The silence that followed... oh man, it was worse than any roar. Seriously! It wasn't the peaceful, calming kind of silence. Nope, this was the kind that hangs in the air right before something explodes – that fragile, charged calm that makes your skin crawl.
Sung Jin-Woo was flat on his back, sprawled on the cold stone like a discarded ragdoll. His body, the traitor, had given out on him the second the Probability Matrix delivered its verdict and the immediate danger passed. Weak? Exhausted? Understatement of the century! He was barely even aware of the bewildered faces staring down at him. The air reeked of ozone and dust, a nasty reminder of where Mr. Song's sword had connected with the ceiling seam – that insane, impossible target that had somehow, against all odds, saved their sorry hides.
And then, burning into his vision like a brand, were the chilling, absolute terms of his new System. Ugh, I get shivers just thinking about it!
Seventeen percent. SEVENTEEN! And dropping faster than my grades in math class. They had less than a minute before the next wave came crashing down on them, wiping them all out.
"What in the hell was that, kid?"
Mr. Song! The man himself, standing over Jin-Woo, blood trickling down his forehead from a nasty gash. He was gripping his sword like a lifeline, his face a mask of desperation. "Did you... did you just get lucky? Don't lie to me, kid."
Jin-Woo tried to push himself up, but his muscles screamed bloody murder. He was stuck relying on his voice, which felt like it was full of cotton.
"It wasn't luck, Mr. Song," he gasped, the words scraping past his dry throat. He kept his eyes glued to the statues, ignoring the veteran's glare. He could already see the red lines snaking around their formation – the precise path of the impending synchronized attack. "It was math. And you have seven seconds to get to your left. Move!"
Okay, so maybe commanding a seasoned hunter like that wasn't the smartest move, but what choice did he have?
The veteran hunter's face twisted in fury. "You think you can command me, E-rank—?"
Before Song Chi-Yul could even finish his retort (and trust me, I'm sure it would have been epic), the gigantic Angelic Statue lifted its hand again. But this time, it wasn't a slow, ceremonial gesture. It was a blur of concrete and magic, a lightning-fast strike that made the air shriek.
"NOW!" Jin-Woo roared, the sound surprisingly sharp despite his exhaustion. He wasn't giving an order; he was delivering a verdict.
Song Chi-Yul, bless his heart, let his survival instincts win out over his pride (barely) and dove sideways like a freaking ninja. The wave of compressed air from the statue's attack tore past the exact spot he'd been standing, pulverizing the flagstone and sending up a choking cloud of debris. If he'd hesitated for even a fraction of a second longer, he would have been vaporized. Gone. Poof.
The hunters who hadn't moved were thrown to the ground like ragdolls. The message was clear: obey, or die.
"The statues are resetting their attack coordinates!" Jin-Woo shouted over the din, ignoring the throbbing pain in his chest. He focused on the complex network of green lines weaving through the floor tiles. The OSS was demanding a coordinated action, a ridiculously multi-step plan that required every hunter, no matter how weak, to play their part.
"We can't fight them head-on! We have to disrupt the mana conductors in the floor!" Jin-Woo's voice cut through the fear, absolute and precise. He pointed a trembling finger at one of the cowering E-ranks. "Hunter Park! You have a Strength stat of ten! Walk to the third tile in front of the altar. Use exactly eighty percent of your kicking force! Don't hold back, but don't give it full power! Eighty percent!"
Can you imagine? Hunter Park, practically paralyzed with terror, stumbled forward, probably convinced that the weakest member of the raid had finally lost his marbles. But the terror of the advancing statues was greater than his confusion, so he aimed a pathetic-looking kick at the spot Jin-Woo specified.
WHOOM.
A low, subterranean hum vibrated through the chamber, not from the statue, but from the floor itself. The angelic faces of the statues momentarily flickered, their golden light dimming.
"It worked! The energy flow shifted!" Jin-Woo yelled, seizing on the tiny victory. He immediately pointed at a low-level healer. "Hunter Kim! Don't heal Park! Use your weakest healing spell – the lowest mana output – directly on the tile he just kicked! Now!"
The healer obeyed, casting a weak, localized spell directly onto the cold stone. The hum intensified, and a visible spark erupted from the spot, momentarily disabling one of the statues' arms.
