I walked back over to the campfire, each step slow and deliberate, like I was afraid the moment would break if I moved too fast. The fire greeted me with the same steady crackle as before, sparks drifting upward into the night. I lowered myself onto a log, the rough bark biting faintly through my clothes, grounding me in something real.

  I stared into the flames for a moment longer before speaking. "We'll make a grave back on Earth, as well."

  The words felt heavy but right. Desmond deserved more than a mound of sand in a land soaked with blood. He deserved a place where the wind was familiar, where people could stand and remember him without fear.

  Alex didn’t answer verbally. Instead, he flicked his wrist, tossing one of his knives toward Mei in a lazy arc. The blade spun end over end through the firelight. Mei caught it cleanly with one hand, not even glancing at it.

  Alex pleaded, "Poison it. I need it to defend myself."

  I understood immediately. A support was taken out just like that. No warning. No chance to react. Of course he’d want a weapon now—something that didn’t rely on speed or strength, which he was sorely lacking.

  Mei tapped the knife’s tip with her finger. A small green aura bloomed around the blade, faint but unmistakably lethal. I could feel it even from here, the wrongness of it crawling across my skin. This poison scales off of her class stat. It’s deadly to any one of us. Any human, really.

  Alex conjured a leather sheath, the magic snapping it into existence with practiced ease. He slid the knife inside, secured it, then tucked it into his back pocket like it was just another tool.

  Eli coughed, breaking the tension, muttering. "That's a death flag."

  Alex laughed, sharp and genuine, and waved him off. "Be quiet."

  Real laughter. Laughter is the best medicine for sorrow. It didn’t erase the pain, but it dulled the edge just enough to breathe.

  It’s been seven days for them.

  For me... it was only a few minutes ago.

  I stared into the fire again, feeling the hollow place inside my chest stir faintly.

  Let’s see if I leveled up from killing that orc…

  Oh? Conduction Gloves?

  As soon as I thought of it, a white light appeared on both of my hands. It quickly evaporated, and revealed pristine white gloves. I assume these give me a buff, hopefully to class.

  Good. I needed more power on my spells—but I didn’t want to waste two stat points on raw output alone and end up neglecting my speed, mana, and senses. Power without control is how you die early. Or how you watch others die instead.

  That thought made my jaw tighten.

  Still, the increase was noticeable. Subtle, but real.

  That reminds me...

  With my upgraded senses, the world felt wider. Not louder—clearer. I could hear the fire crackle behind me while also catching the faint shift of sand far beyond the camp. I could feel the pressure of movement in the air, the weight of presences that weren’t even trying to hide.

  At least half as much further.

  Nothing—unless it’s like that bastard orc with its invisibility—should be able to sneak up on me now. If something moves with intent, I’ll feel it. If something watches us, I’ll know.

  Everyone should’ve leveled up from that encounter. Even the ones here. And that’s ignoring the seven who are still out there, systematically erasing the orcs from the land.

  Desmond... you were unlucky. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.

  The words weren’t dramatic. They didn’t need to be. They sat heavy in my chest, settled there to stay.

  But from now on—no matter what—nobody else shall die.

  Not Mary. Not Alex. Not Mei. Not anybody.

  We’re getting stronger. Strong enough that no monster should be able to touch us.

  But that still isn’t enough.

  Raw strength failed us once already.

  I need to understand these monsters. Their habits. Their abilities. Their limits. I need to know what they are before they reach us.

  The Tower has given us the Archive.

  And from now on, I’m going to use it properly.

  What a rigid hierarchy.

  It wasn’t random violence. It never was. The red orcs stood at the top—overwhelming strength, terrifying durability, and a presence that bent the battlefield around them. Everything else moved around their will, consciously or not. Leaders, enforcers, executioners.

  Beneath them, the blue orcs are supposedly different. Intelligence is a warrior's most important tool, they say.

  That wasn’t coincidence.

  That was design.

  Can these things have a soul?

  Are they truly constructs?

  Two hours later...

  I slid across the grass, boots tearing shallow lines through the damp earth as my momentum carried me forward. The recoil hadn’t even finished echoing before I dug the barrel of my fifty caliber revolver up into its chin. The orc barely had time to register surprise.

  I pulled the trigger, and its head exploded into a pile of mush.

  Blood and bone sprayed outward, the body crumpling. I rolled to my feet smoothly, already scanning my surroundings, adrenaline buzzing pleasantly through my veins.

  These buggers are nothing to me now!

  The confidence came easily—too easily. My breathing was steady, my hands rock solid. Every shot today had landed true. Every enemy had fallen before they could even threaten me.

  Bet I could even take down a group of red orcs!

  The thought was half bravado, half genuine belief. My senses were sharp, my ammo infinite, my control perfect. I turned slowly, revolver still raised, eyes sweeping the treeline.

  Now where’s the last one?

  The answer came violently.

  All of a sudden, a huge red orc came flying from behind a tree, the trunk splintering where its shoulder smashed through. I didn’t even have time to be surprised—just enough to react. I have no idea how it hid something that big, but it did. No footsteps. No presence. Nothing. That dug up sore memories.

  I hurled the revolver aside without thinking and conjured my AWP mid-motion. The weight snapped into my hands as I pulled back the bolt and loaded the first bullet in one smooth movement.

  Too close. Way too close.

  I pulled the trigger.

  Bang!

  The shot thundered through the clearing, and the bullet tore into its chest—but my angle was off. I’d aimed clumsily, instinctively, and hit the wrong pectoral.

  Not the heart.

  The orc staggered, snarling, but it didn’t fall. It was still alive.

  And now it was only a few feet away.

  I barely had time to counterattack before a flash of light split the air.

  Sshing!

  The orc was cut to smithereens in an instant, its massive body carved apart so cleanly it almost looked unreal. Pieces of it rained down onto the grass.

  Sosuke!

  He knelt in front of where the orc had been, sword humming faintly as the last fragments hit the ground. His expression was calm, but his eyes were sharp—focused in a way I hadn’t seen before.

  He frowned. "Don't let your guard down."

  I nodded.

  After Desmond’s death, Sosuke won’t allow even allow us a scratch. The shift in him is unmistakable. He used to treat everything like a game, like the world was just a board and we were pieces moving for his amusement.

  Now?

  He watches everything.He plans everything. He reacts instantly.

  Perhaps now he’ll take things more seriously.

  I lowered my rifle slightly, exhaling. I saw firsthand his bravery before—saving Haruto on the first floor and all that—but this felt different.

  Like a player who finally understands what happens when you lose.