Standing in front of the gate.
Thud–! Thud–!
It was the very gate that served as the only passage between the Sanctuary and District 7.
Thud–! Thud–!
Thousands of barbarians had gathered before it, each gripping their own weapon and stomping the ground in rhythm.
Thud–!
Honestly... it did make the body feel a little stirred up.
The reality of battle being right at the doorstep was sinking in.
Was that why?
Thump–!
Rotmiller checked over his equipnt one more ti.
Thud–!
A crossbow for the decisive blow.
A dagger and longsword for close combat.
A round shield used either for ranged defense or protecting important figures.
Gunpowder pouches attachable to arrows, smoke bombs for blinding the enemy, potions, scrolls...
Thud–!
He rechecked all his gear and even the consumables stored in the [Treasure Vault], but thanks to his usual thorough maintenance, there were no clear issues with anything.
"Hoo..."
And after a long exhale, he felt a little less nervous.
Rotmiller loosened up his body one last ti.
‘Did I... gain weight?’
The gear he hadn’t worn in a while felt a bit tight.
But it was only slightly uncomfortable—nothing about the equipnt felt unfamiliar or awkward. If anything, it felt like he was finally wearing his true clothes again.
‘I really thought I’d never put this on again.’
Maybe that was why, even in tis of financial need, he hadn’t sold this equipnt—he had kept it in storage.
Because, deep down, he must have known.
That a day like this would co.
Thud–!
As Rotmiller instinctively scanned his surroundings, he finally noticed the expressions of those around him.
Faces stiff with solemn determination.
He found those expressions unexpectedly surprising.
Well, if it had been the explorers making those faces, he probably wouldn’t have thought anything of it...
Thud–!
Though they stomped the ground in rhythm like it was a festival, even the barbarians showed that familiar tremble that always surfaced just before battle.
‘Right...’
They were human too.
If pierced by a weapon, they bleed. If too much blood is lost, they can never see their loved ones again—
"The gate will open soon!! Prepare for baaaattllleeeee!!!"
Suddenly, Ainard, stationed at the front line, shouted loud enough to be heard from a kiloter away, and the barbarian warriors who had been waiting, stomping in sync, roared in unison.
"Behell–raaaaaaaaaaaa!"
A roar so loud it seed like eardrums would burst from the pain.
But there was no hand to spare to cover his ears.
Rotmiller, with weapons in both hands, stared straight ahead. Right in front of the gate stood the elite mbers personally selected by Versil Gourland.
Their gear shone with polish, and even their very presence marked them as sothing beyond ordinary n.
Clench—
Among them, as Rotmiller looked at Ainard, his grip on his weapon unconsciously tightened.
Ainard stood at the gate wielding a massive green glaive said to have been obtained during an expedition.
That back—more reassuring than anyone else’s—made Rotmiller think:
Ah, I see.
Those are the people who are called Bjorn Yandel’s “companions.”
Clench.
But there was no need to feel miserable.
No reason to wallow in self-pity over the difference in talent.
Was it ever any different?
He had always been slow, always lagging behind.
People said he was diligent, but even that diligence hadn’t co from desire—it had been the only thing he could rely on.
Admitting this, Rotmiller had left labyrinth life behind and found a new profession.
So there was no need to imagine what it might have been like if he were in their place. They were there now because they had kept moving while he had stopped.
And above all...
Thud–!
He hadn’t co here today for that reason anyway.
Yes, exactly.
Clench.
There was no need for inferiority toward others.
Thump–!
Even the scream of intuition warning him of danger was ignored.
"The barrier is down!"
Rotmiller had picked up his weapon today to fight.
"Behell–raaaaaaaaaaaa!"
Just like those barbarians crying out to their ancestral gods before battle.
To protect sothing precious.
***
What do I do? What do I do? What do I do?
That was the only thought running through Sven Parab’s mind.
‘What do I do...?’
Sven Parab kept asking himself, searching for an answer.
"Huh? Didn’t you hear ? I said we need to help them!"
Should they be helped or not?
Surprisingly, Sven Parab wasn’t trying to find an answer to that question.
The answer was already clear.
Thump–!
They must not be helped.
If he stepped out of the wardrobe to help the woman outside, sothing bad would definitely happen.
That ominous intuition was so strong, it had him torn with indecision.
To so, it might make him look like a cowardly fool.
‘What do I do?’
How could he convince Riris Marone not to intervene—to just let it go?
He wrestled with the thought endlessly, but sadly, no good answer ca. The golden mont passed.
"...There’s a risk they’ll discover our location."
That was all he could manage to say in the end, and at that, Riris Marone went silent for a mont.
"...I’m disappointed. I didn’t think you were that kind of person."
Her voice, after the short pause, trembled with betrayal, and her gaze turned cold.
Sven Parab felt like soone was stabbing needles into his heart.
"...To , Miss Marone matters far more than so stranger whose na I don’t even know."
That heartfelt truth slipped out, unbidden by the pain.
Flustered even at his own words, Sven Parab hastily added excuses.
"Besides, if we don’t survive, we’ll never be able to fulfill the promise we made that day..."
Though it sounded like an excuse, it still held so truth.
But Marone’s response remained cold.
