Chapter Title: The Third Scenario Begins
The moment the countdown reached zero, there was no explosion, no blinding flash, no violent distortion that would warn the human mind of what was about to occur, and that absence of transition made it far more unsettling, because one second they were standing beneath the open sky outside the broken shelter, watching the final numbers fall toward nothingness, and in the very next instant, reality itself shifted without permission, without resistance, as if the world they had been standing in was nothing more than a fragile layer that could be peeled away at will.
Roan did not feel the movement of space, nor did he feel his body being transported, because there was no sensation at all, only a brief interruption in continuity, like a moment that had been erased and replaced before it could be remembered, and when his vision stabilized, the first thing he noticed was the horizon.
It was too wide.
Far too wide to belong to any place they had previously been.
The ruined shelter, the broken walls, the blood-stained ground, all of it had disappeared completely, replaced by an endless expanse of grassland that stretched outward in every direction, the tall grass bending slightly under the movement of wind that felt almost unnaturally calm given the circumstances, and beyond that open field, enclosing it like silent observers, stood dense forests on multiple sides, their interiors dark and impenetrable, as if they were not simply part of the terrain but something deliberately placed to limit escape.
For a few seconds, no one moved.
The abruptness of the change had stolen their ability to react, and the human mind, when confronted with something it cannot immediately process, often chooses stillness over action, and that was exactly what happened as dozens of players stood scattered across the field, their eyes scanning their surroundings, their breathing uneven as they tried to understand where they had been taken.
Roan, however, did not waste that moment.
His gaze moved quickly, taking in distances, terrain structure, possible movement paths, and the positioning of others around him, and although his expression remained calm, his thoughts were already working at full speed, because unlike the others, he did not have the luxury of confusion.
He already knew.
Or at least, he thought he did.
Before he could analyze further, a familiar presence manifested ahead.
There was no sound to announce her arrival, no distortion of space that could be perceived, and yet she was suddenly there, standing at a distance where everyone could see her clearly, as if she had been part of the scene from the very beginning and they had simply failed to notice her until now.
The manager.
Her appearance was as precise and composed as before, her black and white suit untouched by the wild environment surrounding her, creating a sharp contrast that made her seem detached from the reality the players were trapped in, and her slender face carried the same calm indifference, while the curved horns rising from her head added a presence that was neither human nor entirely monstrous, but something in between, something that existed beyond the rules that governed them.
Her large eyes moved slowly across the field, observing every individual present with quiet scrutiny, and when she finally spoke, her voice carried effortlessly across the entire area, clear and controlled, reaching every ear without effort.
"Welcome to the third main scenario."
There was no emotion in her tone, no attempt to build suspense or fear, because she did not need to, as her mere presence was enough to enforce silence among the players, and with a simple flick of her fingers, multiple translucent system windows materialized in front of each person simultaneously, their sudden appearance causing several individuals to flinch instinctively.
Roan's eyes shifted toward the screen in front of him, his focus sharpening as the information began to reveal itself.
[ Main Scenario #3 ]
[ Objective: Keep the assigned survivor alive. ]
For a brief moment, the words hung in silence.
And then confusion erupted.
"What does that even mean?"
"Assigned survivor?"
"Are we protecting someone?"
Voices overlapped as questions spread rapidly among the players, because unlike previous scenarios, this objective lacked clarity, it did not tell them what to fight, nor did it define victory in a straightforward manner, and that ambiguity created something far more dangerous than fear, it created uncertainty.
The manager watched them without interruption.
And then, as if responding to a cue that only she could perceive, she lifted her hand slightly.
"Oh," she said, her tone almost casual, as if the confusion before her was nothing more than a predictable reaction.
"It means this."
With another flick of her fingers, the air itself seemed to distort.
And in the next instant, structures began to materialize across the field.
Glass chambers.
Dozens of them.
