Shane grunted, his vision swam with white spots dancing in his eyes. For a split second, his combat instincts flared. He thought a straggler monster had ambushed him from the blind spot.

  It wasn’t a bear. It was Henry.

  His face split with a grin so wide he looked like he couldn’t see straight.

  As if that were the signal, the other hunters erupted into noise again, clapping each other on the back, hugging, and crying openly.

  “W-we’re… we’re alive!”

  “Holy shit, we actually did it…?”

  Shane added a word of his own. “Get off me.”

  But Henry either didn’t hear him over the cheering or simply didn’t care, because his arms were still locked around him. In fact, he seemed to hug him even tighter.

  Shane sighed, wincing as the pressure squeezed his wound on his side. And being held in place like this always brought bad memories.

  So I’m “captain” now, but following an order to unhand me is somehow optional?

  Still, given the circumstances, Shane decided to let it slide for a moment. He was too tired to push him away.

  He glanced over Henry’s shoulder. The relief was universal. Even Kit McKay, the arrogant A-rank minor, was also crying, thick tears rolling down his dust-covered face. Beside him, Josh Miller was patting his shoulder with an exhausted, rhythmic thump, staring at the sky in disbelief.

  “…I’m about to drop dead,” Shane said, his voice flat.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry!”

  Henry seemed to have heard him this time.

  He scrambled back, his face flushed with embarrassment.

  “I just—I was so—sorry!”

  As Henry stammered, flailing his hands, Shane raised his own. Not to hit him. He reached out and gently tapped him on the head with the back of his hand.

  It was a small, awkward gesture, but Henry froze, his eyes widening.

  Shane looked around the ruined street. If not for the smashed concrete and smoking craters around them, the scene around them could’ve passed for a rowdy street fair.

  Shane flicked his finger, pulling up the party interface.

  He checked his party status and scanned the list of names. The celebratory mood was probably fueled by the fact that, at least in his impromptu party, there had been no casualties.

  The memory of all those dungeon runs in the past week came rushing back. God, the grind had been worth it.

  He felt his throat tighten, and then he actually choked.

  Guh.

  A fresh wave of blood welled up, spilling from his mouth and nose. He clamped his jaw shut. He couldn’t let the others see him like this.

  With a thought, he activated [Bloodcraft]. And all the blood evaporated, filling up his mana pool before Henry could notice.

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  He had to admit, the pup had been a huge help. Without that perfectly timed [Shield], Shane never would’ve gotten close to the Heaven’s Executioner.

  Henry had allowed him to save every last drop of mana for the final blow.

  Still, this trick wouldn’t work against most bosses.

  The Executioner was a glass cannon. It had pathetic health and low physical defense, making up for it with ridiculously brutal wide-range area attacks.

  When Henry got hit by that tombstone earlier, Shane’s gut had lurched. What really caught him off guard, though, was Henry shouting that he could still fight, even with a hole in his side.

  That was why Shane had quietly siphoned off half the kid’s injuries into his own body without a word, using his [Absorb Wound] skill.

  Better Shane bleeding than Henry missing a [Shield] when it counted. Shane rationalized, gritting his teeth against the throb in his side and shoulder.

  And for a heartbeat back there… Henry had reminded him of his old comrades.

  Shane scowled, pushting the thought away.

  He hated to admit it, but he had gotten sentimental at that moment.

  I must be getting old.

  His eyes scanned the crowd.

  In the distance, he saw Luke Hinton, looking composed even covered in dust, his sharp eyes searching.

  Not good.

  If Luke got a hold of him now, he’d be stuck answering a hundred questions about his skills and his stats and roped into post-dungeon cleanup, interviews and guild politics.

  Shane grimaced. His jacket was warm with fresh blood oozing out, making the fabric stick to his skin.

  He needed a shower. And sleep.

  Thanks to his skill’s new potential, [Quick Bind], he had recovered a bit as soon as he absorbed Henry’s wound, but a twenty-five percent recovery on a fatal injury still left its mark.

  “Are you all right, Captain?” Henry asked, his brow furrowed with concern.

  “Fine.”

  “Still, I rang 911 just in case. They said an ambulance is coming.”

  Great. Just what I needed.

  His smartphone buzzed. Actually, every smartphone on the street began to vibrate in unison.

  It was a Wireless Emergency Alert.

  The S-rank hunters had finally arrived via intercontinental portal. The nation’s strongest heroes had finally arrived to save the day.

  “Ah…!”

  The news that the S-ranks were finally here drew cheers from the crowd.

  People were glad, no doubt, but the reaction wasn’t wild.

  The fight was already over. There was a quiet pride running through them all for having handled the crisis themselves.

  A ripple of white text swept across the gathered crowd, followed by a chime that sounded in everyone’s ears simultaneously.

  [The dungeon breach has been cleared. Rewards will be distributed according to contribution.]

  [Calculating raid contribution…]

  The tension in the air shifted from survival to anticipation.

  It was true that everyone had fought hard. They had stood their ground against a calamity that should have wiped them off the map.

  But there was no question as to who fought the hardest.

  Every eye turned to the man near the disintegrating giant corpse.

  Shane Ashwell.

  Shane hid his exhaustion behind his sharp gaze, thinking, Exactly as I planned.

  There was a reason for the over-the-top, bloody performance that was so out of character for him.

  He needed this image. The image of him coughing up blood while pushing himself to the brink to save others would be seared into their minds.

  In the hunter industry, high contribution scores meant the lion’s share of the loot. And usually, if the majority of the loot was given to one hunter, it led to lawsuits, accusations of kill-stealing, and public backlash.

  But not today.

  Try complaining now, Shane mused darkly.

  Even if some jealous hunter wanted to contest the raid contribution scores later, they wouldn’t be able to rally a single ounce of public support.

  Everyone here was a witness.

  Any complaints about Shane taking the best rewards would just be dismissed as petty jealousy.

  Of course, regardless of his acting, it was also a fact that he had contributed the most. Perhaps that was why, even as they treated burns and cuts with filthy, dirt-stained hands, everyone kept stealing glances in his direction.

  Suddenly, a new text oppped up, glowing with a distinct gold color. It seemed this one was visible only to Shane.

  [Two parties were most involved in stopping the dungeon breach.]

  [The leader of the first party is Hunter Ashwell.]

  [Please provide a party name that will be visible to all.]

  A party name?

  Why would the system need that? Usually, contribution was calculated individually.

  He frowned, thinking it over, then figured with so many participants, it was probably dividing the contribution score by party first to simplify things.

  [Enter Party Name: ___ ]

  Shane looked at Henry, and then at the group of misfits who had followed him into the fire.

  He immediately typed in the name.