Nine huge lizardmen stood in a line between the Flora Enchanter and the two of them, blocking the way. Their yellow eyes watched without blinking, claws twitching, ready to strike. There was no way forward — only danger.
But then—unexpectedly—Ludwig grinned with excitement.
Yor glanced at him, confused.
"Why are you smiling, man? We're about to die here."
Suddenly, the ground pulsed with soft, scattered thuds—footsteps, dozens of them.
The trees rustled as something stirred beyond the shadows. Then, about fifty players burst into view, charging straight toward Yor and Ludwig—led by that same orange-haired guy Rywes had sent.
"Sorry we're late. We ran into a Guardian," said the orange-haired guy with a grin.
His short, messy orange hair was easy to spot, and light freckles covered his cheeks. A staff was strapped across his back, and daggers hung from the leather baldric slung over his chest.
Yor exhaled in relief.
"You guys arrived just in time."
---
Earlier that day, not long after Yor had fallen to Azakkin…
The raid party was fighting hard. Vines whipped through the air, crashing into shields and sweeping warriors off their feet. The ground trembled with every powerful strike, shaking the battlefield with relentless force.
Ludwig ducked under a whipping vine, slashing upward as he turned to Rywes.
"I've known him for four years!" he shouted, voice hoarse with effort. "Trust me — he's onto something!"
Rywes grunted, shooting her arrow through a tendril that had just impaled one of their tanks.
"I can't let you have half the forces," she snapped. "We've only killed one flower and slashed a few tendrils!"
Another vine shot toward them. Ludwig blocked it with a clang, boots skidding on the ground.
"The boss got weaker," Rywes continued, "but it's not harmless. You think I can spare fifty while this thing's still pulling people into the floor?"
"I swear—"
"And stop talking now and let me focus, would you?" Rywes snapped, blades flashing as she cut through another vine. "We already lost too many earlier. We just need to hold the line until they get back." She turned to Ludwig—
—and froze.
Her eyes widened.
Ludwig stood motionless in the chaos, arms open, head lifted, facing the towering vine that Azakkin reared above him. He wasn't dodging. He wasn't fighting. He was waiting.
"No!" Rywes cried out, breaking into a sprint. Her boots thudded against the ground as she weaved through lashing tendrils, eyes locked on Ludwig.
She reached out, ready to shove him aside—but the vine struck before she could even touch him.
Azakkin's massive limb came crashing down with a bone-shaking thud, slamming Ludwig into the ground and crushing him beneath its weight.
Shockwave blasted outward from the impact. Rywes barely twisted away in time, the force still knocking her off balance. She tumbled, skidded across the ground, and landed on her knees—both hands braced against the dirt, head lowered, breath shuddering. Dust and debris swirled in the aftermath.
"Idiot!" she grunted, then slammed her fist into the ground.
She slowly let herself fall backward, lying flat against the ground, eyes staring up at the hazy sky above.
Her chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, the sounds of battle dull around her, distant—as if the world had pulled away for a moment and left her in silence.
Then her eyes caught something.
A thin thread of light shimmered high above Azakkin—faint, almost too easy to miss, but unmistakable once her eyes found it.
Her breath caught.
---