The blood staining his clothes and armor isn’t just his own; it’s the blood of Rero Sansanti, the woman who lost an arm in a duel that should have been his moment to shine, not another failure.

The stairs seem endless.

Step after step after step after step.

Each footfall reverberates in his mind, a relentless beat that reminds him of his failure, his helplessness.

The weight of his classmate on his shoulders burdens not only his body but also his conscience.

They passed through a minor temple—he can’t remember how long it’s been; lost in the frenzy of this climb, his thoughts are muddled, everything so confused now.

In the temple, the sight of the mutilated corpses of Gallo, Bicrista, and their opponent made the weight on his shoulders feel even more oppressive.

Organs scattered, pieces of flesh, entrails floating in blood like a horrific nightmare.

Franz had stopped for just a moment, staring at the scene with wide eyes, unable to do anything but clench his teeth and move on.

Gallo and Bicrista were part of his circle.
He considered them friends… or maybe he’d always seen them as sycophants.

They died, taking their enemy with them. Their deaths shake him deeply.

Every step is a struggle against the overwhelming sense of futility consuming him.

It feels like ages since those days filled with confidence and promise. In reality, everything turned upside down in the blink of an eye.

Franz Dadref, one of the academy's top prospects.
A bright future ahead. Handsome and gifted, ranked A.

Admired by men, surrounded by girls, with his pick of any. Coming from a wealthy, influential family, nothing should have stood in the way of his rise. With such a solid foundation, he had countless prestigious paths ahead of him. He could have joined the church, tried his luck as a Venture, climbed the ranks of a guild, or even all of these at once.

Just when he thought he was on top of the world, everything started to fall apart.

He was pulled into this dungeon, where every choice he made turned out to be a failure. His self-confidence, once solid as a rock, eroded piece by piece. Every decision turned into a disaster, every action an obstacle for the others. Rero, a swordswoman of rank C, should have been beneath him, yet it was she who protected him, she who paid the price for his incompetence.

Thinking back, things started to go wrong when he crossed paths with that man, that unremarkable cleric, his classmate. The worst prospect in Extrella Academy. And yet, since then, every choice he’s made has backfired, leading him to be under someone like him, an F-rank, Strauss Wagner.

At the mere thought, his fist clenches. Anger, disdain, jealousy, or envy?
But why would he feel any of those for someone like Wagner? And why does he keep lying to himself?

Despite everything, Franz isn’t a fool. He may have lost control, but he realizes that Wagner isn’t just any F-rank.

Regardless of his abilities or stats, the man possesses a charisma that has effectively made him the leader of the Rift’s survivors.
The others follow him without question, and even the dark elf queen has chosen him as her interlocutor.

He realizes how blind he’s been, how arrogant he was in judging Strauss Wagner, an F-rank he had always despised. And yet, Wagner has proven to be the only one capable of leading the group. His composure, his ability to make decisions in impossible situations, has made him the real leader, while Franz has fallen behind, lost in his own pride.

What does Wagner have that Franz doesn’t? He’s never felt this kind of envy before.

It’s not the stats that matter, but character, the blond thinks, reflecting on his own flaws. Blaming someone else for his own shortcomings would be easy, but it would also be foolish. Everyone else is giving their all, risking their lives, while he’s just a burden.

After seeing the bodies of the Schrecken twins and their opponent, he understands the true scale of the conflict.

He remembers the spider attack in the dungeon and how they survived only because of Xiaikai Frolich’s intervention.
Frolich—now she is the true rising star of their generation. The gap between them is even more evident, and it’s not just because of rank.

Considering all of this, would he have been able to lead the group?

No, he doesn’t think so. He has to be honest with himself. That bastard Strauss is better than him.

"Sansanti, stay with us!" Jarica Fluebert shouts as she desperately tries to keep their dying companion alive.

The brown-haired woman constantly monitors Rero’s status, making sure her HP doesn’t hit zero, while Franz carries her on his shoulders. Rero’s body is a mess of pain and blood, her breathing faint, almost nonexistent. Her life is slipping away, and Franz feels the crushing weight of his own helplessness.

Even now, their only hope lies in the resources provided by Strauss Wagner.

Jarica explained to him that she had been magically contacted by Wagner.

He’s managing the game, guiding the players from a position where he has a complete view.

Initially, Franz thought he was a coward, hiding while others put their lives on the line. But, in reality, who else could take on the responsibility of strategically leading them? That bastard is resourceful, starting with the potions he synthesized and provided to the team.

Strauss Wagner told Jarica they would find Professor Merfal, part of the assault group, on the path to the temple, and she is their best hope for saving Rero Sansanti’s life.

He feels the fatigue; he feels the exhaustion. Despite it, he’ll make sure he reaches the professor.

Yet, he can’t help but notice that Strauss Wagner completely ignored him when it came to communicating his decisions… But can he blame him? Franz has been an asshole. He’d always treated the rank-F with contempt, believing in his supposed superiority… which he’s never truly demonstrated.

