Once again, the glowing orbs dropped to the ground.
They rolled amidst chaotic streaks of light, clattering against one another with an eerie chill, like the ticking of a clock counting down to the end of a fragile hope.
No one spoke. No one even breathed heavily.
These were not mere summoning items.
They were a warning. The final gate. Reality's cold hand, hurled into their faces as if to ask, one last time....
"Do you have the right to move forward?"
And then, one by one, they cracked.
Not with a deafening explosion. But slowly. Deliberately. As if to prolong the despair.
Light flared in an instant, so bright that everyone had to squint. Amidst that flash, shadows began to rise.
Five Ruin Kobold Sentinels.
War machines clad head to toe in iron armor, each towering over ordinary Kobolds by half their size.
Every movement of theirs emitted a harsh, grating creak, as if the entire chamber were cracking apart with each step.
The spiked maces they held could shatter a shield in a single blow.
But this time… they didn't roar.
They didn't charge like mad beasts.
They merely… stepped out.
And stood still.
Five positions. A circle. A tight formation surrounding the Boss, as though pre-programmed, every angle, every turn, precise to a chilling degree.
No longer just monsters.
They were the final shield. The stone wall raised to crush anyone who dared dream of victory.
The once-massive raid party suddenly felt frozen.
Skills still shimmered on their blades, but no one struck.
The air felt heavy, as though something pressed against their chests.
A few feet slid back...just half a step, then froze mid-motion.
No words were needed. But then...
A single footstep echoed. Soft. The faint sound of a sheath grazing the floor.
Then another.
Then more. No one ran. No one let go of their weapon.
Because everyone saw… right at the center of the circle, the Boss had only two health bars left.
Just one more charge. One last shot to break through the final wall. One strike to pierce it.
Ren didn't look around. Didn't wait for a command. He gripped his sword tighter, one foot angled forward, eyes sharp as a blade stabbing into the wall of armor.
Behind him, the air began to shift.
Heavier breathing.
The murmur of resolve rising from below.
"Teams E and F, pull them away from the Boss!"
Diavel's voice rang out, not as a desperate scream fighting the noise, but as a clear, sharp edge, like a hammer striking molten steel.
Precise, forceful, and resolute, as if it could cut through the thick iron of the Sentinels standing guard.
"Teams A and B, advance! Teams C and D, hold position and await signal!"
No hesitation. No gaps. The commands fell into place like gears in a massive war engine, and Diavel, standing firm at the front, was the axis holding it all together amidst chaos.
His grip on the sword was so tight his knuckles changed color, not from fear, but from the tension building, ready to be unleashed like an arrow released from a drawn bow.
His sword gleamed, not just with the glow of skills lighting up the battlefield, but with the weight of expectations from teammates putting their lives into every word he spoke.
He didn't need to turn to check the formation behind him. Didn't need to shout louder to rally them.
Because in that moment, amidst the stench of rust and the clang of steel on stone, no one doubted who was leading them.
He wasn't the strongest. Nor the first to raise his sword. But he was the only one who could make the crowd stop, listen, and move as one with just a few words.
Diavel didn't say they would win. He didn't need to.
Because as long as he stood tall, they still had the belief to move forward.
And then...
"CHARGE!!"
That shout didn't come from any single voice. It belonged to no one, and yet to everyone.
It erupted from the pit of each player standing at the brink of life and death, from fears just beaten back, from a thirst for victory suppressed for too long and now exploding with no way to hold back.
A wave surged back against the iron wall before them, not with skills or weapons, but with spirit, with the choice to never retreat.
The formation moved. A shared breath. A synchronized step.
And the first to break free from the long-held stillness...was Ren.
No one called his name. No one pushed him forward. No expectant glance or word of praise for the one to lead the charge.
Because he needed no reason to advance. No recognition. No cheers.
Each step he took slid across the stone like a blade passing between silence and violence, as his sword swung upward, leaving behind a cold blue arc, the first line to tear through the darkness squeezing the battlefield.
No command. No signal.
Because in that moment, when his silhouette cut through the glow of skills, no one thought of hesitation or doubt. Only the momentum of one act setting off a chain reaction across the frontlines.
