Gruuu—
The guttural roar shook the cavern as the orc thrashed, its rancid breath hot against our faces.
"Alright, elf boy, shoot at its feet!" I barked.
"I have a name—"
"Yeah, like I give a fuck," I thought, too busy dodging the massive club swinging for our skulls.
Wilson braced himself at the front, shield raised. Poor bastard looked more like a meat wall than a knight.
But hey—better him than me. His shield caught the brunt of the blow, metal screeching as the impact sent him skidding back a step.
"Now!" I snapped.
The elf loosed an arrow, pinning the orc's leg. It bellowed, staggering.
That's when the princess stepped up—hands glowing, a sharp arc of elemental magic striking the beast square in the chest. The shockwave rattled my bones.
"Tch. Hard to admit it, but fuck me… this teamwork isn't half bad." I muttered, lunging in as the opening presented itself.
Spear in hand, I drove the steel tip straight into the orc's chest. The beast roared, thrashing wildly. Its massive hand tried to grab me, but I twisted the spear, carving through its heart.
Blood gushed hot and heavy, the orc shuddering before crashing to the ground with a thud that echoed through the dungeon.
I yanked the spear free, wiping the blood against its corpse. "That's seven down," I said flatly.
The elf panted, lowering his bow. "Yeah, but… don't you feel like they're getting stronger the deeper we go?"
I smirked. "Of course they are. First, they feed us weak trash mobs, lull us in with easy kills. Then, step by step, they raise the stakes. Classic academy tactics—wear you down, test your nerves, and see who breaks first. Clever bastards."
"Quite a way to put it… but what now, huh?" Wilson asked, wiping sweat off his brow.
"Well, I've got some ideas," I said, glancing over the group. My eyes lingered on Jasmine, who looked ready to collapse. "But first—Jasmine, you look like you're one step away from meeting God."
"We–well… I'm perfectly fine. Don't worry about me. Continue," she said between ragged breaths, her face pale as she tried to hold herself together.
I raised a brow. "Yeah, I doubt the 'perfectly fine' part, but sure. Anyway—back to business. Right now, I see three paths in front of us."
Seraphina Sylwen Faeloria, our lovely elven princess, straightened with a curious look. "And what would those be, Lord Evan?"
"Option one: we go deeper. Face more beasts. Watch as they stop being dumb brutes and start trying to outsmart us. Painful, bloody, but straightforward."
"Option two: we take it easy. Rest, recover, laze around. We've got enough points stacked to be sitting comfortably in the rankings."
"And option three…" I smirked, spinning my spear once. "My personal favorite—we mess around with the other groups. Interfere, disrupt, watch them squirm while we enjoy the show."
"Well, I can understand the first two options—they're logical enough. But what's with the third one?" the elven boy asked, raising a brow.
I tapped the side of my spear thoughtfully. "Hmm, well, at first I thought—how can I steal—" I caught myself with a sly grin, "—I mean, take points from other teams?"
"How noble of you," he said dryly.
"Right, right. But then I realized… the points are automatically recorded on our clips. No chance to snatch them away directly." I leaned forward, tone dropping into a playful whisper. "So I thought, why not make them score less instead—by messing things up for them?"
"But… isn't that cheating, Lord Evan?" the princess asked, her brows knitting together.
I gave her a crooked smile. "Well, Your Highness, technically not really. You see, the rules don't say anything against it. They're… delightfully straightforward. And what are rules for, if not to find their loopholes?"
She hesitated. "But still—"
I cut in lightly, twirling my spear. "Relax. I'm only suggesting, not commanding. The decision rests with the team."
"So, who's in favor and who's against?" I asked, though I already had a good guess. Still, I wanted to see whose thought process lined up with mine.
To my surprise, the elven boy—whose name I still hadn't bothered to learn—nodded in agreement with me.
Wilson, on the other hand, predictably opposed. That bastard siding with the princess out of sheer devotion—or maybe plain simping.
He lined up with her and Jasmine, shaking his head like some moral knight.
"Well, it looks like that's the decision. Morally right, I suppose." I said, then let my eyes linger on Jasmine. "Though honestly, I'm surprised. With how close you looked to collapsing, I thought you'd be the first to back out."
"I–I never said I wanted to go deeper," Jasmine shot back quickly, catching her breath. "I voted for the second option. Rest."
"Fufu." The princess chuckled softly, clearly entertained.
"Mm, fair enough." I rolled my shoulders, voice casual. "Then we rest. Once we've regained our strength, we can always dive deeper."
I drifted a few steps ahead of the group, letting the silence settle. As expected.
The "secret heroine" chose the safe option, dragging the others with her. Predictable. But still… disappointing.
Everything's moving too neatly, too cleanly. Where's the chaos? Where's the twist? This is shaping up like every generic dungeon dive in those novels I used to read. No accidents, no complications. Smooth… too smooth.