They appeared in a structured arrangement, each one large enough to contain a single person, their transparent surfaces revealing what lay inside without obstruction, and as the players turned their attention toward them, the reality of the scenario began to settle in.
Inside each chamber was a human.
Motionless.
Injured.
Some were barely conscious, their bodies covered in wounds that had not fully healed, while others appeared completely unconscious, their breathing shallow, their condition fragile to the point where even the slightest disturbance could push them toward death.
Above each chamber floated a translucent bar.
A health indicator.
And almost all of them were dangerously low.
The realization spread like a slow wave.
These were not random individuals.
These were the survivors.
The injured members who had been left behind.
The ones who could not fight.
The manager's voice continued, cutting through the silence that followed.
"Each of you has been assigned one survivor," she explained calmly, as if she were describing something routine rather than life and death itself, "and your objective is to ensure that your assigned individual remains alive until the scenario ends."
Another system window appeared immediately.
[ Failure Conditions: ]
[ – Assigned survivor's health reaches zero. ]
[ – Player fails to maintain protection. ]
The weight of the scenario became clear.
This was not a battle for personal survival.
This was a responsibility.
A burden placed upon each player.
Because if their assigned survivor died—
They failed.
No exceptions.
No second chances.
For some, this realization brought panic.
For others, frustration.
And for a few, something darker.
The manager allowed that understanding to settle before continuing, her gaze shifting slightly as she introduced the reward.
[ Reward: Rare-Grade Healing Potion ×3 ]
A flicker of interest passed through the crowd, but it did not last long, because the reward felt distant, almost irrelevant compared to the immediate danger they were facing.
"And the time limit," she added.
The system responded instantly.
[ Time Limit: 01:00:00 ]
One hour.
Sixty minutes.
It was both too short and too long at the same time.
Too short to guarantee survival.
Too long to endure constant pressure.
"And one more thing," the manager said, her tone unchanged, yet carrying a quiet finality.
"You are not allowed to assist your assigned survivor using potions or any direct recovery items."
The implication struck immediately.
No healing.
No shortcuts.
No way to stabilize them directly.
They could only protect.
Only delay death.
Only endure.
"Now," she said softly, lowering her hand.
"Let's begin."
And then she disappeared.
Not with drama.
Not with force.
Simply gone.
At the exact same moment, the timer began.
[ 00:59:59 ]
For a brief moment, nothing happened.
And then—
The forest moved.
At first, it was subtle.
A disturbance within the shadows.
A shift among the trees.
But within seconds, it grew louder, heavier, until the sound of branches breaking echoed across the plains, and from the darkness between the trees, figures began to emerge.
Large.
Massive.
Green.
Orcs.
Their bodies were built for combat, thick muscles moving beneath rough green skin, their faces twisted into expressions of raw aggression, their eyes locking onto the players and the fragile glass chambers behind them with a singular intent that required no explanation.
They stepped forward.
Then another.
Then dozens more.
They did not rush immediately.
They advanced.
Steady.
Relentless.
As if they already knew the outcome.
Roan's gaze narrowed slightly as he observed them, his mind calculating distances, speed, and numbers, and then his eyes shifted toward the glass chamber assigned to him.
Inside—
The Moon leader.
Unconscious.
Injured.
Her health bar already lower than it should have been.
For a brief moment, his thoughts paused.
And then, without hesitation, they aligned.
His grip on his weapon tightened.
His breathing steadied.
And his focus sharpened into something far colder than determination.
Because in that moment, there was only one truth that mattered.
If she died—
He failed.
And failure—
Was not an option.
As the first wave of orcs began to spread across the field, their footsteps shaking the ground beneath them, the true nature of the scenario revealed itself completely.
This was not a battle meant to be won.
This was a test of endurance.
A test of control.
A test of how long one could hold the line against something that would not stop.
And as the distance between the monsters and the players continued to close, the tension in the air reached its breaking point.
The third scenario had begun.
And there was no escape.