The group pushed deeper along the Wild Zone's edge.

Every time a beast lunged from the shadows, arrows flew, and steel followed. Silent. Fast. Efficient.

Luke had stopped by his tent before joining the expedition. Bag stashed inside the Artemis pendant. Potions checked. Gear double-checked. Ready.

He and Allison had joined the formation as it moved out—twenty-eight strong.

Six mages brought up the rear, casting low-level spells that layered everyone's vision with a faint green glow. The world faded into grayscale… but for them, everything sharpened. Every detail stood out—cracks in the stone, footprints in the dirt, silhouettes moving in the dark.

No one spoke. The pace was tight, controlled.

A chest this close to the Safe Zone was unheard of. Normally, Reward Events dropped deep in the Wild Zone—death traps wrapped in death traps. Not here. Not this time.

Luke and Allison exchanged a glance as they moved through the ruins. No one really knew what a chest contained. Only whispers. Bartholomew hoarded them all.

It could be anything. Weapons. Gear. Seeds. Medicine. Information. Maybe even clues about the tutorial itself.

"How close are we?" Angelica asked, jogging just behind the lead.

Johnny didn't look back. His eyes were locked on the path ahead, one hand gripping the map. "Close. Half a klick. Maybe less."

They had to move fast. They weren't the only ones who could be after it. Whether survivors... or Bartholomew's soldiers.

Ahead, Anna and Paul took point. Both wore light armor—the kind you didn't buy. You earned it.

Anna's green cloak flickered as she dropped flat, belly to the dirt. An arrow shot forward, burying itself in a monster's skull before it could even raise an alarm. Two fighters lunged from cover, blades striking in tandem, finishing the creature before its body hit the ground.

Johnny waved them forward from a rooftop. "Here."

The others climbed after him. Luke was the last to reach the edge—and when he did, he froze.

The Wild Zone stretched out before him like an ocean of shadows. Broken buildings. Scattered torches. Beyond that, where the land dipped toward the distant castle, the darkness thickened—swallowing everything.

But if you looked closely, the shadows blinked. Small, pale lights flickering in the distance.

Not lanterns. Not fires.

Chests.

Dozens of them.

Scattered like stars fallen onto shattered streets.

It was the first time Luke had ever seen a full-blown Reward Event. A storm of treasure. For one night only. For the brave.

Johnny pointed toward a nearby street, where one of the lights burned brighter than the rest—closer, almost pulling them in. "We're right on the edge of the drop zone. There's a cliff just past that point. Below it, the river cuts through Orc Forest. This one spawned in the perfect spot. Not inside the city."

Angelica exhaled slowly, then stepped forward. "Even so... from this point on, it's dangerous territory."

She turned to face the group. Her gaze swept over them in the moonlight, weighing each expression.

"I said it before. I'll say it again. No one's forced to be here. I won't judge anyone who wants to turn back."

Silence.

No one moved. No one left.

A faint smile tugged at her lips. It didn't reach her eyes, but the pride was real. "Good. I'm glad I'm surrounded by people like this."

Without another word, she stepped off the rooftop, slid down the embankment, and disappeared into the trees below.

Luke followed, boots skidding against loose soil. Allison flanked him, both moving low, fast. Weapons drawn. Breathing tight. Muscles wound like springs.

One by one, the rest followed—slipping into the dark, leaving the safety of the Haven behind.

"Paul. Jonathan. Gilbert," Angelica called over her shoulder. "You guide the others."

She didn't stop moving. "You know the rule. First sign of danger—we pull back."

Paul nodded, sharp and firm. He understood exactly what they were. Distraction team. First to draw attention. First to die if things went wrong.

Only the most reliable had been chosen—Cecilia, Anna, Jonathan, Quinn, Gilbert, and Paul himself. People who wouldn't hesitate when it mattered.

Without another word, they slipped into the trees, vanishing into the dark.

Luke sank down against a tree trunk. Cold earth pressed through the fabric of his pants as tension knotted in his legs.

