The attack came at the worst possible moment. Ethan had just lowered his guard after the dungeon boss finally collapsed. The suffocating pressure that had weighed on the team for the past hour disappeared, and for the first time since entering, he allowed himself a brief moment to breathe. His muscles were still tense, and exhaustion lingered in his body, but the danger was over—or at least, that was what he believed.
The blade struck from behind without warning. It pierced cleanly through his chest, the force driving him forward a step before his body froze in place. For a fraction of a second, his mind failed to process what had happened. Then the pain came, sharp and overwhelming, tearing through his body and locking his breath in his throat.
Ethan looked down at the sword protruding from his chest, watching as blood slid along the steel and dripped onto the ground. His thoughts lagged behind reality, struggling to catch up. Slowly, with visible effort, he turned his head.
"...Lucas?" His voice was hoarse, barely holding together.
Lucas stood behind him, one hand gripping the hilt of the sword. His posture was steady, his expression calm, as if this was nothing more than a routine action. There was no hesitation in his eyes, no sign of doubt—only cold certainty.
"You reacted slower than I expected," Lucas said.
Ethan stared at him, the words taking a moment to register. "What are you doing?" he asked, forcing the question out despite the pain.
Lucas did not answer immediately. Instead, he pulled the blade free in one smooth motion. The sudden movement sent another wave of pain crashing through Ethan's body, and he staggered forward, barely managing to catch himself with one hand against the ground. Blood poured from the wound, warm and unstoppable, staining the stone beneath him.
Behind Lucas, the rest of the team stood in silence. No one stepped forward. No one looked surprised. Some avoided his gaze entirely, while others simply watched, their expressions unreadable.
That was when Ethan understood.
This was not an accident, nor was it a sudden decision. It had been planned.
"You're abandoning me?" Ethan asked, though even as the words left his mouth, he knew they were wrong.
Lucas shook his head slightly. "No. We're removing you."
The choice of words was precise.
Ethan let out a quiet, humorless laugh, which quickly turned into a cough as more blood filled his mouth. "Removing me... after everything we just did?"
"You've already contributed what you can," Lucas replied. His tone remained flat, almost clinical. "You're too weak to continue. Keeping you alive only reduces our efficiency."
There was no anger in his voice, no trace of personal resentment. That indifference made the truth even clearer.
Ethan's gaze shifted to the others again. No one objected. No one defended him. Their silence confirmed everything Lucas had said.
A cold understanding settled in his chest, heavier than the wound itself.
"In this world," Ethan said quietly, forcing his breathing to steady, "that's all I am to you?"
Lucas met his eyes without hesitation. "That's all anyone is."
The answer was simple and absolute.
Ethan lowered his head slightly, his fingers pressing into the ground as his strength continued to drain away. He had always known that strength mattered. He had seen people die for less, watched alliances collapse under pressure, and heard stories of betrayal in distant places. But he had never truly believed it would happen to him—not like this, not after everything they had been through.
That belief had been his mistake.
Trust had made him careless, and carelessness had made him weak. Weakness, in this world, was a death sentence.
His vision began to blur at the edges, the world slowly losing clarity as his body grew colder. The pain was still there, but it was fading, replaced by a spreading numbness that crept through his limbs.
Lucas stepped closer and stopped a few steps in front of him. "Any last words?" he asked.
Ethan did not answer immediately. Instead, he raised his head again. His face was pale, his breathing shallow, but his eyes had changed. The confusion and disbelief were gone, replaced by something far colder.
Clarity.
He had been wrong about one thing. This world did not merely reward strength—it demanded it.
"…Yeah," Ethan said at last.
Lucas waited.
Ethan exhaled slowly, gathering what little strength he had left. "If I get another chance," he said, his voice steady despite his condition, "I won't make the same mistake twice."
Lucas frowned slightly. "You won't get another chance."
"Maybe," Ethan replied. His gaze remained locked on Lucas. "But if I do… you won't be the one standing."
For a brief moment, silence stretched between them.
Then Lucas raised his sword.
"Then die with that thought."
The blade fell.
Darkness came instantly. There was no gradual fading, no transition—only a sudden collapse of everything. Sound vanished. Sensation disappeared. Even his thoughts slowed, drifting in a void where nothing existed.
Time lost meaning.
Ethan could not tell how long he remained there. It could have been seconds, or far longer. There was nothing to measure it against.
This should have been the end.
But it wasn't.
A faint pulse broke the stillness, subtle at first, then growing stronger. It did not belong in the void. It disrupted the silence.
Then came a sound—sharp, mechanical, and completely out of place.
[System Initializing…]
Ethan's awareness jolted.
The darkness trembled.
[Detecting Host…]
[Vital Signs: Terminated]
[Condition Override Initiated]
A surge of energy followed, violent and overwhelming. It wrapped around his consciousness and pulled him upward with unstoppable force, dragging him out of the void.
[Reconstruction in progress…]
Cracks spread through the darkness as light forced its way in.