War was hell was just as cliche as everything having a cost. But these lines existed in truth painted by blood-soaked reality. Reentering the battlefield gave John a slight shock. Getting a chance to take a breather, eat and drink, and hold a conversation with other human beings had softened him up. Even his dispute with Victor had pulled his mind away from the nature of brutal combat.

He had to get back into the groove of things soon as he started again. Without a warm-up, too. The moment two jesting shamblers showed up in his face, John combined [Ratel Rookie] with [Concussive Strike]. He thrust his claws through them. The torso of the first jesting shambler exploded from the release of concussive magic. The second had its chest gouged open. It didn’t die right away until John yanked out a rib bone and smashed it in the face of another shambler.

As the creatures fell, John marched forward across the marshy field. The ground was slick. He wouldn’t be able to use [Dash Step] freely here. He would have to work his arms without too much use of his legs, which wasn’t ideal. But not much about this situation was ideal.

As John punched his way through monsters, his new gnoll friend proved to be a decent partner. When John had to zig, Nek learned to zag. The gnoll chopped shamblers down with his battle axe, covering John’s back. That meant a lot. It gave John a sense of structure. He could hold his ground and let [Rapid Blows] tear apart shamblers coming at his front.

There were a lot of bodies in the way. Not just monster bodies. It was one thing when he faced a wall of monsters. He could tear through that if he had the energy for it. But when he came across elves, taurens, and orcs, each standing taller than him, finding his way forward became tricky.

“Move! Move! We have a hero fighting to get to the elven princess!” shouted Nek.

When the other defenders heard Nek’s shouts and saw John marching forward, they moved right away. It was almost shocking. Other than the dwarves and gnomes, the other defenders were bigger than John. They looked sharper and deadlier. They looked more powerful and muscular. One orc raised a giant hammer with a ram’s skull fastened to the top. Each hammer swing was propelled by arms nearly three times larger than John’s thighs.

But that intimidating orc with large tusks jutting out from his lower jaw and a feral look on his face jumped out of John’s way soon as he came by. The defenders made a lane for him, attacking monsters on the flanks. With Nek at his back, John felt like he was allowed to get into a good rhythm. Every shambler that barreled down the path the defenders made for John meant they were coming at his direct front. Which meant he didn’t have to get fancy with his moves. He charged forward, ratel claws extended as he made use of all his skills and magic.

Moments later.

Cestus Art leveled up to Lvl 26.

Then John leveled up to Lvl 24.

Cestus Art leveled up again to Lvl 27.

Then it leveled up once more to Lvl 28.

John hit Lvl 25.

“Why won’t they stop?” John asked, gasping for air while on a tall pile of dead shamblers.

He had no idea how many shamblers he’d just defeated. He’d left a bunch of dead ones behind him, but the bodies were lost under the stomping feet of combatants. His mind had winked out while he became something akin to a killing machine. He almost wanted to check on the time, but he refused. Looking at the time would make things go slower.

Crushing magic stones in hand, John absorbed their recovery magic and surveyed the area around him. Nek was at the base of the pile, hacking away at charging shamblers with slower, more labored movements. The gnoll had a few bleeding wounds. He was breathing hard, his tongue lolling out.

John snatched up some pouches and emptied them of their contents. He grabbed Nek’s mane and pulled him back.

“Open up,” John ordered.

The gnoll opened his jaws, revealing a frightening set of fangs. John dropped some stones for him to snap to pieces and release their recovery magic. They were poor stones, but enough of each type could help the gnoll a lot. However, John could see that the [Soul] slump was setting into the gnoll. It was setting into John, too.

A flash of brilliant light from John’s right caught his attention. The source was about two hundred feet away. When the light dimmed, he saw a female elf in radiant armor with other elves guarding her. The one in the fancy armor had her hands up while glowing swords of light slashed through multiple shamblers charging her. It was safe to assume she was the princess since her group was cut off by a swarming tide of the undead.

And there was the tag [Elf Princess, Lvl 27] hovering above her head.

