The mission had ended an hour ago.
My team—Lysandria's group—was already resting, the desert heat still radiating off our armor. We had secured first place through a combination of my calculated extraction and efficient mining, but the victory felt thin, like parchment held against a flame. We sat with Elara and the Prince in the spectator hall, waiting for the "Shadow Slave" to return. I wanted to see if his mask had finally cracked under the weight of the dungeon.
Then, the center of the arena flared with a blinding pulse of light.
Team Hunter materialized. At the front was the Slave, walking with the calm, terrifying stride of a man returning from a casual stroll. He looked healthy. He looked... untouched.
[ Final Score: 1st - Team Lysandria
2nd - Team Hunter ]
The Prince exhaled sharply beside me, a thin smile stretched across his face—one that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Second place," he said, tone light, as if the result amused him.
But his fingers were clenched around the armrest, knuckles pale. He hadn't missed it. None of us had. A team didn't come back intact after that dungeon unless someone had stood where no one else could.
I stared at the board, my mind racing. I knew the truth that the Prince was too arrogant to see. This boy hadn't just survived; he had held the line alone. While his team handled the extraction, he had engaged nearly fifty participants. He had wiped a small army off the map in a 1v45 slaughter.
I looked at his eyes and felt a sickening shiver of recognition. In my life, I have only admired two people for their mastery of the "Board"—two people mad enough to sacrifice every piece just to bring a single pawn to its required location. One was the person standing in front of me.
The other was Ryn van Asterin.
Ryn, the man who had promised to return to Mira within one year, but had vanished into the shadows of history. The Shadow Slave moved with that same "Walking Doom" precision. The same brutal efficiency. I had to know if the man I was looking for was hiding behind that cold gaze.
I walked toward him. "Shadow Slave," I said, extending my hand. "Remain ready for the finale."
I gripped his hand and flooded my palm with mana, hardening my skin to a diamond-like density. I wasn't looking for a fight; I was measuring the current. I wanted to see if the "Ryn" I knew was flowing through this boy's veins.
I failed.
My hardening didn't even register against his grip. He felt my intent, and a faint, mocking smile touched his lips. He let his mana surge in response—not with physical force, but with a raw, crushing Authority. It was like trying to squeeze a mountain.
Suddenly, he let go.
His face drained of all color. He gasped, clutching his chest as he dropped to his knees. It wasn't that his ribs were truly shattered, but the Mana Exhaustion was so absolute that his nerves were screaming as if his chest had been flattened. He had forced energy through his blood until his very biology had begun to treat mana as a substitute for oxygen. Now that the flow had stopped, his body was suffocating.
One of his Elves was already moving before he hit the ground.
There was no hesitation, no command—just instinct. He knelt, pressing both palms to the Slave's chest, pouring mana into him even as his own breathing turned ragged. Two others positioned themselves without a word, bodies angled outward, forming a silent perimeter.
"Help me," the Elf hissed, not looking up—not pleading, but ordering.
I nodded, helping them carry his limp body back to his quarters. He had won a 1v45, but he had emptied his soul to do it. As we laid him down, I looked at his pale, sweating face. He looked so much younger when he wasn't trying to kill everyone in the room. The Elves didn't leave his side.
Later, Elara found me in the corridor. "Why did you help him? Isn't he the enemy?"
"We aren't enemies," I said, my voice low and echoing in the stone hallway. "An enemy is a title you give to a monster. He is a competitor. And a true strategist wants to face his rival at their strongest."
I didn't tell her the rest. I didn't tell her that I had a weapon ready—the A-Rank soul we had been feeding. I didn't tell her that I intended to use that soul to tear the mask off this "Slave" in the finale.
If he is the Ryn who made that promise to Mira, the spirit will draw him out. If not... then he is just another variable I have to solve.
The 24-hour countdown for the finale began.
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