LTTH C56

Chapter 56

A rigid voice rang out, flat and dry, though it was impossible to know to whom it had been addressed. Yet even in its quietness, the sound drew every gaze upward, to the figure suspended in the sky.

And the moment Berthel’s words ended, the blackness staining the heavens began to recede. Blue spread across the sky once more, and even the Dark Zone beyond the village’s borders seemed to thin. Doubt wavered in the eyes of all who looked upward, but mingled with it was a fragile sliver of hope.

“Could it be… it’s losing power?”

“Does this mean we can live…?”

If there was any mistake in rejoicing over the return of the sky’s color, it was only that such hope was far too brief. For the heavens, restored to their true hue, tore open cruelly, spilling forth an uncountable horde of monsters.

Had they been mere fodder—creatures that might fall to a single swing—then perhaps courage would have prevailed, and the hunters would have rushed forward without hesitation. But no—what descended were not such trifles. There was one like the lich Hansol had once seen, another bearing its own head tucked beneath its arm, skeletal things with grotesque forms he had never before witnessed. Each different in appearance, yet united in one truth: every single one exuded an aura that demanded all-out effort to bring down.

It was, without doubt, a calamity.

“…Ha.”

This… this is balance-breaking.

Even for Britain, this was excessive.

If this were no more than a game, the scene would already be plastered across forums under the heated cry of “completely broken balance!”

“…Horrific.”

“Truly… there is no God.”

But this cruel place had no developer to whom one might lodge a complaint. It was reality, merciless and unyielding. Damn it all.

While the hunters faltered beneath the weight of this unbearable reality, the monsters that fell from the sky advanced toward the village as if it were the most natural thing in the world. They hurled themselves against the barrier of the Sanctuary, writhing and pressing forward, not unlike moths hurling themselves against a streetlamp’s light.

They were no simple moths—they were abominations. And yet in their heedless, frenzied assault, they resembled them all too well.

“Damn it, pull back further inside! Keep the range but fall from the front!”

“They’re piling up over here! I need support!”

“Hold on! This side’s worse!”

At last the hunters snapped from their stupor. Shouts rang out across the front line as they scrambled to restore their formation. Skills flared as they struck down what monsters they could, but it was a futile effort: the number slain was always outmatched by the number newly descending.

An overwhelming assault of sheer numbers—an assault whose victor was already far too obvious. Theirs were undead; theirs was humanity. Even if hunters were tenfold stronger than ordinary men, they were still but human. Even with the luxury of leveling, they were frail against the endless tide.

And in less than ten hours—nine, perhaps—the Sanctuary too would vanish. Then they would stand bare against this swarm. What would happen then?

“…Ha-ha…”

The bleak future unfurled mercilessly before Hansol’s eyes, their slim odds plummeting ever further.

Is there truly no hope left?

These were people who had fought so desperately to survive. Was this to be their end?

Forcing down the rising weight of surrender, Hansol turned his bloodshot eyes upon the skill window. He still had many skills yet unused. If those failed, he would buy more, no matter what it cost.

While Hansol searched frantically, Isaac was the first to reach a conclusion. He strode forward with firm resolve.

“Kassie. Go.”

“…Isaac.”

“The longer we delay, the worse it will become. Now—you must go.”

Even as the monsters pressed against the Sanctuary’s edge, Isaac never let his gaze waver. His voice was not a request. It was command—unyielding, absolute, brooking no dissent.

If the Sanctuary fell, those holding the line would almost certainly perish. Only Isaac, Kassie, and perhaps Rachel might live. He knew it too well. And among such carnage, it would be impossible to protect even a single healer.

Isaac was not strong enough. With no more than a level of two hundred, he could not shield Hansol from Berthel. So this, this was the best choice he could make. Even if Hansol could not fathom it.

“Isaac.”

Would escape truly mean survival? Hansol shook his head violently, his gaze fixed on Isaac’s broad back. No. That could not be.

“Wherever we go, it will be the same. Kassie said so himself. I will remain here, and fight with you.”

“Kassie.”

His words were resolute, but Isaac did not so much as glance his way. He only spoke Kassie’s name again. Desperate, Hansol clung to Kassie’s arm, his resolve burning in his eyes.

I will not go. I will stay.

Dark eyes locked with Kassie’s blue ones, and at last it was Kassie whose gaze broke first.

“….”

Lowering his head, Kassie’s foot stamped the earth softly, and a circle of azure light spread, inscribing itself into the soil.

“Kassie!”

Hansol’s heart twisted. Even without words, the meaning was clear. He had chosen Isaac’s path, not Hansol’s.

“You would leave them all behind? Are you mad?”

“…Life has offered them nothing but death. Placing our faith in a single fragile hope—how can that be so wrong?”

“…Ha.”

Was fleeing with him truly what Kassie called hope? Was not staying, fighting, striving for survival the truer hope? Or perhaps Kassie believed his own power sufficient to endure even Berthel? If so, Hansol would have called it arrogance.

If escape had been possible, Peter would never have fallen. Isaac would not be so ready to sacrifice himself. And Kassie would not be inscribing that grim circle with a face twisted in anguish.

[Then I shall begin with the one who offends me most.]

So bold when it suits you—why? Why so timid now?

The bitter cry caught in Hansol’s throat. He shoved Kassie aside and hurled himself forward. Both Kassie and Isaac froze, struck momentarily as though time itself had ceased.

“You called me hope, did you not?”

With Isaac and Kassie behind him, Hansol fixed his eyes on Berthel.

“You named me such—you, Kassie, and all who stand here.”

Then at the very least, I cannot surrender.

The words unspoken burned in his chest as he opened the skill window with grim resolve.

Advent Lv. Master

Consumes Divinity to summon a god.

It was the most costly skill in the shop—one that surely no one else could ever use. After all, he was the only healer with a stat for Divinity.

When Berthel first appeared, Hansol’s eyes had gone straight to this skill. But the word “god,” inscribed so simply, had stayed his hand. The name Advent itself had given him pause. Was this god ally, or foe?

If it harmed those he sought to save, then it could not be used. For that reason, he had left it untouched—a fruit fair to look at, yet bitter within.

But now… the circumstances had changed. Against such hopeless odds, against a battle that might cast them out of the field entirely, even bitter fruit must be eaten. If the system favored him, then surely it would not offer him a skill unworthy of use.

He glanced once behind, to Isaac and Kassie, and steeled his heart. Then he spoke, a prayer lodged between his words, that what came would not turn against them.

“…Advent.”