There were still traces of the hate comments about Henry Stone floating around online, digital scars that refused to fade.

  It had started years ago, before his awakening.

  Back when he was just a kid in school, his S-rank sister had thrown herself in front of a monster to save him, and ended up cursed, forever sleeping like she was in a permanent coma.

  The public had turned on him instantly after that. And there was one person whose resentment toward him was stronger than any anonymous commenter.

  I should have just died.

  Henry himself.

  The whole tragedy started because he’d turned off his phone after a stupid argument with his sister. He’d crashed for a nap at home, sullen and angry, and slept right through the Wireless Emergency Alerts.

  He hadn’t known there was a breach until the front door of his house exploded.

  After the incident, every time he went online, he was met with insults and ridicule about how the wrong sibling survived.

  He wanted to fix everything. He wanted to be acknowledged by people, to be a hero just like his sister had been.

  Desperation drove him to an illegal broker. He paid his entire savings to be smuggled into a dungeon without a hunter license, clinging to the urban legend that the probability of awakening was much higher inside one.

  Surprisingly, it worked.

  When Henry emerged, awakened, the entire nation’s attention was on him.

  Would he be the new S-rank to replace the one they had lost?

  The “Bloodline Theory” wasn’t a rule, but it was a strong statistical trend. High-rank Awakened often appeared in the same families.

  If he had been at least an A-rank, the public’s mood might have been forgiving.

  The demand for high-rank hunters was growing in step with the appearance of increasingly powerful dungeons.

  So when the news broke that Henry Stone had awakened as a B-rank, the mood turned fast.

  That’s when he got the nickname: 99 Short.

  It meant he was worth 1/100th of his sister, since it typically took a hundred B-ranks to match the prowess of a single S-rank.

  But the person most disappointed by that rank wasn’t the public. It was Henry.

  Since then, he had waited for the day he could finally take responsibility for the hero’s sacrifice.

  He thought that day was today.

  An A-rank breach when all the S-ranks were unexpectedly gone. It was the perfect stage to die.

  And again, all he did was make things worse.

  “Beating yourself up isn’t saving anybody. Put that energy into protecting people.”

  The voice cut through his spiral.

  “Forget about what other people see.”

  “Focus on the present. On what’s right in front of you.”

  It wasn’t a gentle consolation. Hearing the rough concern buried beneath Shane’s harsh tone, something inside Henry snapped back into place.

  Shane reminded him of his sister. Not in appearance, but in that stubborn, self-sacrificing recklessness of a person who threw their body on the line to save others without a second thought.

  “It’s not your job to protect me. I’m the captain here, not you.”

  Henry’s breath hitched.

  That was what his sister would have said if she were standing in Shane’s shoes.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  What would she think if she saw him now? Trembling and waiting to die.

  Would she be disappointed?

  Disappointed that he was so quick to throw away the life she had sacrificed everything to save?

  Henry looked at Shane’s back.

  The man carrying the weight of countless lives on shoulders that were already bleeding, still standing to fight a literal A-rank monster, refusing to back down.

  A realization hit Henry like a bolt of lightning, suppressing the [Guilt] that had shackled him for years.

  But… if the hero was always protecting the people…

  Who protects the hero?

  Shane leaned around the edge of the industrial dumpster, peering out from their cramped alcove.

  The ground was still convulsing, gray tombstones erupting from the asphalt like shark teeth, shattering the streets. The air was thick with dust and the shrieks of the Roses.

  Through the haze, Shane saw the backs of the others. They were scurrying over the debris, using the chaotic eruption of the [Grave Call] as a smokescreen to mask their retreat. They didn’t look back.

  But not everyone ran.

  Barely fifty yards away, amidst the exploding pavement and swarming monsters, Luke’s team and Josh’s team was holding the line.

  They were battered, dusty, and terrified, but they hadn’t moved an inch toward the direction of the intercontinental portal.

  Josh was screaming orders, his dagger flashing as he hacked away a B-rank Sacred Rose’s thorny vine that was trying to snare a party member. Beside him, Luke cast a skill that drew brush strokes in the air that resembled canvas oil to confuse the monsters and redirect the [Hallucination Spores] away from the group.