"Lord Evan."
A voice—soft, measured, polite—cut through my thoughts. I turned, catching the princess watching me. The faint light of the dungeon caught her silver hair, making her look even more untouchable, like something crafted, not born.
"Yes, Your Highness?"
She met my gaze, then faltered slightly, as if choosing her words. "Forgive me if this sounds forward, but… are you dissatisfied with the choice we made just now?"
I gave a light shrug, a practiced smile tugging at my lips. "Not at all. A team's decision is still a decision. I'll follow along." Not like you'd be of any use if we'd gone with option three anyway. Miss Perfect doesn't get her hands dirty.
She didn't look entirely convinced.
Instead, she stepped a little closer, lowering her voice. "Then… may I ask you something else? Something personal?"
Here it comes. I tilted my head slightly. "You may, though I think I already know what it's about."
Her lips pressed together before the words finally spilled out. "It's about Lady Emilia. You… went on a date with her last Sunday, didn't you? She seemed so happy when she told me. But after that day… everything changed. She's shut herself away. I can't help but wonder if you're… somehow connected."
Hah. Look at that. Doesn't matter if it's a noble lady or an elf princess—mention romance and suddenly every girl turns into a detective.
I let the smile remain, but made sure it didn't reach my eyes. "Your Highness, your concern is understandable. But your conclusion? Not quite accurate. Perhaps Emilia's troubles aren't tied to me at all. Maybe it's her family. Maybe something else—something personal that I wouldn't know. The world rarely revolves around a single event, no matter how tempting it is to think. So, accusations… aren't exactly fair in this instance."
"I–I'm not accusing you or anything, Lord Evan, it's just—"
I raised a hand lightly, cutting her off. "I know. You're just worried about Emilia. So, how about this—we finish this exam, and once we're out, maybe we can ask her directly, hmm?"
She hesitated, then gave a faint nod. "…Alright."
Not convenient for her, maybe, but that's not my problem.
"Well then," I said, brushing the matter aside, "enough resting. Let's move."
"Already?" Jasmine's weary voice piped up behind me. I didn't bother answering. I just walked.
"Hey, Lord Evan," Wilson mumbled as he caught up. "What did you and the princess talk about just now?"
I smirked, not even sparing him a glance. "Something that doesn't concern a simp."
And with that, I kept walking, letting silence do the rest.
Haa… even after all that, the ties still cling to me. Threads that won't snap, no matter how I pull. When will they finally sever? Maybe only when I officially break this engagement… or maybe even after that. People will still ask, still whisper, still poke at the wound as if it's theirs to touch.
Strange, isn't it? A life circling so tightly around one girl. Expected? No. Ridiculous? Absolutely. Yet here I am, tangled in the same web.
Even the original Evan chained himself to his fiancée, as if she was the sole meaning of his existence. And for what? To play his role and lose her to the protagonist, like every story demands. What comes after, I wonder? Does his world simply end when his heart is stolen? Does his essence vanish, erased once his role is fulfilled? Or does he linger, like a ghost with no script, drifting in the margins of someone else's story…
-----
--
As we pushed deeper, the air grew heavier. Soon, a pack of Hog Goblins spilled out from the shadows—smaller than an Ogre, sure, but what they lacked in size they made up for in numbers. And of course, flapping overhead, the damned GobBats screeched like a rotten chorus.
"Let's finish this," I said simply. No need for speeches—we'd done this formation enough times that our bodies already knew the rhythm.
The first Hog Goblin lunged. I met it halfway. My spear punched through its throat, the tip bursting out the back in a spray of hot crimson. I yanked it free and the thing collapsed, choking on its own blood.
Another came from the side—its belly split open with one twist of my blade, intestines spilling like wet ropes onto the stone.
An arrow hissed past my ear, pinning one to the wall through its eye socket. The body twitched before going still.
Wilson roared at the front, shield raised as clubs hammered against him. The crack of bone echoed as he slammed the edge of his shield into a Goblin's face, teeth and blood spraying the ground. He stomped another's skull flat until it was nothing but pulp.
Seraphina's magic lit the cavern, fire blooming as Hog Goblins howled, their skin blistering, burning, peeling. The stench of charred flesh was suffocating.
Above, GobBats dove.
One sank its fangs into my shoulder—I grabbed it mid-bite and slammed it into the floor, crushing its wings before skewering it through the chest.
Blood ran thick, pooling around our boots, staining the ground dark.
And still, more came.
I smirked, twirling my spear once more.
"Good. Let's see how many it takes before they learn fear."
The GobBats swooped first—shrieking, clawing, darting in and out of reach. Their wings stirred up dust, their claws scraping across armor. Annoying pests. But pests can kill if ignored.
