Oswald felt the cold bite of Jonathan's blade at his back. Panic knotted his stomach.

"Don't make a sound, or you die," Jonathan said.

Oswald swallowed. He knew how powerful Jonathan had become; the man could kill him without effort. Jonathan had been missing for months, an elusive figure even during Oswald's time in Bastion. Only Kruger and Bartholomew had been able to summon him when needed. After their deaths, Jonathan simply vanished.

"P-please… don't kill me," Oswald begged, his voice small.

The blade pressed and rotated, digging a little deeper. "You told them about me, Oswald. You were a snitch."

"I only said what everyone already knew. I didn't know much about you, anyway," Oswald stammered. He knew only that Jonathan had worked with them, hunting criminals with Kruger, and that his mercenary class and builder profession were common knowledge.

"You spent years helping Bartholomew," Jonathan said, his breath close to Oswald's ear. "You were there the times they sent soldiers to the Haven to humiliate Angelica, humiliate me."

Oswald felt the words freeze him. "I never ordered anyone to beat or hurt anyone. But you have to understand, if we acted with authority, criminals would fear invading the Safe Zone, and it would also make people think twice before betraying us. It was all for the sake of order, I swear. Horrible crimes didn't happen because we were strict. And I always sent barrels of water whenever your things were destroyed."

The blade tightened. "P-please… I don't want to d-die."

Silence stretched between them, long and heavy. Then Jonathan spoke, slow. "Take out the healing potions you've been keeping. Put them on the table. Slowly."

Understanding hit Oswald like ice.

"You're going to kill me, aren't you?" he asked. If Oswald were killed, his storage item would vanish with him. The only way to recover its contents was to have him empty it while alive.

"Kill you?" Jonathan laughed, a harsh, humorless sound. "Please, Oswald. Killing you now would be too easy. You'll be useful to them in the war. I want everyone to reach the castle. I like living, too, the more help I have, the better."

Oswald couldn't tell if he was speaking the truth or lying.

"We all want the same thing, get back home," Oswald said.

"Empty the storage item, now," Jonathan ordered.

There was nothing else to do. Oswald drew a breath and complied. Each potion took a second to retrieve and place on the table, and each second felt like an hour. He braced for the end, but it never came. From the corner of his eye, he watched Jonathan stack the potions, deliberate and calm.

"You're not going to kill me?" Oswald asked, trembling.

"Soon, an attendant will come to fetch you," Jonathan said, stepping closer. "If I kill you here, it draws attention. Even if I wanted to finish you a second after the war starts, I prefer you alive, Oswald, like I said. It's better to see you go through that horror with the rest of us."

His sword scraped once, a cold whisper across Oswald's back. "Now give me your crossbow."

"My crossbow?" Oswald put a shaking hand on his storage item.

"No, your system item. Your crossbow." Jonathan extended his hand. "Touch my hand and transfer it to my system inventory. Do it quickly."

Hands trembling, Oswald obeyed. He opened his system interface and dragged the icon aside.

[Do you wish to transfer your item 'Common Crossbow'? Y/N]

Oswald clicked "Yes."

[An item has been removed from your inventory.]

Jonathan was silent for a few seconds. "Now the enchanted quiver."

"But… then I'll have nothing left to reload my other crossbow during the battle. I'll be left to die out there," Oswald pleaded.

"You decide, Oswald. Die now, or take your chances in the chaos," Jonathan replied.

Oswald didn't hesitate this time. He transferred the item.

[An item has been removed from your inventory.]

He closed his eyes, bracing for the end—but it never came.

"Good luck, Oswald," Jonathan murmured. "I'll be around. And if you ever talk about me again… you know what happens."

Then he was gone, leaving Oswald alone in the silence of the tent, his pulse still hammering in his ears.

Stolen novel; please report.

***

Allison was in a room within the third fortress. In just a few minutes, the third mechanism would be activated, and there would be no turning back. She wasn't afraid of what might happen, but she still felt uneasy, a quiet dread born from the fear of the unknown. She was supposed to be resting, but the thought of stillness made her restless. Instead, she trained, repeating measured strikes and fluid steps, her katana cutting through the air in a silent rhythm only she could hear.

[Katana of the Violet Blade (Legendary) Description: A katana forged from the heart of a High Orc blessed with the title of Lord. In a brutal battle of fire and ice, the dragon clashed with the orc, and the dragon's sovereignty emerged victorious. This blade was born from the blaze of a tyrant's death.

Enchantments: [Advanced Fire Resistance (Rare)]: While wielding this blade, the user gains significant resistance to fire-based attacks. [Berserker Blade (Epic)]: The katana can enter a berserker state, mimicking the Lord Orc's rage. In this mode, its power and heat intensify, becoming incandescent for a short period. [???]

Requirements: Any class level 40+.]

