The dark-skinned man with cropped hair adjusted the strap of his crossbow and frowned.
"Captain, she's got a point," he said, voice calm but edged with worry. "We're supposed to push the boss into Rage Mode—then kill it just before it transforms? You know how suicidal that sounds. What if it doesn't drop anything? What if we risk it all for nothing?"
His gaze shifted toward the lazy-eyed blond standing at the rear.
The boy looked as detached as ever—hands in his pockets, posture loose, eyes half-lidded—as though none of this mattered.
The others exchanged uneasy looks. No one spoke, but the thought was clear on every face.
When a beast entered Rage Mode, it wasn't a simple power-up—it was a transformation.
Strength, defense, and speed multiplied. Instinct sharpened into pure malice. Every strike carried the intent to kill.
Veteran Awakeners ended fights before that happened. Not bait it on purpose.
And yet here they were—planning to do exactly that.
All for the chance at an Epic drop.
They knew the risk. But risk was the Tower's only currency.
Every Awakened who entered it did so for one reason—treasure.
Still, doubt gnawed at them. This wasn't a guaranteed reward. No one wanted to die for nothing.
The captain said nothing for a moment, his gaze settling on the blond. Even he seemed to want reassurance.
The blond finally looked up, met his eyes—and shrugged.
No words. No explanation. Just that lazy, half-smile that said, believe it or don't—it's your problem.
The captain exhaled slowly, forcing composure back into his tone.
"Alright," he said, voice firm. "No panic. We stick to the plan."
He turned, scanning each face. "When we reach the boss, I'll take the front. The rest of you keep pressure on it—small hits, steady rhythm. Make it angry. Mage"—he looked to the short red-haired girl—"prepare your strongest spell. The moment I signal, unleash it before the boss completes its Rage transformation. Understood?"
"Yes, Captain," the girl replied, gripping her staff.
"Good." He nodded once. "Everyone else—stay sharp. We're not here to die. We're here to win. Imagine the cut you'll get when we sell that Epic item."
The attempt at motivation worked—partly. The tension eased a little; a few forced grins appeared. But beneath the surface, unease lingered like a heartbeat.
"Let's move," the captain ordered.
---
They advanced through the forest, step by step.
Traps lined the path—crude but deadly. Spikes hidden beneath leaves. Tripwires woven from sinew.
The red-haired mage's staff glowed faint crimson as her eyes scanned ahead.
"There," she murmured, waving her hand. The ground shimmered, revealing a pit of sharpened stakes.
"Good catch," the captain said. They skirted the trap and pressed on.
Every few minutes, goblins burst from the undergrowth—screeching, green-skinned, filthy.
They fell easily.
Bolts of light from the mage tore through their bodies. The spear-wielder struck with precision, her weapon glinting faintly in the filtered light. The captain blocked attacks with his hardened skin—his talent, Iron Hide, turning his flesh metallic gray as weapons bounced harmlessly off him.
Their teamwork was fluid. Efficient. Confident.
Even the new porter, struggling under the weight of two packs, managed to keep up—panting, collecting dropped loot in silence.
It didn't take long for the forest to thin, the trees giving way to a clearing of crude huts and sharpened fences.
The Goblin Settlement.
They entered without hesitation, moving deeper, cutting through resistance as they went.
Soon, they reached the heart of the settlement.
The clearing was littered with bones and broken stakes. At its center sat the Goblin Chief—a massive goblin nearly six feet tall, muscles bulging under thick green hide.
Its yellow eyes glowed faintly beneath a crude bone crown, its bulk slouched on a throne of skulls.
It gripped a spiked club big enough to crush a man in one blow. Around it stood a dozen elite guards—archers perched on half-built towers, warriors clutching chipped blades, and a goblin shaman whispering curses.
The captain raised his hand. "Positions!"
The team moved like parts of a machine.
"Archer, take the shaman!"
"Understood!" The dark-skinned man's crossbow clicked, a bolt streaking through the air to pierce the shaman's shoulder. The creature shrieked, its spell collapsing.
The mage hurled a fire orb, scattering archers. The spear-wielder darted between huts, impaling two goblins in a blur.
Meanwhile, the blond boy simply… vanished. One moment there, the next—a shadow.
When he reappeared, it was behind the wounded shaman.
His dagger flashed once—clean, silent. The shaman's head rolled across the dirt.
Within minutes, the lesser goblins were dead. Only the Chief remained.
---
The creature's roar shook the clearing. Its yellow eyes blazed as it charged, club raised high.
"Formation B!" the captain shouted.
He stepped forward, Iron Hide flaring as the club slammed into him with bone-rattling force. He staggered back, boots carving deep trenches—but held firm.
"Now! Chip it down!"
The others moved like clockwork—spears darting, spells bursting, bolts striking joints. Every strike was calculated to wound, not kill, feeding the boss's fury.
The Chief's roar deepened. Its body swelled, veins glowing crimson.
"Get ready!" the captain barked. "It's entering Rage Mode!"
The mage nodded, lifting her staff.
"Now!"
Dozens of glowing sigils flared above her. The air crackled, heavy with static.
BOOM.
A bolt of lightning crashed down, then another—and another.
The clearing erupted in white fire. Ozone filled the air.
When the barrage ended, the Goblin Chief was a smoldering ruin—half-charred, half-melted. Smoke curled from the crater where it had stood.
The team froze.
Then, slowly, golden light rose from the ashes.
A drop.
The glow pulsed, soft yet dazzling.
The captain blinked, awe spreading across his face. "It… it dropped something."
The archer lowered his weapon, eyes wide. "He was right. The crazy bastard was actually right."
Laughter broke through the tension—half-relief, half-greed.
The spear-wielder stepped forward, reaching for the light. As her fingers touched it, the glow faded, leaving behind a ring—smooth obsidian, etched with golden runes that shimmered like molten metal.
It looked valuable.
She held it up, the others crowding around, eyes gleaming with reflected gold.
"Check it," the captain said eagerly.
The girl nodded, activating her Scan skill. A moment later, her smile vanished.
"…What?"
The others leaned in. "What's wrong?"
She frowned. "No information. It's blank. I can't see anything."
"What?" the captain barked, confusion flickering in his eyes.
The others tried their own Analyze skills. One by one, their faces twisted.
[????????????]
[Error: Unable to Identify Item.]
"Is this… a bug?" someone muttered. "Or—"
"Watch out!" the porter screamed.
They barely turned before a shadow stepped out from behind the captain—silent, seamless, unseen until it was too late.
A hand, dripping crimson, pierced straight through the captain's chest.
For a heartbeat, no one moved.
Then came the wet sound of tearing flesh.
The attacker's hand withdrew—clutching a still-beating heart.
The captain's body went limp and collapsed.
As the corpse hit the dirt, the shadow straightened, revealing a blood-soaked silhouette.
It was the blond.
Only now, the lazy expression was gone—replaced by a crazed smile.