Above him, several archers perched high in the branches, bows ready, eyes locked on Paul's squad as they moved deeper into the zone.

Everything hinged on them.

He wouldn't admit it out loud... but his heartbeat was pounding. Hard. Relentless.

He was used to the dark. But this wasn't just darkness. The Wild Zone felt alive. A silence that watched. A stillness that waited. And above it all... the looming, invisible presence of the Midnight Wardens.

Allison stood beside him, still as stone. Her eyes were narrow, calculating. Her stance coiled tight—every muscle primed.

Luke exhaled slowly, trying to settle his nerves.

If I can't handle this... how the hell am I supposed to invade the castle?

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He shut his eyes. Focused on the air. The sounds. The rhythm of his own breathing.

Paul's team had to walk a razor's edge. Lure the monsters away—quietly. No shouts. No fireballs. No mistakes. One slip—one spark of noise or magic—and it wouldn't just be failure. It would be a massacre.

Angelica's plan was direct, brutal, surgical. Half the team would neutralize the remaining monsters. The rest—bags open, storage items ready—would strip the chest clean in seconds. In, out. Nothing fancy.

Sweat gathered beneath Luke's collar despite the cold.

Nerves... Stay sharp.

"We're good to go," Nora said.

She dropped from a branch without a sound. No creak. No crunch. Nothing. Either some passive skill or enchanted gear. Or both.

Luke tightened his grip on his kukris. Hard. Pushed off the tree and moved. Allison was right beside him, silent, perfectly in sync.

They broke from the tree line into a shattered road. Concrete fractured and warped by time.

Angelica vaulted up a wall, boots hitting the rooftop of a crumbling building. Luke and Allison stayed ground level, gliding between shadows and broken stone.

Then—they saw it.

The chest.

Sitting atop a wooden platform. Bathed in soft light.

It wasn't bright. It wasn't loud. It just... pulled at them. A subtle hum beneath the skin. Almost hypnotic.

But they weren't alone.

Predators circled the chest—deformed canines with twisted limbs, iguanas the size of motorcycles, raptor-like beasts with milky white eyes. Natural guardians.

An arrow sliced through the air and struck an iguana dead center in the skull. The beast dropped before it could even cry out.

That was the signal.

Luke and Allison burst forward. Silent. Fast. Precise.

One raptor snapped its head around—but too late. Luke was already behind it, kukris carving through tendons. The beast collapsed, helpless.

Allison followed, driving her blade straight through its skull. They moved as one. No wasted steps. No wasted breath.

Luke slipped into shadow. Basic Dark Dash. His body dissolved, blinked forward, and reappeared right in front of a cluster of beasts. His feet barely touched the ground as he wove between claws and teeth, untouchable.

He was the distraction. Allison was the blade.

A beast lunged. Luke dropped flat, rolled beneath it, pivoted.

A pair of grappling arrows punched into its flank, slamming it against a crumbling wall. No time to finish it. No need. Disabled was enough.

Two archers were already on the platform, working the chest open. Luke and Allison joined them seconds later—and froze.

The chest wasn't just full. It was overflowing.

Canned food. Preserved meat. A sealed wooden box—eggs, carefully packed inside. Dozens of them. Fresh produce. Fruits. Vegetables. Glass bottles of milk. Clay pots of butter. Loaves of bread large enough to use as shields.

And most important of all—potions.

Dozens of vials lined the chest in chaotic clusters. Red, pulsing with vitality—healing potions. Blue, shimmering like frost—mana potions. Green, thick and swirling—stamina potions.

Luke hadn't even realized there were this many types. The sheer quantity was staggering.

"Get it all into the storage items. Now," one of the archers snapped, voice tight, eyes wide.

No one needed to be told twice.

Bags opened. Storage items activated. Hands blurred.

This wasn't just loot. It was survival. A chance to shift the odds. A chest like this could sustain the Haven for weeks—maybe months.

And the chest felt... bottomless.