To make their situation even worse, John noticed the [Shambler Mid I Rider] stalking the princess’s position. The rider’s lance was leveled with the princess as it prepared to charge them. There were too many shamblers in the way for John to run over and stop the rider immediately. The distance was too large to jump even if he used a lunging [Dash Step] that was fully charged. As Nek climbed up onto the pile with John, he could feel the gnoll’s silent urges for him to do something. To go be a hero.

John used a short [Dash Step] to skip onto a mauling shambler’s shoulder. He used another small [Dash Step] to hurl off the mauling shambler like a skipping stone. He aimed his foot for the next shambler to serve as a platform. The shambler shifted in a way that was out of John’s prediction, though. He missed the mark and hit the ground. He had to fight his way back to his feet. He made it just in time to see the rider charge the princess, its deadly lance aiming for her chest.

“Watch out!” John shouted.

The princess was too slow. It was too late for her to defend herself. Her retinue was already holding back other shamblers, too occupied to protect her against a stronger monster. John saw her death before it happened and felt absolutely horrible.

The earth shuddered. Dirt exploded upward between the princess’s retinue and the rider. A wall of stone spikes twenty feet high and thirty feet wide blocked off the rider’s attempt at the princess’s life. It also blocked off many other shamblers attacking the princess, which relieved some pressure on the retinue defending her. And every shambler the stone spikes caught fell to pieces on both sides of the wall, or they died on top of the spikes.

Whoever summoned that spike wall would’ve given John some relief if there hadn’t been something flying down from above. He was in the middle of tearing his way forward through the mob, getting slugged by random shamblers. He couldn’t even get out a warning shout.

Regardless of John’s concerns, the [Shambler Mid I Devil, 32] swooped down from the skies. It was like a naked bat fused with a man. It had wings covered in pulsating veins that beat at the air like flapping curtains. It made an awful screeching sound that stunned its target⁠—the princess. Her blades of light shattered into motes of light.

The devil would’ve gotten her, too, if Victor’s friends didn’t take action.

Dimitri appeared from the masses with feathery angelic wings spanning from his back. He slammed into the devil with a new tower shield and knocked it out of its flight path for the princess. Then Dimitri went a flap further. He shot a volley of blade-like feathers from his wings, peppering the devil and killing shamblers caught in the crossfire below.

Blood rained from the devil’s body after getting torn up by the feather storm. It spiraled out of control, flapping its shredded wings to keep from crash landing. It succeeded in that effort. But it didn’t account for Sasha. She appeared from the masses as well, but unlike her brother, she didn’t grow wings.

She grew. Her weapons and gear grew with her.

She became taller than the spike wall. One hand was all she needed to snatch the devil by the leg and yank it around.

John stared wide-eyed as the giantess whirled the monster down and slammed it onto a mob of shamblers. Then she raised her boot and stomped the devil and the mob dead near him. Every drop of her boot made the earth shake terribly. The sheer force was frightening, especially coming from someone whose shadow swallowed him.

Laughing monstrously, Sasha turned her attention to a mob of shamblers trying to get around the wall. She raised her war scythe, made it glow with magical power, and slammed it down with a hammering effect.

The ground nearly jumped out from under John’s feet. He had to grab onto the nearest shamblers to stabilize himself. His eyes widened as dozens of crushed monsters sailed across the battlefield from the explosive force of Sasha’s mighty strike.

For once, the monster side suffered a huge dent in their forces and got pushed back. For once, three heroes combined their mighty powers in unison and devastated the enemy with a great display. This was the awe and mighty power of heroes when they unleashed themselves as a team. There was no doubt in John’s mind blessings were involved, and that was a hell of a cheat to have here.

The defenders cheered as Sasha shrank down to normal size and joined her brother, who dropped down from the skies, his wings fading away. The two fell behind Victor. He strolled up as if he hadn’t put in an ounce of effort.

John suspected the spike wall had been Victor’s doing.

Victor’s party met up with the princess and escorted her and her retinue back to camp. The defenders heaped stacks of praise on them while John mopped up some shamblers that had survived the three-part hero rampage. Once Nek joined him, they worked together to create some space to recollect themselves.

Was John happy that other heroes had arrived to stop another elf from getting skewered on the rider’s lance? Yes.