"If we ignore soone’s life just to chase so greater cause, then how are we any different from the royal family?"
"......"
"You stay in the wardrobe, Mr. Parab. I’ll save them myself if I have to."
With those words, she walked toward the window.
And after a brief mont of focus—
"Naria Kartehtura!"
A spell chant flew past the shattered window and struck the ground below.
"...Kyaaaaah!"
Only one woman’s scream rang out from below—no other noise followed.
That was because Riris Marone, a forr military mage, had cast her spell with such precision and speed that it pierced through two heads in a single blow.
"......"
At that mont, Sven Parab, still inside the wardrobe, and Riris Marone, standing at the window, locked eyes.
Sven didn’t know what to say, but Marone spoke first.
"...Don’t worry. I won’t be a burden to you, Mr. Parab."
"Uh... What do you an by th—"
Before he could even ask what she ant, Riris Marone climbed over the shattered windowsill and jumped to the ground.
And then—
"Ma’am, go back inside the building! I need to move this body first...!"
"Yes! Huh? Ah, I-I’ll help too!"
"I’ll hold here, you grab the legs! Just the legs, please!"
As he heard the flurry of voices from outside—
Thunk–!
Sven Parab closed the wardrobe door in sha.
***
The start of the battle was almost absurdly simple.
Whoooooooom—!
The translucent barrier that had risen high above the wall began to dim and eventually vanished entirely.
"......"
"......"
Roughly five seconds of silence followed.
And those five seconds were of a strange, unprecedented kind.
Thump-thump.
Blood rushed to the head, narrowing vision. The heart beat so violently it brought on nausea.
And at the sa ti—
Why aren’t they coming?
Was it just a fluke that the barrier ca down?
Then... maybe we don’t have to fight?
Just as such hopeful thoughts began to cross the mind—
BOOOOOOM—!
A magic cannon blast shattered the gate to pieces.
Fortunately, the magic blast had been absorbed by the protective spells cast by the mages, so there was no additional damage beyond the gate being destroyed.
But still...
Shhhhhhhhh—!
Even the thick dust cloud couldn't hide it.
"They’re coming...!"
The sound of hundreds, thousands of soldiers charging echoed, quickly growing louder.
"Behell–raaaaaaaaaaaa!"
His first experience with “war” was nothing like what Rotmiller had imagined.
Though he had believed the elites standing before the gate would form an impenetrable wall, their formation was aningless before the surge of thousands.
They could barely hold back the massive flow—but stopping every tiny stream that broke through was impossible.
"Aaaaaargh!"
"Kill them! Kill them all!!"
Thin streams that broke through the front line clashed into the second.
"Kraaaagh!"
"Aaaaargh!!"
As if the eerie silence monts before had been a lie, the space in front of the wall transford into a place filled with blood and screams.
A chaotic lee where strategy and formations held no aning unfolded—
Right before his eyes.
Fwoosh—!
Rotmiller, briefly stunned, ca to his senses the mont an arrow grazed his ear and began swinging his weapons like a madman.
Slice—!
He slashed an enemy with his longsword.
Thwip—!
Fired a bolt straight through another’s head.
BOOM—!
Tossed a gunpowder pouch into a group of enemies, rolled his body to shield an ally—
He did everything he could from his position.
And it wasn’t just Rotmiller.
Everyone present fought the sa way.
"Ainard Prnelin is here!!"
"Didn’t they say killing that bitch gets you a Tier-2 essence?"
"Dieeeee!!"
Ainard, swinging her green glaive, showed what it ant to fight one against a hundred with overwhelming martial prowess.
BOOOOM—!
Then ca Elwen Fornaci di Tersia, in her bloodshade state.
Even those who didn’t possess such fa displayed years of teamwork within their clans.
And alongside them were the unwavering barbarian warriors.
"Behell–raaaaaaaaaaaa!"
"Kill every last one who dares enter the Sanctuary!!"
It even looked possible they could repel the Noark forces—
But it didn’t take long for that hope to shatter.
BOOM—!
"Magic cannon! It’s a magic cannon!"
Noark forces, now occupying the top of the wall, began firing the cannons they had finished setting up down at the defenders.
BOOM—! BOOM—! BOOM—!
Each ti a magic blast struck the tightly packed defense line, several—sotis over a dozen—were killed or maid.
Beeeeeeeeeeep—!
Was human life always this easy to erase?
For the first ti in his life, Rotmiller felt like his very soul was being swallowed by the reality of “war.”
Haa... haa...
It hadn’t even been ten minutes since the battle began, but his breath was already at his throat. His arms and legs had lost strength.
And perhaps due to the deafening noise, his eardrums were likely damaged—because at so point, all he could hear was a sharp ringing.
"......!"
The scream of a dying warrior beside him made no sound.
".........!!"
Neither did the roars of the enemies charging at him with killing intent.
Only two sounds remained for Rotmiller.
Beeeeeeeeeeep—!
That sharp ringing that dulled all thought.
And—
Thump–!
The pounding of /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ his heart, screaming to survive.
"......!!"
"............!!"
Amid the silent storm of malice and despair, Rotmiller swung his weapon.
Thump–!
Forcing himself to ignore the unshakable sense of dread.
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