One by one, they surged forward.
Ren's sword opened the counterattack.
Not as a death knell...
But as a bell of rebirth.
Ren charged straight at the nearest Ruin Kobold Sentinel without a moment's hesitation, as if he himself were the very tip of the spear piercing through that thick wall of steel defense.
The sword in his hand carved a sharp diagonal arc, slashing across the monster's rusted chest plate, not powerful enough to shatter its heavy armor, but enough to make it falter for a beat and turn, shifting its full attention onto him.
Ren didn't wait for the result. The moment he saw the Sentinel's red eyes flare up, he immediately stepped back, forcing it to move from its original position, like leading a crazed beast out of its den.
He knew this was dangerous. Extremely dangerous. Just a few steps behind him loomed Illfang the Kobold Lord... the Boss still swinging its massive axe, caught in a flurry of wild blows aimed at the Tankers.
A single misstep, a mistimed pivot, and he could be swept into that whirlwind of steel at any moment.
Part of him couldn't help but feel tense. Standing this close to a creature that could end him in seconds made every muscle tighten like a drawn bowstring. His eyes never left the monster in front of him, but his ears stayed sharp, listening for every movement behind.
Fortunately, he wasn't alone.
Teams A and B, veteran Tankers with large shields and solid defensive skills, had quickly locked Illfang into a tight formation.
They didn't let the Boss budge from its position. In fact, they skillfully pushed back every attack toward the center, where none other than Diavel was leading the main assault team charging from all sides.
With the Boss's movements contained and the frontline holding steady, Ren focused all his will on the Sentinel before him.
He wasn't looking for a chance to finish it off, nor was he trying to prove anything. His goal was clear: drive it away from the Boss's defensive ring, as far as possible, creating space for the rest of the team to concentrate their firepower.
Each of his steps echoed on the cold marble floor with a dry thud, woven between the clanging of weapons and the relentless roars of the Boss and the other Sentinels.
The Sentinel let out a guttural roar, heavy like a death knell, and swung its massive spiked mace at him.
Ren sidestepped, feeling the wind scrape past his ear, the shockwave nearly cracking his skin.
He didn't stop. Another strike came, and he retreated again. Dodging and luring the beast further away, like a reckless provocateur playing tag with a giant predator.
No praise needed. No recognition necessary.
Just keep this rhythm going a little longer… and it would be enough.
"Switch."
A single word, no warning, no explanation, cut through the chaos behind Ren like a blade.
He didn't need to look back. No need to confirm. That voice, that breath, that icy confidence… Ren recognized it instantly.
Kirito.
In a moment as brief as a blink, Ren retracted, knees bent low, his entire body tilting back in one fluid, practiced motion.
And then, like a door suddenly flung open in the midst of battle, his body snapped backward, slipping to the side, forming a perfect opening, a straight path of death leading to the still-growling Sentinel.
Immediately, a black figure shot through that gap like a steel storm. No wasted motion. No unnecessary steps.
Only gleaming blades tracing X-shaped slashes and jagged curves in the air, strikes too fast for the eye to follow, each carrying a razor-sharp killing intent.
"Critical Hit."
The words appeared in the air just as the final blade plunged into the gap beneath the Sentinel's neck guard. A strangled roar. Then a flash of light.
The monster froze. Its armor joints screeched, grinding in defiance as if resisting disintegration, but it was too late.
In an instant, its entire body shattered into thousands of deep red pixels, dissolving into nothingness like a memory erased.
Kirito lowered his swords. His eyes flicked toward Ren for only a second, no smile, no words.
Just a brief nod. Enough to communicate between warriors who understood battle without needing to speak.
Ren returned the nod, his breathing steady even as adrenaline surged through his veins.
No words. No need for words.
Kirito turned and dashed off again like a black arrow, vanishing into the howls of monsters and the flashes of countless skills exploding across the battlefield. Each of his steps sliced cleanly through the chaos, heading exactly where his blades were needed most.
Ren didn't watch for long. He turned, scanned the surroundings, and tightened his grip on his sword once more.
One Sentinel down. But four remained.