Was he also envious that Victor’s party had gotten the big hero moment while John struggled to get there in time? Also, yes.

But John pushed those feelings aside. He focused on what mattered most here.

Winning.

The defenders were so caught up in the flashy arrival of Victor’s party, they lost some of their fighter’s edge. John saw the monster side resurging. At the helm was the shambler with the lance, the rider.

John already felt tired at this point. Not physically, but spiritually. He could see it in Nek, too. Maybe after they kill the rider, the course of the battle would change. The defenders could take over from there, and John could finally rest.

Something horrifically monstrous joined the rider’s side. It had three arms. Each arm was as thick as a mauling shambler’s main arm. It was like the daddy of the mauling shamblers. It was bigger, too. In each of its massive hands were defenders getting crushed to death. John identified the creature.

It was the [Shambler Mid I Berserker, Lvl 36]. It was teaming up with the [Shambler Mid I Rider, Lvl 34]. The two of them together were surrounded by a growing tide of undead minions ready to replace the fallen.

They were a scary sight for John. They seemed to dim Nek’s enthusiasm. It quieted the cheering defenders who had watched three of their heroes scamper off with the princess, leaving them to deal with what remained. Their silence was filled by the rasping cries of the shambler army that came to a sudden, uniformed halt a dozen paces away. It was as if the dead were taunting them by standing still and showing the will of their unbreakable force. Like a proper army. An unstoppable army.

It was the army of the damned, John felt. It was the army of darkness. It was the army of what was the ultimate curse afflicted upon the living. The truth behind existence was the damning revelation that all was for naught, for they were all destined to return to the earth from whence they came. But even that was a false belief. In front of John was standing proof that death wasn’t the end but the beginning of eternal enslavement.

John never liked to get philosophical, but right now, he was coming to terms with what it truly meant to fight zombies. It was a pointless effort to fight the fear of dying. Death came for everyone, no matter how slow or how fast.

It was a constant.

“Why am I here?” John asked, feeling dispirited. “How did I get here?”

John stared at his dirty hands, wondering if joining this battle was all a huge mistake on his part. A week ago, he was just a normal guy who boxed people and flirted with girls. Maybe the gods had chosen the wrong hero. Maybe he was supposed to be returned to the infinite darkness, given nothing but the horrid memories of his last moments alive with a barrel pointed at his face.

Maybe he should stop fighting and lay down his fists.

Betsy stood on the walls with a bunch of spirit-weary archers and wizards. She watched Victor, and his party returned the princess to camp, which she found tactically sound.

In her experience, Victor’s party was doing the smart thing. They were conserving their strength and waiting for the right moments to strike. They were opportunistic. Well, one of them was opportunistic.

One wanted to charge in and fight. The other wanted to protect their reckless sibling. But that Victor fellow was shrewd enough to maximize their abilities, make themselves look good, and save themselves from getting dirty. They were also the only newbie heroes who had figured out the monsters were inactive during the night. They’d taken full advantage of it to level themselves up and progress safely at night and hunker down during the day.

Victor’s a ridiculous guy, but he had some cleverness to him.

But Betsy wasn’t here for that.

Yeah, sure, she knew those types of strategies kept you alive… usually. Kept you sharp and smart. Kept you from getting too deep into the dark and dirty parts of urmatian heroism.

But the veteran hero was here for something different.

She was here for the spark in the dark. Didn’t even have to be the brightest light, either. Just a spark. It usually came from a certain type of dumbass, too. A dumbass too dumb to die. Too dumb to give up. Too dumb to understand their own weakness.

Betsy removed her straw from her mouth and started humming a song her ma had used to sing. An oldie from the old world. Something about holding out for a hero.

“That fist-fighter,” said a male voice beside her. “That guy’s crazy going up against those things with his hands alone.”

Looking to the side, Betsy recognized the speaker as one of the more reserved heroes. He had a large crossbow on his back⁠—his weapon art⁠—but he was running supplies from the storage to the top of the walls. “Clifford, right?”

“Y-yes, ma’am!” He looked surprised that she knew his name. He probably didn’t think he was worth her attention, but he was.