She still had no idea what the third enchantment did. It had been locked since the day she received the weapon. At this point, it hardly mattered. Over the past few months, she'd learned to master the Berserker Blade's effect, though "master" might've been an exaggeration. She was only beginning to understand it.

It was ironic, really, that a weapon forged from fire fit so well in the hands of someone whose element was ice. And yet, for reasons she couldn't quite explain, the two resonated. The heat of the blade never scorched her; her body could naturally lower its temperature, balancing the weapon's fury. Where her frost abilities had once shattered countless blades, freezing them from the inside out, this katana burned too hot to break. Fire and ice, each feeding the other without consuming.

That strange harmony mirrored what she felt inside: a tension she hadn't yet made peace with. For months now, emotions had been clashing within her, duty, uncertainty, even a quiet dread she didn't like to name.

Finishing the tutorial meant going home. She would be teleported straight into her family's castle in the New World. For most people, that would've been cause for joy. But for her, it wasn't. Not even close.

She took a deep breath and pushed the thoughts away. Remembering home always felt wrong. Whenever she did, the image that came to mind was of the head of the Rhiannon family, and that was someone she'd rather forget. Even her father, who had spoken to her only a handful of times, was little more than a stranger. He had always ignored her. If she hadn't known he was her biological father, she never would have guessed. There had been so few moments when he actually looked at her, and even fewer when he bothered to speak.

Pacing across the quiet room, she prepared to head toward the mechanism chamber. She raised her hand, and a shard of frost condensed instantly above her palm, taking the shape of a perfect ice cube. It melted into a sphere, then shifted again, sprouting sharp crystalline spikes. Her control over ice had grown sharper—fluid, deliberate, refined. The legacy of her family, sharpened further by her chosen profession.

At level sixty in her profession, she had even unlocked a powerful offensive skill.

[Glacial Eruption (Epic)]: The Ice Sculptor channels absolute cold and shapes the terrain ahead, creating a trail of ice that extends toward the target. Upon reaching its end point, the trail expands into a freezing circle from which sharp pillars of pure ice crystal erupt, impaling everything within the area. These pillars remain for a few moments before shattering, leaving the ground coated in a slick layer of frost that hinders enemy movement.

When enhanced by the [Heart of the Ice Dragon], the pillars become denser and sharper, radiating a draconic chill that freezes the air around them. Enemies struck by the eruption have their movement speed reduced and take continuous damage from the intense cold.

She had never liked her family's bloodline. That power, no matter how beautiful, was a constant reminder of where she came from—and who she'd rather not be. But tonight, she could only hope that the same blood she despised would help her see her mission through to the end.

***

On the grassy field within the fortress grounds, Luke saw dozens of people standing still, weapons clutched in trembling hands. They weren't soldiers, not really, just civilians ready to fight if the worst came to pass. The battlefield was too far for them to reach with arrows or spells. All they could do now was wait.

He spotted a familiar face among them. "Hey, Eddie."

The old man looked up, visibly shaken, carving another crude spear out of wood even though everyone else had already finished their preparations. He couldn't stay still, so he kept making more, anything to keep his hands busy. Eddie had long since maxed out his crafting profession, but his combat class was only level ten. He wasn't fit to fight on the front lines anymore. His task was to protect the civilians in case something broke through the army's defenses.

"M-my Layla," Eddie muttered, his voice trembling. "She'll be fine. She has to be fine."

Layla was his daughter, an archer. She'd gone to war.

"I see she left Katarina with you," Luke said, nodding toward the small potted plant beside him.

"She d-did. Said it brings luck." Eddie gave a shaky laugh. "If it really did, why didn't she take it?" The laugh broke halfway through, and his smile faded as he went back to carving, the knife quivering in his grip.

"Don't worry, Eddie," Luke said softly. "Layla's stationed in a safe position. In a few hours, you'll both be home."

Layla wasn't a high-level fighter, so she'd be placed further from the front lines. Still, her role mattered. Every arrow she loosed might save a soldier's life at the front. And Luke… he'd be among those standing in that front line soon enough.

Once he'd done what he could to calm the old man, Luke moved on. Franky stayed silent, his small form coiled around Luke's arm under his clothes. Whenever someone passed too close, the serpent hid even deeper, a shadow beneath the fabric.

When Luke entered the main fortress building, the halls were eerily empty. Not because of orders, not even by design; people had simply refused to stay inside. They all wanted to be outside, together, under the open sky. Women, children, the elderly, they filled the courtyard, waiting for whatever would come.

Luke reached the mechanism room. Erza, Mason, and Allison were already there.

"Everything's ready," Luke said. "I just wanted to take one last look at everyone."

He was the last one they'd been waiting for. Allison took a deep breath, and the four of them stepped closer to the ancient mechanism.

"This is it," she whispered.

Together, they turned the key.

[Final Tutorial Event "Midnight War" has been activated.]

[Good luck.]

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.