"Jasmine—some support magic here, Lady." My voice was clipped, steady.
"On it!" she snapped back, raising her staff. A faint glow spread outward, a shimmering barrier dulling the GobBats' screeches and slowing their wings. The swarm faltered, their rhythm broken.
"Now!"
Wilson surged forward, shield braced. A Hog Goblin's club cracked against the steel—he shoved back, the shield's rim smashing into its jaw. Bone split. Blood sprayed.
Seraphina's flame roared past him a second later, engulfing two more in a blaze that left nothing but writhing silhouettes and the smell of burning meat.
I stepped into the chaos, low and sharp. My spear flickered forward—throat, gut, eye socket.
Every thrust ended in blood. One Hog Goblin lunged wide, and I drove my boot into the ground, kicking a spray of dirt into its eyes. It screeched, stumbling—perfect. My spearhead buried itself in its neck, crushing cartilage and spilling red down its chest.
The GobBats dove again, screeching in fury. One of the thicker brutes slammed against me, claws digging in. I grabbed its twitching body with both hands.
"Annoying." My grip tightened—then I ripped. Wings tore free in a spray of gore.
The thing shrieked once before I slammed it headfirst into the stone, skull bursting open like rotten fruit.
"Oi, elven boy—can you shoot those damn GobBats down? They're getting annoying."
"Yes, I can." His voice was steady, bow already raised.
I exhaled, letting myself relax—just a fraction. But the next heartbeat brought a chill crawling down my spine. Instinct screamed, and I ducked.
Whssshh!
An arrow sliced past, grazing my cheek, warm blood running down the side of my face.
I straightened, eyes narrowing. "Hey. I said shoot the bats, not me. You picking a fight in the middle of battle?"
The elf blinked, confusion genuine—or well-acted. "I didn't shoot. What are you talking about?"
Before I could reply, another whisper of death cut through the air.
Whssshhh! This time my hand snapped up, faster than thought. Fingers closed around the shaft, the wood vibrating against my palm.
The aura flared, pulsing around my grip like black fire licking the air. The arrow cracked faintly under the pressure, splinters snapping loose.
"…Tch." My lips curled into something halfway between a smirk and a snarl. "Now, this is getting interesting."
"Didn't expect you to catch that. Seems like you still had it, Ravenshade."
The voice drifted through the din of battle, smug and taunting. My eyes shifted, and there they were—five figures stepping out from the shadows. Three boys, two girls.
Three of them I recognized at once: Aldric Beaumont, Arthur Fitzwilliam… and the unexpected one, Lucas.
I let out a low whistle, resting my spear lazily across my shoulder. "Well, well, what do we have here? A third-rate team, lurking around and blocking others just to preserve their rank. Quite the cunning little scheme, don't you think?"
"Um… but didn't you plan the same thing?"
I turned, slow and deliberate, flashing her a smile that didn't reach my eyes. "Shut up, Jasmine. Don't ruin the moment. Let me play the part."
"Who are you calling a third-rate? There isn't a single rule that says we can't do this. Everything is fair as long as one remains the victor," Aldric shot back, his voice firm, chin lifted like he was delivering some grand speech.
Man, I would've said the exact same line if my team had gone with option three. Guess great minds—or petty ones—think alike. Still… can't help but notice how self-righteous it sounds when it's not coming from me.
"So… are you going to stand there and talk, or are we going to face something that isn't as cowardly as shooting arrows from behind?"
"You and your lousy mouth, Ravenshade," Aldric spat, stepping forward with his team.
I didn't wait. My spear shot forward, meeting his axe in a clash that rattled my arms and shoved me back a step.
"You're not just talk, huh?" I said, gritting my teeth.
"Never been the type," he growled, swinging his axe like it was nothing. Each strike cracked the ground, heavy enough to crush bone.
I dodged and parried, countering where I could, but the sheer force behind his swings pressed me hard. I thrust my spear to create space—
Thak!
Blocked. By a sword.
"Tsk… since when did you start interfering in other people's fights, Lucas?" I muttered, glaring.
"Just for today," he said coldly, stepping in close.
Each clash of his blade threw me off balance, sharper, cleaner than I remembered. When did he get this strong? Back then, in our duel, he wasn't even close. Don't tell me he's actually getting a protagonist's growth spurt now…
"Evan Ravenshade," Lucas said, his eyes locked on mine, voice steady despite the chaos around us. "I have just one question to ask."
Tch. Here we go again. Let me guess—about Emilia? Of course it is. Don't people ever get tired of this shit?
Lucas's eyes sharpened. "Do you want me to suck it… or lick it?"
For a second, my brain short-circuited. The battlefield noise faded. Even Seraphina and the other girl froze mid-swing, their weapons still in the air.
…What the—? What the gay fuck?