  Shane frowned.

  Why weren’t they running? The path behind them was clear. And it won’t be for long as more and more Paladins advanced toward them.

  As if hearing his unspoken question, Josh stumbled backward after severing a vine and frantically scanned the smoke-filled street.

  That’s when it hit Shane.

  Josh wasn’t looking for a way out. He was looking for them.

  “Don’t let the line collapse!” Josh roared. “Keep the formation tight!”

  They were waiting.

  They knew Shane and Henry were still back here somewhere, and they refused to leave them behind.

  Henry followed Shane’s gaze. He saw his teammates fighting a losing battle, refusing to break formation even as the world ended around them.

  “We should follow the example of our party members,” Shane said quietly.

  Henry blinked, tearing his eyes away from the skirmish.

  “And that means…?”

  Shane shifted his stance, pointing subtly with his chin toward the end of the block. Rising above the low-hanging smoke and the four-story apartment buildings, the white marble head of the Heaven’s Executioner loomed like a nightmare.

  The giant was standing in the middle of the destruction, its massive body glowing with the mana of the prepared hymn.

  “The boss,” Shane said, his eyes locking onto the colossal target. “Get me to it.”

  Henry’s eyes trembled at the mention of the monster. Shane could see the fear was still there—the [Indomitable Will] didn’t erase it.

  But Henry nodded anyway.

  “I’ll do my best.”

  Shane smirked, adjusting his grip on the Broken Oath.

  Look at that, he thought, watching the resolve settle over the tank’s features. The pup finally grew some teeth.

  *

  Even amidst the deafening roar of explosions and the inhuman screams of the monsters, Henry found his gaze drawn to Shane.

  Dust coated the man’s face, and blood stained his jacket, but his eyes were terrifyingly steady.

  As if he’d been in this exact kind of hell before.

  Henry forced himself to look ahead. The path to the Heaven’s Executioner was a gauntlet of death.

  While the B-rank Paladins and the writhing vines of the Sacred Roses were being desperately held back by Josh and Luke’s parties, the environment itself was the enemy.

  The ground continuously convulsed, spitting up monoliths of gray stone at random intervals.

  The [Grave Call].

  Thanks to the party link connected to Luke’s [Appraisal] skill, a white text flickered in the corner of Henry’s vision. He focused on the data Luke had managed to scrape regarding the boss’s area attack.

  [Grave Call (A-)]

  The Heaven’s Executioner brings forth the wrath of those that died in its hands. Though they are not the fastest, once they grip their target, they drag them down to the grave with them.

  Henry swallowed hard.

  Once they grip their target...

  Judging from the description and the sheer kinetic force he’d stopped earlier, a direct hit meant an instant death, at least for those that were under A-ranks.

  This was probably why Shane needed Henry to assist him. Of course, he was most definitely a hidden S-rank, judging from what happened at the Breakneck Ridge Dungeon.

  But even high-rankers couldn’t face-tank a skill like [Grave Call] if the damage stacked up. Especially if their classes weren’t a tank.

  That meant Henry’s role was clear.

  To become Shane’s ablative armor.

  He clenched his hand into a fist.

  He would block every single one. Even if Henry died from exertion, he would [Shield] Shane so he could reach the Heaven’s Executioner. He would throw his body in front of those stone slabs if he ran out of mana.

  Henry vowed, the fire of self-sacrifice burning hot in his chest. His life for the victory. That was his—

  “Conserve your mana.”

  The flat voice cut through Henry’s thoughts like a bucket of ice water.

  Henry blinked, his concentration wavering.

  Shane was checking the exploding street with a mild frown, calculating the distance as if he were calculating the tip on a restaurant bill.

  Henry stared at him, his heroic resolve hanging awkwardly in the air.

  “...Sorry?”

  Shane raised an eyebrow at him, a look that clearly asked how he could be unfocused right before a battle.

  Henry wanted to protest.

  Obviously, he heard Shane loud and clear—it was the insanity of it that threw him off!

  He was literally prepared to die here!

  But Shane was already moving. He kicked off the ground, dashing out of the safety of the alcove and straight into the kill zone.

  “Don’t raise your [Shield] until I say so.”