The more they pulled, the more it yielded. Cans. Grains. Bottles. Preserved meats. Gold bars. Polished gems. Jewelry. Potions.

Luke stared at a massive burlap sack stuffed with grain. Next to it, a crate packed with eggs. His stomach twisted, both with hunger and disbelief.

"Omelets... real omelets," he muttered.

"Think they can actually be hatched?" he asked, half to himself.

"If Bartholomew has chickens," someone replied, "this might be where they came from."

"No time for that," the archer barked, shoveling canned goods into his storage item like a man possessed.

"Look at all these healing potions..." another breathed, voice caught somewhere between awe and panic.

"With this much," Luke said, scanning the growing pile, "we could stay out in the Wild Zone for weeks without needing a healer."

"Maybe that's the point of these chests..." Allison murmured, stacking food with sharp, mechanical efficiency. "The tutorial throwing us a lifeline. Just enough to keep pushing forward."

They split the work fast. Luke handled food. Another team swept the seeds. A third worked the potions. No wasted motion. Every second mattered.

Luxury items cluttered the bottom—wine, perfume soaps, silver goblets, crystal glassware, bricks of coal, wedges of aged cheese. Beautiful. Useless. Dead weight.

"Prioritize essentials," someone shouted. "We're running out of time!"

Below, Angelica and the frontliners held the line—barely.

The snarls carried up the ruined street. Bone cracked. Metal struck flesh. A scream tore through the air.

Beastfang Hounds.

Luke risked a glance over the edge. He didn't regret it—the sounds were worse than the sight.

Vials of lamp oil. A pouch of gold. He ignored them.

Food. Seeds. Healing. Those were the real treasures.

"Wrap it up," Angelica's voice carried from below. "We're pulling out—now."

For a moment, no one moved. The chest still glowed, still hummed, still pulled at them.

But they knew better.

One by one, they backed away. Breathless. Reluctant. Triumphant.

Luke took a final glance at his storage space.

Loaded.

Enough food to keep the Haven running for weeks. Seeds for the next planting cycle.

Behind him, a few archers exchanged silent grins. One held a fistful of gold coins, grinning like a lunatic.

Luke frowned. "You seriously grabbed gold?"

"Gold's gold, my friend," the man answered, grinning wider.

Another was already jogging ahead. "With all these potions, we can tank the next few invasions easy. No healer? No problem."

"Honestly, I hoped for gear," someone else added, laughing. "But this... this is jackpot."

"With this many seeds," someone said, breathless but laughing, "we can finally build an actual farm."

Angelica jogged beside them, stride steady, breathing controlled. Her expression, finally, calm. Not smiling. But close.

"Hey..." Her voice dropped, quiet but clear. "Thanks for not giving up on me. I know I'm not... exactly leader material."

"Hell no," one of the archers fired back. "You think we'd ditch you just to go polish boots for Bartholomew? Give me a break."

"We're all idiots together," someone else added.

"Don't forget who spotted the chest first," Johnny called from the rear.

Angelica snorted. "Yeah, yeah. We'll throw you a party, Johnny. I promise."

They'd done it. They were alive. And for once, hope felt real.

Then the sound hit.

A low hum. Heavy. Violent. The air itself seemed to vibrate as if something impossibly massive had just shifted reality sideways.

And then it snapped.

Something tore through the dark.

A spear. Massive. Unrelenting.

It ripped straight through Johnny's chest.

His body jolted mid-step—frozen, paralyzed.

For a full heartbeat, no one moved. No one breathed.

Then the screams broke loose.

"JOHNNY!" A girl's voice cracked, half sob, half disbelief.

Every head turned slowly, horrified.

And there it was.

Perched atop the ruins.

Armor black as the void. Edges jagged. Plates warped like it had been forged from nightmares. Eyes burned, embers in a furnace that would never go out.

Twilight itself wrapped around him. Shadows clung to his frame as if the world refused to let him fully exist or fully leave.

A Midnight Warden.

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