"Didn't you ask for their revival?"

Talia's question hung in the air like a knife.

The warm sunlight suddenly felt cold. The birdsong sounded wrong. Everyone turned to look at Dante.

Their eyes were exhausted. Grieving. But also hopeful. So painfully hopeful.

They had survived because of one promise. One vow. Bring the dead back.

Jin's hand moved to his sword hilt. Not threatening. Just... waiting. His jaw was tight.

Erica's eyes were already wet with tears. She looked at Dante like he held the answer to every prayer she'd ever whispered.

Masha watched him carefully. Analytically. Waiting for the logical conclusion to his plan.

Lana had stopped smiling. Her usual manic energy was gone. She just stared at him, waiting, waiting if things goes wrong she would be ready to kill others joining Dante's side.

They all believed he'd done it. That he'd brought Eric, Rina, and Kael back to life.

They were waiting for him to reveal the good news.

Dante let his shoulders slump. He looked away from their faces, up at the green canopy above. Like he was searching for words that wouldn't come.

"I did," he said quietly. His voice sounded broken. Pained. "I stood before the Goddess. I held the wish. And I begged her."

Erica made a small sound. Almost a sob of relief.

"I begged her to bring them back," Dante continued. "Eric. Rina. Kael. I begged her to undo what happened. To make us whole again."

Hope lit up in their eyes. Jin straightened. Talia took a step forward.

"She could have done it," Dante said, voice dropping to barely a whisper. "The power was there. She could have brought them back. Reformed their bodies. Brought their souls back."

He paused. Let them imagine it. Eric standing tall with his shield. Rina smiling gently. Kael bouncing on his feet excitedly.

"They could be here right now," he said.

Then he let his face crumble.

"But there's a rule," he said, voice turning bitter. Angry. "A cruel, final rule. Even a goddess can't break it."

The hope in their faces flickered. Uncertain now.

"The Hero's Marks," Dante said. He looked at each of them. "We're six. We each have a Mark. It's proof we survived the trial. It's the key that lets us exist in this world. Our ticket through the final gate."

He let his head drop. His shoulders shook.

"They don't have the Marks," he choked out. "Eric, Rina, Kael... they died before earning them."

Jin's face went pale. Understanding was dawning.

"If I brought them back," Dante continued, voice hollow, "they would be alive. But they'd be trapped. Prisoners in the trial. Forever. Stuck in that graveyard. Their souls bound to that dead place for eternity."

Erica's hand covered her mouth. Tears spilled down her cheeks.

"They would be alive," Dante said, "but damned. Suffering forever in that empty world with no way out."

Masha closed her eyes. Her analytical mind was already confirming the logic. It made sense. Horrible, cruel sense.

"I stood there," Dante said, "with the power to bring them back to eternal suffering... or let them rest in peace."

He looked up. His eyes were wet. His face showed noble pain. Sacrifice.

"What kind of leader would I be," he asked, voice breaking, "if I saved my own heart by condemning them to that?"

"I made a choice," he whispered. "I let them go."

Silence.

Then Erica sobbed. A broken, desperate sound.

Jin turned away, his hand covering his face. His shoulders shook.

Talia's legs gave out. She sat down hard on the ground, staring at nothing.

Lana laughed. But it wasn't her usual laugh. It was bitter. Pained. 'Of course,'.

Masha just nodded slowly. Accepting it. Her expression was grief mixed with grim understanding.

They didn't suspect him. Not even a little.

Instead, they looked at him with something worse. Respect. Deep, painful respect.

He hadn't failed them. He'd made an impossible choice. A leader's choice. Sacrificing his own heart for their friends' peace.

He was a martyr in their eyes now.

"We won't forget them," Dante said firmly. His voice rang with determination. "We'll live for them. Build something worthy of their sacrifice."

The lie was complete. Perfect. It bound them to him tighter than any truth ever could.

---

They walked through the forest in silence.

Hours passed. Maybe more. Time felt strange here. The grief hung over them like a heavy blanket. But underneath it, something new was growing. Determination. Purpose.

