She didn't cry.
She just… was.
No more Nori. No more warmth.
Tyuri and Nariku exchanged a glance. Something in Aiko had shattered. It wasn't just grief—it was like her very aura had changed. The gentle calm that once radiated from her was gone, replaced by something frigid and empty. Aiko's silence was no longer from shock.
It had become who she was.
Tyuri said nothing. He simply picked her up—she didn't resist, didn't even look at him—and carried her in his arms. She didn't gesture, didn't speak. Her presence now felt like a void, cold and still.
Not far from them, Rin leaned heavily against a tree, blood staining his clothes, breaths shallow and labored. Mania had done its damage, leaving his body aching and burned from the inside. His mask still clung to his belt, untouched since the final clash.
Nariku was the first to reach him, her expression grim but steady. Hairu followed close behind.
"You still breathing?" Hairu asked, trying to keep his voice firm.
Rin gave a strained chuckle. "Barely."
Without another word, Hairu and Nariku helped him up, each supporting one arm as they guided him toward the medbay.
Around them, other players began to gather the fallen. Bodies of those who had died in the final wave were being brought to the center of the village. There was no ceremony, no chants—just the grim work of the living honoring the dead.
Victory had been earned, but not without cost.
And among the survivors, more than one soul had changed.
Forever.
High above the battlefield, where smoke still drifted and the cries of the wounded began to fade, the rooftop remained quiet.
The masked man stood there, hands behind his back, watching the scene unfold below—the cheers, the mourning, the silence that clung to some of the survivors like a curse. His silver mask glinted faintly under the dying light, the eyes behind it unreadable.
Then, he spoke.
"This is… an entertaining ending."
He tilted his head slightly, as if addressing someone unseen.
"No viewers?" He chuckled, the sound soft and amused. "No applause? How cruel."
And then, for a brief moment, his gaze turned outward—through the fourth wall—directly at you.
"Yes, you. The one reading this."
A pause.
"A fine arc, wouldn't you say? Not perfect. But not bad either." He smiled behind the mask. "Author, do make it more interesting next time, will you? Let's raise the stakes. Twist the pieces. Stir the hearts."
With a flourish of his cloak, the masked man turned, and his figure shimmered like dust in the wind.
"Until next time, readers."
He vanished into the air, leaving behind nothing but silence.
Somewhere, the author—mid-keystroke—froze, fingers trembling slightly.
"...What the hell?"
And with that, the arc closed.
The curtain fell.
But the story was far from over.
Echoes of the first floor [End]