Why did he behave that way? Is it because the weakest student in their class got close to Welze, whom Franz considers his? And yet, Franz isn’t romantically interested in his childhood friend—he’s just jealous that someone else could take what he considers his property. The blond is fully aware that his friend harbors feelings for him, and he finds satisfaction in that.

Welze Juble’s presence in his life boosts his self-esteem; having someone loyal, who’s admired him since childhood, feels grounding. Welze is his anchor, a link to that golden world Franz always thought he deserved.

But now, what’s left of that bond?

Maybe he’s just afraid that Strauss will surpass him in that as well, that he’ll take Welze from him too.

It’s as if he’s awakened from an illusion that had once held him prisoner.

Guilt grips him.

Seeing Gallo and Bicrista reduced to pulp—the blood, the real and brutal battles in the dungeon and this survival game—have shaken him from his stupidity.

It’s time for him to take responsibility and do everything he can to win this game. Although he doesn’t like admitting it, he needs to trust Strauss Wagner. There will be a time to settle the score and find out what that man is hiding when they escape this damned dimension.

In the meantime, he must give his all to win this twisted game.

He still has confidence in his physique, in his athleticism, and he’ll pour everything he has into this. He will save Rero Sansanti.

Jarica, who has gone a few meters ahead, points to something in the distance.

"I see someone, Franz!" she shouts, hope in her voice. The assault team is visible, faintly seen among the temple ruins.

Franz quickens his pace, adrenaline surging through him. "Hold on, Sansanti…" he murmurs through gritted teeth.

At last, he reaches the top of the staircase, his breathing ragged and his legs trembling from the effort.

 

In front of him, the assault group is visibly worn from battle.

Kanna Merfal, the professor they’re pinning all their hopes on, is hunched over, pale and exhausted, her body marked by deep wounds and the strain of the spells she has cast. Her face is streaked with sweat, tears, and blood, and her breathing is slow, almost broken, as if she’s fighting against impending unconsciousness.

Close to the ground, other bodies lie still: the green-haired woman from their team, Deedee Lang, and an enemy with a head split in two.

“RERO!”

Luysia Camclair is the first to spot Franz with their blood-soaked teammate on his shoulders.

Her eyes widen in horror at the desperate state of Rero, and she rushes over to help, her face hardened with anguish.

She approaches Franz and offers to help carry their friend, assessing just how severe the situation is.

Her friend’s severed arm, the blood loss, skin pale as marble—she knows they only have minutes left.

Together, they gently lay her down near Kanna, who had already been alerted by Strauss.

"Professor Merfal... you have to help her," Jarica pleads.

Kanna, nearly drained of strength, raises her gaze, her eyes weary but aware of the task being asked of her. Her body looks ready to collapse, yet she nods, trying to lift herself to examine Rero.

Like Rero, Kanna is at her limit. The high-level spell she cast has left scars not only on her body but on her soul. But she can’t abandon Rero. She can't fail—Strauss gave her a direct order.

Meanwhile, Xiaikai Frolich stands at a distance, watching the scene without stepping in.

Despite her impassive expression, it’s clear she’s just as drained, perhaps even emotionally exhausted. She has always maintained a detached demeanor, and even now, she seems more like a spectator than an active part of the drama unfolding before her. It could be the weight of what they've been through or perhaps simply her nature.

Franz has fulfilled his mission; now, all he can do is place his hope in Kanna.

He looks around, hoping to catch a moment to breathe. And that's when his eyes fall on Welze Juble. His heart skips a beat.

His childhood friend, the blue-haired mage, leans against a wall, her face pale and drawn, her breathing faint. The battle with the enemies has left her shattered.

The necrosis inflicted upon her during the fight is still damaging her body, gradually weakening her. Franz feels overwhelmed by guilt as he takes in her fragility. She shouldn’t have had to endure this.

He should have protected her, yet he was powerless. He was not there for her.

Welze lifts her gaze, her light brown eyes meeting Franz’s.

In that brief moment, it seems like she wants to say something to him, but pain and exhaustion keep her silent. It’s clear that each breath is a struggle for her.

The effects of the battle are slowly consuming her from the inside, weakening her body, and Franz feels as if he’s lost any chance to help her.

“Welze... you’re hurt…” he says, moving closer to her. Guilt washes over him. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have left you alone...”

Welze weakly shakes her head, trying to smile, though the pain betrays her. “Franz... it’s not your fault…” she whispers.

[[ INCOMING MESSAGE ]]

[ DO YOU ACCEPT THE COMMUNICATION? ]

[  > YES

    NO  ] 

Franz is startled by the notification that appears before his eyes.

He accepts the communication immediately, however.

{Dadref, this is Strauss Wagner.}

{W-Wagner!}
The man wrestles with the irritation that arises instinctively at hearing Strauss's voice.

He’s promised himself he would stay composed. There is much more at stake than his pride.

 

{I need you to do something for me. It’s an important mission.}