He’d been running supplies nonstop since the battle started, and that was helping everyone on the walls. The goblin servants that worked the most basic manual jobs looked at Clifford like their personal hero. He’d been helping them keep up with demands.

“I’ve done my research,” she told Clifford. She glanced away from him and surveyed the field where John stood at the front of the defenders. Across from that little puncher was an undead army that didn’t suffer from the slump.

“It’s a bunch of weak monsters supporting a few strong ones,” Clifford said. “But they won’t stop. It’s endless fighting out there. If we can’t fight that, maybe the gods chose heroes that aren’t strong enough.”

“The point isn’t about who’s weak or strong,” Betsy said, sticking her straw back in her mouth. “The point is the size of your will and being able to reach others when it gets hard.”

“Reach others?” Clifford asked.

“Yup.” Betsy grinned. “Because what’s a hero without symbolizing something bigger than themselves. Symbolizing the can-do spirit that inspires others. It’s kind of dumb sometimes. But it’s admirable as heck, too.”

For a moment, John thought of quitting. Then he refused.

He raised his fist instead.

He could feel the defenders and shamblers staring at him. An incredible amount of pressure landed on his shoulders, but he bore the weight of attention. He needed to carry this burden. He needed to feel its crushing power. Once he had a good measure of it, he could honestly tell himself it was going to be okay. He got this.

“We got this,” John said. “It’s going to be okay.”

Nek blinked at him, stunned. The rowdy gnoll had lost his vigor, it seemed. He couldn’t even muster a word of encouragement. But that was okay with John.

Sometimes it wasn’t a fighter’s job to rely on the crowd to hype him up. He had to be his own hype. Part of being a boxer was knowing that you were in that ring alone with someone else trying to take you out. The circumstances here were different, but John’s lessons in his previous life remained the same.

Even in the face of insurmountable odds, you always had a puncher’s chance. You just had to believe. Sometimes, John would forget that. But today was not the day he would forget the core principles of being a fighter. You gotta prepare to take a beating and keep going. Keep digging.

Dig deep. Dig deeper than you’ve ever dug before. Dig so god damn deep you got the core of the whole world in your fist.

The words weren’t his own, but that didn’t matter. The words sparked a little fire inside of John’s chest. A little flame like that could spread into a big one. Then you had a whole inferno jumping from tree to tree, similar to how John felt charging up [Dash Step] as physical energy spread through every fiber of his legs.

The berserker uttered a terrifying war cry that urged all of the shamblers to attack. They got a few steps forward when John bent down like a sprinter at the line. They got another step forward before John used max [Dash Step], digging the balls of his feet into the carpet of corpses laid across the field. In a few blinks, he got in front of the berserker. The monster reared back all of its arms⁠—

John cut him off with [One Good Punch].

There was a brief moment when John doubted his blessing would be powerful enough to one-shot the berserker. But the system’s Ding! Ding! said otherwise. The berserker’s corpse flipped head-over-heels into the sky. Now the real fight started as John settled his feet next to the rider.

Defenders roared with renewed spirit as they clashed with shamblers all around John and his dance partner.

“That’s my hero!” Nek shouted, sweeping his axe with all his strength regardless of the slump. “That’s John the Brawler!”

“John the Brawler! John the Brawler! John the Brawler!” roared the other defenders as they fought harder and harder.

John heard them without listening. Everything was background noise to him if it had nothing to do with him and the rider. It didn’t matter if a forest shambler, a jesting shambler, or even a mauling shambler got in the way. He danced around them as he ducked and slipped the rider’s thrusts and grab attempts.

He was back in the ring. It was a chaotic ring. It had rules that were very different from what John knew. But John was unearthing something inside of him that fought against the menace that was the promise of death. Something that adapted him to this nonsensical, supernatural fantasy that was his new life.

It was allowing him to have fun with a smile on his face.

But his renewed spirit didn’t allow him to fall comfortably into perfection. Something snagged his ankle. A bony hand belonging to a shambler without knees. This again! He didn’t fall this time around, but he did stumble as he yanked his leg free from the grasp. That little distraction was just enough for the rider to land a blow, though. The powerful thrust ripped open John’s side.

