"What...?"

That was all Daion could say. His gaze locked onto Jack, but the man remained impassive—stern as always. Haruka glanced at him, her expression uneasy. Two years with them, and she still hadn’t gotten used to those words. She bit her lip, looking away. Finn’s mouth hung open, but he said nothing, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. Minjae, on the other hand, didn’t react. His eyes remained fixed on the night sky, reflecting the glow of flames consuming the distant village.

Jack turned back to Daion. His hands trembled, his leg twitched slightly, his fingers curled into a fist—small tells betraying his otherwise calm demeanor. “Do I need to repeat myself? We’re leaving.”

Daion ran through the forest, breath ragged, dodging roots and undergrowth. Not from exhaustion, but from rage. Frustration. Fear. SteelWall loomed ahead, growing closer with each stride. What the hell am I doing? Sixty meters. What am I even planning? Playing the hero? Yeah, right. His boot caught on something, sending him face-first into the mud. Groaning, he pushed himself up and turned back. No one was following. For the first time since arriving in this world, he was alone at night. He had been lucky until now. Now, he was about to die for being an idiot.

Jack’s voice echoed in his head. "It’s not ideal to travel at night…" The memory surfaced—Jack’s hands shaking as he packed up camp, Minjae idly flipping his knife between his fingers. "But if we move now, we can reach a town before midnight."

Daion had stepped forward, seething. "Quit talking nonsense." Jack hadn’t flinched. "If that village is still under attack even after the Hellseeker’s death, then it's a horde. We don’t stand a chance."

"You don’t know that. It could be anything."

Jack scoffed. "Oh really? And where did you get that idea? From the bedtime stories your mother told you? Oh, wait…" His voice dipped. "You don’t remember, do you?"

Daion's fist crashed into Jack’s face. Jack barely moved, blinking in irritation. His voice remained level. "How can you just leave them to die? It makes no sense."

"It’s survival."

"It’s cowardice!"

Daion trembled with fury. His gemstone pulsed, his arm burned, but he ignored it. He just wanted to see how far Jack’s cynicism would go.

"If we go, we die."

"Is that all you people do? Run? Is that why you lost the war?"

Jack exhaled through his nose. "We’re not soldiers. And this isn’t our war—it’s theirs." He gestured toward the rising smoke in the distance. "We’re just a bunch of nobodies who happened to die in front of the wrong god."

Silence.

And Daion understood. He wasn’t the first to think it. They were all just kids. Thrown into a war they never asked for. But still… something burned inside him. The screams of the man he left behind pounded in his skull.

Jack sighed. "We only have one goal: survive as long as we can in this shitty world."

Daion clenched his fists. "You’re not surviving." His voice was low. "Surviving is fighting to see another day. You’re just running until there’s no tomorrow left."

Minjae clicked his tongue, annoyed. "And what’s the difference?"

Daion ignored him. His eyes searched Haruka and Finn. "You’re really not going to say anything? Just accept this and run away with your tails between your legs?"

Haruka lowered her head. "It’s not like we have many choices… If we’re not together, we’ll die."

Finn hesitated, then stepped closer to Jack. "It’s a village, Jack. Are we really just walking away?" His voice was quiet, but firm. Jack didn’t answer. Finn didn’t press further. This wasn’t the first time. Not even his first time. And yet, he still accepted it.

Daion turned away from them. "Do whatever you want. I’m going to try something." His legs shook. His body felt sluggish.

Haruka reached out, grabbing his hand. "You don’t have to do this… You can come with us." She turned to Jack. "He can, right? It’s better to have help… it’s better to fight together…"

Minjae scoffed and turned away. Jack studied her for a moment, then exhaled. "Summoned ones have to look out for each other, right?"

Daion chuckled bitterly. "Even if it means abandoning everyone else?"

Haruka squeezed his hand. She was trembling. Gently, Daion pulled away. "Sorry. I can still hear that man screaming. I don’t know if I can live with it… but if I run now, I know I’ll let the next monster kill me."

Jack’s eyes darkened. "So you’ll die out of guilt? Out of some stupid remorse for a guy you didn’t even know?"

Daion shrugged. "What can I say? Being human sucks."

He was hoping at least one of those idiots would change their mind and follow him. But no. He was still running alone.

Thirty meters.

The city gates were in sight. He was just about to break free from the forest when an irritating voice made him frown.

"Hold it right there, 'hero.'"

Daion spun around.

He recognized the voice instantly. But what surprised him wasn’t hearing it inside his head—it was seeing the source perched casually on a rock.

There he was. The god.

No towering stature. No orbiting black holes. Just a normal-looking guy holding a glass of wine.

"You know," the god muttered, swirling his drink, "I had a meeting with my boss…" He sighed, taking a sip. "But it seems my ‘chosen one’ has decided he has a death wish. What happened? Did you suddenly remember your dad abandoned you or something?"

Daion didn’t bother answering.

"Gods have bosses?"

The god raised an eyebrow, about to explain the celestial hierarchy, but Daion cut him off.

"You know what? I don’t have time for your bullshit."

"You said you wanted to survive."

Daion froze.

"That’s what you told me when you first got here." The god studied him, calm and unreadable. "And now your survival plan is to charge straight into a hurricane."

Daion hesitated. He hadn’t really thought about it that way. What the hell am I even doing?