The forest was endless. Ancient trees everywhere. Sunlight filtering through leaves. Birds singing. A barely-visible trail of packed earth showed someone used this path sometimes.

"Up ahead," Jin said suddenly.

Through the trees, they saw color. Bright, unnatural crimson.

As they got closer, the scene became clear.

An encampment. Fancy. Expensive-looking.

A huge pavilion made of rich red fabric stood in a clearing. Flags with a golden lion crest fluttered on tall poles. The ground was covered in ornate rugs. Low tables held platters of strange fruits and wine decanters.

It looked like a rich person's picnic. Completely out of place in this forest.

Several people in crisp crimson-and-gold uniforms moved around the camp. One of them—a man with a neat beard—spotted the team.

His eyes went wide.

"They're here!" he shouted. His voice was almost worshipful. "The heroes arrived! Someone tell Lord Cresta! Now!"

The camp exploded into activity.

One uniformed man pulled something from his pocket. Small. Black. Sleek.

He held it to his ear.

"My Lord," he said urgently. "They're here. Yes, all six. At the forward camp."

Dante froze.

That was a phone. A fucking phone.

He stared at it. At the smooth black case. At how casually the man used it.

His understanding of this world shattered completely.

'Those stupid isekai novels,' he thought coldly. 'They were all wrong. This isn't some medieval fantasy world. This is something else entirely.'

Then he heard it.

Vrrrrrrrm.

A low, powerful rumble. Getting closer.

A vehicle rolled into view. Long. Black. Sleek. It moved silently, smoothly. Chrome gleaming in sunlight.

A limousine.

A fucking limousine.

'Fuck,' he thought. The single word summed up his complete disorientation. 'They're more advanced than they seem.'

The bearded man ended his call and hurried toward them. His face was full of pure, reverent joy. "Heroes!" he exclaimed, bowing low. "Welcome! Welcome! We're so honored by your arrival! Please, join us. Rest yourselves. You must be tired after your long journey."

Before anyone could respond, the limousine's back door opened.

A man stepped out. He wore a sharp, perfectly tailored grey suit. Older, with silver hair at his temples. His face showed calm, professional courtesy. He walked toward them, expensive leather shoes making no sound on the soft moss.

"Greetings, heroes," he said. His voice was smooth and polite. He offered a small, respectful bow. "I am the chamberlain to His Majesty, King Theron."

"He sends his deepest welcomes and is already on his way to greet you personally. He asks that you might wait for his arrival in the royal carriage. It is, of course, equipped with every comfort." He gestured to the limousine—a vehicle so far beyond anything from their recent experience it might as well have been a spaceship.

Dante looked at his team. They were as stunned as he was. Confusion and awe mixed on their faces. They looked at him with silent questions in their eyes: 'What do we do?'

This was a new game with new rules he didn't understand yet. But one thing was clear. A king was coming. And in any world, aligning with the king was always the smartest opening move.

But before he could accept, another voice cut in. Sharp and urgent.

"A moment, if you please!"

A second group of people rushed into the clearing from another path. These ones wore uniforms of deep sapphire blue. Their leader was a stern-faced woman with military bearing. She strode forward confidently.

"Heroes," she said, her voice crisp and authoritative. She gave a curt nod instead of a bow. "I am General Kaelen, in the service of the Archon of the Western Marches."

"The Archon offers you not the soft comforts of a carriage, but the strength and security of his fortress. A true hero requires a bastion, not a gilded cage."

And then a third.

A man in simple grey robes approached. His eyes were sharp and intelligent. "The Lyceum of Sages sends its greetings," he said calmly and thoughtfully. "Power is fleeting, heroes. But knowledge... knowledge is eternal. We offer you a place in our libraries. Access to secrets that kings and archons can only dream of."

The vultures had arrived.

The battle for their allegiance had begun before they'd even caught their breath. These people didn't see them as people. They saw assets. Weapons. Six priceless, god-forged artifacts.

The auction was open.

Dante looked from the king's man to the general to the scholar. A slow, cold, utterly predatory smile spread across his face.

'They think this is their game,' he thought. 'How little they know.'

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