John stumbled some more, his side leaking blood heavily. He patted his waist for magic stones, but he’d already spent them. It would take too long to find loot. The rider capitalized, thrusting his lance rapidly as John struggled to dodge. He avoided some strikes. Others scored gouges and tears. One ripped open his cheek as John felt his body becoming weaker and weaker. But he wasn’t going to throw in the towel with just this.

His back was to a wall of shamblers⁠—the corner. The rider had him where it wanted him.

John had it where he wanted him, too.

The rider thrust forward for a finish.

John dipped under the lance and feinted toward the monster’s horse-like body. The moment the rider reared back on two legs to kick him with the front legs, John dashed at the back legs.

He was a missile of speed and deadliness, stacking his momentum with [Ratel Rookie]’s claws and [Concussive Strike]. He punched through the rear leg of the rider’s horse body. Unsatisfied with just that, John dug his claws into the earth, sliding a bit before he reversed directions and did the same to the other back leg.

The rider dropped, becoming heavily immobile as John scaled up its back.

“Hey,” John said, digging his claws into the spine of the rider’s humanoid torso. “News flash. Gonna tear you apart.”

It took him a while. The rider was tough. But it couldn’t buck John off or yank him away with its big hand. John had one hand to anchor him to the monster’s back while the other mixed up [Rapid Blows] and [Concussive Strikes].

Eventually, John got the Ding! Ding! before his body started to fail him. He fell into a critical level drawing him close enough to death to kiss it. At least he got another level up out of the rider kill, allowing him to shove 16 unspent AP into [Resilience].

That gave John some time to crawl around the ground, searching for pouches while forest shamblers dog-piled on top of him. He was so weak, they had an easy time overpowering him.

They would’ve killed him, but something shadowy ran through the dog-pile like a blender. Seconds later, John was on his back, barely alive, while looking up to Noname, who stood straddling him. It was an interesting view. It made him smile.

“You’re like a dark guardian angel,” he said, chuckling. It was an apt description. Her [Cape of Bladed Darkness] blessing had come in clutch.

Noname tilted her head as sudden storm clouds gathered above. “A dark angel that exploits, sure.”

A bolt of coiled lightning smashed down somewhere out of John’s sight. The thunderbolt was loud and bright. John was sure the damage would break apart the shambler ranks if there were any. The defenders could press the advantage further thanks to Xanhilt’s [Lightning of the Gods] blessing.

“Here, take these. I don’t want you to die.” Noname bent into a crouch, still straddling him, and passed him some good magic stones. With all the strength he had left, he crushed them and absorbed their energies. The recovery was slow. Incredibly slow.

“Can’t die,” John said. “We’re supposed to go look for your weapon art. That’s a date I intend to keep.”

“A… date?” Noname’s eyes widened a little.

“Yeah, a date.”

For a flicker of a moment, John swore he saw the tiniest glint of glee enter Noname’s eyes. He swore he saw a smidge of a smile on her lips. But then he blinked, and it was all gone.

Noname removed herself from on top of him and grabbed a sword sticking out of the ground. As shamblers neared, she hacked them apart.

Xanhilt came stumbling by, shooting shamblers left and right with [Gale Stream]. Once he reached John, he explained that their party couldn’t wait on the hill any further. He and Noname had decided to sneak around the battle to deliver Daniel and Samantha safely. It took them a while to search for him, saving their blessings until they were confident they found him.

“You nearly died again,” Xanhilt said while knelt down with his hands on John’s hand. His grasp was cool and scaly. But it was the hold of John’s first friend since he’d gotten to Urmatia.

“I fought the fear of death,” John said. “I think nearly dying is part of that fight. But look, I’m still here.”

“Barely,” Noname said, chopping off a shambler’s head. “Are you ready to get up now?”

“I might need a little help. The slump got a hold of me pretty good.”

“The slump?” Xanhilt pulled John up.

“When the [Soul] gets weak. They call it the slump.” John staggered on his feet. “I think this whole attack is to drive our [Soul]s into the slump. Then overwhelm us from there.”