Jin-Woo's body was running on pure adrenaline and the mathematical dictate of the Matrix. He knew he looked like a complete and utter madman – a physically weak E-rank directing the strongest people in the room to perform insane, hyper-specific tasks. But he couldn't afford to care.
"Keep following the commands!" Jin-Woo screamed, his voice cracking. "Your life is one hundred percent dependent on obeying my voice!"
And that, my friends, is where things get really interesting...
The humming from the floor tiles subsided, but the brief respite was shattered by a sudden, frantic surge of movement.
Hunter Kang, a mid-level fighter who had always been way too arrogant for his C-rank status, saw the flickering of the disabled statue arm as his big chance. He'd been listening to the E-rank scream orders for way too long. He wasn't about to be bossed around by the self-proclaimed weak link.
"This is madness! I'm taking my chance!" Kang yelled, completely ignoring the complex, precise commands Jin-Woo was desperately trying to issue to three different hunters at once. He made a desperate, selfish sprint toward the main exit tunnel – the way they'd all come in.
And that's when the visual field of the Probability Matrix exploded into aggressive, searing red. Uh oh.
"Kang, stop! That tile is lethal!" Jin-Woo screamed, the Oracle's warning ripping the air out of his lungs. He could see the intricate web of death lines converging on the fleeing hunter. The Matrix showed that Kang's path was perfectly aligned with the secondary firing sequence of the colossal Angelic Statue. It was a death trap, plain and simple.
But Kang wasn't listening. "Shut up, E-rank! You're just getting lucky!"
In the fraction of a second that it took for Kang's foot to touch the center of the main hall, the Angelic Statue pivoted with impossible speed. Its arm, the one that had only momentarily flickered before, shot forward like a freaking cannon. The attack wasn't a blast of raw power, but a concentrated spear of golden light – a Judgment Strike. Ouch.
The light hit Kang squarely in the chest.
There was no sound of impact, just a sickening, momentary puff of dust. Kang's reinforced hunter armor offered absolutely zero resistance. His body simply ceased to exist, reduced to nothing more than ash and scattered mana particles. The exit tunnel remained exactly as it had been, mocking the man who believed he could outrun fate.
The other hunters froze, staring in horrified silence at the empty space where their comrade had just been standing. Their faces were pale, their eyes wide with shock and dawning terror.
And Jin-Woo? He didn't get to grieve. He got a freakin' notification.
A crushing, agonizing pressure slammed into his skull, like someone had just shoved a red-hot poker into his brain. His vision swam, the room tilting around him. He hadn't caused the death, but the System – the cold, mathematical Oracle – saw that he had failed to compel the obedience necessary for survival. The penalty was instant and crippling. Jin-Woo gasped, clutching his head, his already meager mana pool depleted by a fifth.
"He... he died because he didn't listen," whispered the healer, Hunter Kim, her eyes wide with shock and dawning dread. The reality of their situation was finally sinking in.
The statues, having executed their penalty for disobedience, resumed their coordinated attack, closing in on the survivors. The Probability Matrix above their heads dipped terrifyingly low, flashing a warning that made Jin-Woo's blood run cold.
Song Chi-Yul, the veteran, finally understood. He hadn't just dodged a fluke; he had avoided certain annihilation. He looked from the empty space where Kang had been to the sweat-soaked, physically broken E-rank boy on the floor. There was no arrogance left in his eyes, only a desperate, profound respect.
"Alright, Commander," Mr. Song said, hefting his sword. He didn't ask how Jin-Woo knew; he simply accepted the terrible, impossible truth. "Tell us what to do. Exactly."
Jin-Woo fought through the stabbing pain of the penalty, his mind racing to adapt to his reduced resources. He looked at the Matrix. The new optimal strategy was ridiculously precise and now focused entirely on the strongest remaining combatant. No pressure, right?
"Mr. Song," Jin-Woo said, his voice now ragged, but infused with the cold, hard certainty of the Oracle. "You have to run past the second column, not around it. You need to take three defensive hits to distract the chief statue, then you must thrust your blade into the seam of the fourth floor tile with ninety-five percent of your maximum force. Do you understand?"
Song Chi-Yul nodded once, accepting the high cost of his new orders. "Ninety-five percent. Three hits. I understand, Commander."