"Why do you care?"

"Because finding new heroes is a pain in the ass."

"Oh, so now you care? You threw me in here without explaining a damn thing!"

The god clicked his tongue.

"Pff, I figured it was for the best. If I had told you what abilities you had or who I was, you’d have gotten cocky and died in two days. At least this way, I know you’re still alive on your own merit."

"Has that happened before?"

"Plenty of times." No hesitation.

Daion scoffed.

"And here I thought you were just too lazy to talk to mortals."

"You’re dead. Technically, you’re not a mortal anymore."

The god smirked. Arrogant. Amused.

"Summoned ones with a hero complex don’t last long against the Corrupt." He glanced at the distant column of smoke rising beyond the trees. "I didn’t expect you to be one of them."

Daion clenched his fists.

"I don’t think I’m a hero. I just can’t let those people die."

"You let that man die for survival…" The god’s gaze sharpened. "And now you’re willing to die for others. That’s not bravery—it’s hypocrisy. You’re still just a human pretending to be something you’re not."

Daion’s jaw tightened.

"So tell me, what changed?" The god leaned forward slightly, voice quieter now, almost curious. "The people in that city… they’re strangers. You don’t know them."

A pause.

"So why do you care?"

Silence.

For the first time, Daion hesitated.

Why? He had no reason to risk his life. The god was right. Maybe Jack was right, too. Maybe running away was the smart choice.

But…

He had already died once. He had nothing in this world.

The people of this land… their families… their lives… Could he really save himself, knowing others would die just so he could live another day?

No.

He wouldn’t be able to live with himself.

"I’m doing it anyway."

The god tilted his head, watching him.

"Then I was wrong. You don’t have a hero complex… you have a savior complex."

"Call it whatever you want."

Daion turned his back on him, but before walking away, he glanced over his shoulder.

"Thanks for the pep talk, I guess."

The god shrugged.

"If you die, you’ll prove me right."

Daion didn’t stop.

"But if you live…" The god’s voice turned almost playful. "Well, maybe you really are a hero."

No answer.

The god sighed and took another sip of wine.

"Alright, fine. I’ll give you some advice."

The air crackled with energy.

"The Corrupt underestimate rookies. Win with the first strike. And don’t fight honorably… survive at all costs."

"I’ll keep that in mind."

The god smirked.

"See you later… or never, hero."

His body started fading into thin air.

"Oh, and if you die, make sure to leave your sword in my dimension before you reincarnate."

Daion let out a short chuckle. Maybe the last one he’d ever have.

"Deal."

Daion advanced with slow, deliberate steps.

Sweat slicked his palms. His legs trembled. But he did not stop.

He crossed the gates.

The screams hit him instantly—a cacophony of agony, the splintering collapse of stone, the ravenous roar of fire consuming everything in its path. The air was thick with the stench of blood, burnt flesh, and death itself.

Corpses littered the streets like broken dolls, some frozen in twisted expressions of terror, others reduced to nothing more than unrecognizable remnants.

Smoke clawed at his vision.

He climbed atop the ruins of a crumbling building—just in time to hear it.

The clash of steel. A cry of pain.

He turned his head.

And watched as the upper half of a soldier crashed to the ground, his severed torso spilling viscera across the stone like discarded scraps of meat.

Then, he saw them.

The Corrupt.

The first resembled a warped, nightmarish wolf—its limbs unnaturally long, each step carving deep gashes into the pavement with razor-sharp claws. Its body was draped in filthy, matted fur, but its head—its head—was a grotesque horror. A canine snout, split in two directions, lined with rows of jagged, glistening teeth.

Tiny, luminous eyes covered its face like a spider’s, shifting and darting in every direction, ceaseless, relentless. In one hand, it gripped a chipped, blood-drenched axe. In the other, it clutched a severed head, its lifeless eyes still wide with fading terror.

The second was an even greater abomination.

Its thick, violet-hued skin had the rough texture of a pig’s hide, stretched over grotesquely overdeveloped muscles. Its twisted, goat-like legs ended in split hooves, the edges cracked and jagged with blackened claws.

Two pairs of enormous boar tusks jutted from its body—one set protruding from its throat to his snout, the other curving from its back, enclosing its bloated stomach.

Except that wasn’t just a stomach.

It was a mouth.

A cavernous, gaping maw filled with teeth that moved with a life of their own, writhing and gnashing hungrily.

Four arms. Two massive, sinewy ones, gripping a rusted greatsword still slick with gore.

The other two, smaller.

Holding a still-living soldier.

Daion saw the terror in his eyes. The desperate, futile struggle.

Saw his legs kicking, his body twisting in frantic resistance.

Saw as the creature's hands thrust him toward that grotesque, salivating wound.

Saw the moment the teeth clamped shut.

The man’s scream vanished in an instant, devoured by a sickening, wet crunch.

Bile rose in Daion’s throat. His stomach twisted.

The weight of fear pressed against him, suffocating, demanding stillness.

But he clenched his teeth.

Forced himself forward.

He stepped into the ruined street and drew his sword.

With a single motion, he leapt—landing right in front of them.

The soldiers behind him did not speak.

Did not look relieved.

But they did not stop him.

The Corrupt turned their heads.

And then—they smiled.

End of Chapter 9.