“Ah,” Xanhilt said. “There were so many shamblers, it seemed scary. But upon closer inspection, they weren’t strong individually. This leads me to theorize it was a fruitless effort for these monsters to keep attacking.”

“But if they could exhaust our [Soul]s with constant attacks, that’ll win them the battle,” Noname said.

Xanhilt got under John’s arm, allowing him to lean on the saurian. Secured, John said, “But that didn’t work out so well for the Monster God, or whoever’s sending this attack.”

“Monster God?” Xanhilt repeated questioningly. “It sounds like the insidious force of this world. You have some explaining to do.”

“Yeah, yeah, catching up. But look.” Noname pointed toward the direction of the mist.

The battle had shifted so hard against the shamblers, the monsters were backed into the mist. Then they were backed even further as the defenders hacked and blasted them apart.

Steel and spell slaughtered the monsters wholly and without mercy. Then there came the point when the tide of shamblers lessened. There came another point when the mist stopped reproducing monsters altogether. All became still.

John extracted himself from Xanhilt carefully and stood on his own. His friends remained at his side. They stared at the wall of mist where the shamblers had come from. Behind it, the sunset was turning the sky blood orange and purple. It made John check the time.

23 mins, 33 seconds.

“There’s still time on the clock,” John said, raising his fists. It was a struggle to do so. Incredibly hard. The weight of the slump made everything more difficult. If he got injured again, he had a feeling magic stones wouldn’t be able to save him. The attribute [Soul] was connected to all of the attributes somehow. When that got drained, everything felt the drain. But John raised his fists anyway.

Noname readied her sword. Xanhilt prepared his hand to cast.

“Whoa there, partners,” said a familiar female voice. Betsy appeared from thin air just like before.

She moved in front of John, placed her hands gently on his fists, and pushed them down. He didn’t fight against her. He figured she knew more than he did.

Betsy stepped back and regarded them. Her eyes lingered on Xanhilt for a moment longer than what felt reasonable, but the moment passed soon. She smiled at them.

“No need to raise those dukes anymore,” she said. “The battle is won.”

“But the timer?” Xanhilt inquired.

Again, Betsy gave him a curious look. It didn’t fade right away. Her smile returned when she looked back to John.

“System quirk,” Betsy said. “The gods are probably backed up right now with divine admin work. It’s always more trouble for them when we succeed than when we fail. It doesn’t mean we should fail. It just means they’re a little slower when it comes to doling out the rewards for big events and quests.”

“So, we won?” John asked, incredulous.

“You didn’t just win, you dominated.” The Rank 6 hero waved a hand toward the defenders, the mist, and the sunset.

One of those three was changing rapidly compared to the others.

The mist was receding. Slowly at first. But the more John watched it, the more he noticed its acceleration to flee from here. But it wasn’t just escaping from the area. It was rolling away into the forest. Then it went further than that. It pushed deeper into the distance, across the hills, through the valleys, and beyond. It kept going, disappearing from view, displaying more of the horizon where the sun descended. And with it vanishing, a silence like no other pervaded.

“Congrats, Class of 1340,” Betsy said with a wide grin. “You’ve won your first major battle and captured the southern chain of Artya. Let me toot your horn and say that's impressive. We hadn’t had a class pass the first part of their campaign in a decade.”

John Wright, Lvl 27

Race: Outerhuman, Rank 2

Weapon Art: Cestus Art, Lvl 29 (maxed)

Blessing: One Good Punch, Rank 2

Total AP: 424

Resilience: 77 + (15)

Endurance: 62

Strength: 84 + (5)

Agility: 44

Perception: 20

Poise: 38

Intellect: 25

Soul: 54

Unspent: 0

Talents: [Relentless Fighter, Rank 1], [Decisive Spirit, Rank 1], [Identify, Rank 2], [Urmatia Linguistics, Rank 1], [Inner Compass, Rank 1].

Weapon Skills: [Advance Boxing, Rank 3], [Rabid Blows, Rank 2], [Dash Step, Rank 2], [Concussive Strike, Rank 2].

Magic Cores: [Ratel Rookie, MCP 25], [Brightlight Orb, MCP 2].

Available MCP: 0

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