Surviving without God

The battle ended easily and quickly.

The adventurers, scattering in a storm of gratitude, left the site of the clash. Only the tightly bound man with the scar remained.

After a brief consideration, Gunther gave his platoon comrades a short explanation of who he was. He kept quiet about the connection to the Society of Forgotten Books for now — there was no certainty — and simply presented him as one of Luthien’s dogs.

...Even that was enough to spark an uproar.

— Ha, so he turned out to be a real bastard? Then why was he biting his own masters? Did they discard him?

— ...Just a regular thug from a gang. Why did you even save him, Gunther?

— M-maybe we should just kill him right now?

— Easy, easy. Cool down. Gunther must have a plan. Let’s hear it. There is a plan, right, Gunther? If not — I’ll kill him.

Despite the sharp reactions, Gunther didn’t regret being honest. The Fourth Platoon and he were comrades now. Comrades shouldn’t lie to each other.

— I need to ask him something. It won’t take long.

— ...Make it quick. Luthien will pick up the trail soon.

Fortunately, they didn’t press further. They stepped back silently, giving him space. Gunther inhaled deeply and stood before the scarred man.

“If I’ve decided to dig for the truth, I’ll do it properly.”

But the interrogation failed from the very beginning.

.

.

.

— Society of Forgotten Books? Never heard of it.

He didn’t avert his gaze. The X-shaped scar on his forehead twitched faintly.

— I can see it in your eyes — you don’t believe me.

— Well, considering your track record...

Gunther added curtly:

— And you clearly don’t feel warm toward me.

— ...I’ll repeat it once more. I don’t know any organization by that name.

Unfortunately, the man barely changed expression. No matter the question, his cold mask revealed nothing.

...Fine. Time to provoke him a little. Gunther deliberately shifted tone, more commanding.

— Then second question. How did you master that dual-blade technique?

— You really have a talent for pissing people off.

— I’m your savior. The least you could do is answer.

A short silence passed. Then a dry laugh.

— Ha....

The scarred man gave a bitter smile.

— Savior? Ha-ha, savior? You destroyed my gang and dare to say that?

— Aren’t you mixing things up? Your lackeys died because of their own stupidity.

The man’s eyes flashed. His jaw tightened as if restraining fury. But strangely, no rebuttal came.

— Your tongue... is very... “skilled.”

— I’m aware.

— You little shit...

Gunther was baiting him deliberately — but only half deliberately.

He hated bandits.

An orphan raised in debt couldn’t love bandits. Parasites who survive by harming others. Standing face to face with them made his stomach churn. If this man had been the type to speak only under torture, Gunther would have beaten him already.

— Just answer. What god did you contract with to learn that dagger art?

— What contract are you even— ...ah, forget it.

— What?

[The King of Ninety-Nine Defeats says he does not sense divine presence in the opponent]

Gunther knew that too. But that alone wasn’t enough to dismiss a connection to an Ancient God. He himself didn’t look like a contractor either. There might be ways to conceal it.

“It’s impossible to reach that level with mere physical training.”

Gunther studied the scarred man, who had shut down like a clamped shell.

Five minutes had already passed. It was time to leave before pursuers arrived. Tarsha, watching from afar, approached slowly.

— Looks like gentle talk isn’t working... Maybe your senior can help a little?

Seeing her crack her knuckles, the scarred man snorted.

— With those soft little fists, you couldn’t make a ten-year-old talk.

— Oh? Did I say I’d use fists?

Crackle!

Bright sparks danced at Tarsha’s fingertips. The scarred man’s face gradually hardened. She glanced at Gunther, awaiting his decision.

— Roast him?

— Wait.

...It would feel satisfying. But then his mouth would close forever. Gunther stopped her and shifted his gaze to the glowing icon at the edge of his vision.

“...Maybe I should just use this?”

The item obtained as a reward for clearing Act 1, Chapter 3.

[Bond Casket (Legendary)]

— Upon designating a target, summons a unique treasure that deeply binds you with that character.

Since this item existed in the original game, Gunther knew its value perfectly well. A Legendary Bond Casket yielded an artifact capable of fundamentally altering relations with the target. An item that boosted affinity so drastically it unlocked hidden scenarios or privileges.

If he used it, this man’s attitude would change.

However—

“A bit... no, way too wasteful.”

Spending such an overpowered item — one that could later establish contact with any key figure — on someone like this was excessive. Even if he was a key to the mysteries surrounding Gunther.

— I should’ve used it on that damn sniper.

And right then, the scarred man — who had seemed unwilling to speak — reacted.

— ...Sniper?

His voice trembled.

— You... you met a sniper in the Labyrinth?

— What?

— Answer me! What did he look like? How old was he?

Gunther blinked.

— ...Are you really in a position to question me?

— Was he unharmed? Not injured? What state was he in?! Answer!

Forgetting his restraints, he lunged forward. Even as blood rushed to his wrists and ankles, turning them purple, he didn’t stop. Desperation made him careless.

“...Look at that.”

One thing was clear.

The sniper and this man knew each other. And the connection ran deep.

“But they haven’t seen each other in a long time.”

Several hypotheses flashed through Gunther’s mind. Perhaps the man truly wasn’t connected to the Society of Forgotten Books.

— Please. Tell me. Where is he? You definitely saw him?

He nearly collapsed at Gunther’s feet, begging.

Gunther frowned.

“So he can make that face too.”

It evoked both disgust and an odd pity.

— I’ll tell you what I know. In return... you answer my questions.

At that moment, a clear chime sounded.

Ding!

[Unique Scenario Triggered! Obsession of the Scarred Man]

The scarred man desperately searches for the sniper. The story connecting them remains unknown. But one thing is certain: your words and your choice will change his fate.

Voluntarily share information about the sniper and release him.

Provide false information and set him up.

Keep him with you and interrogate him.

Or end his life here or throw him to Luthien’s fanatics — all choices are yours.

Whether he meets the sniper again or misses him forever depends solely on you.

Clear Reward: Unknown.

[“◇” is watching your choice]

[“◆” is watching your choice]

“◇”? And what’s “◆”?

For a split second, Gunther hesitated.

Screeeech!

From the edge of his vision, several locusts flew in.

Not ordinary locusts. Their black bodies were larger than a hand. Burning red eyes. Long venomous fangs glinting at the tips of their mandibles.

Harvest Beasts — summoning creatures of the Cult of Abundance.

...Location detected.

Screeeech!

What had begun as a few multiplied into hundreds in seconds, filling the air. Luthien’s forces would soon surround the area.

Crackle!

Tarsha shouted, sparks flaring at her fingertips:

— Time to move!

Gunther looked at the bound man.

A strange intuition crawled down his spine. This seemingly small choice felt like it would determine the direction of something vast.

“......”

I...

.

.

.

[“◇” smiles ambiguously at your choice]

[“◆” falls into contemplation while watching you]

***

Whirr—

The last device anchored into the ground. The red indicator lit up. Gunther wiped oil from his hands and sat down on a nearby structure.

“......”

Unlike the previous life, no sniper shot followed even after he finished his work.

The forest of skyscrapers remained silent.

Woooo—

Only artificial wind drifting through the ruins of metal and glass broke the stillness.

Gunther lightly touched the heavy Black Needle Pauldrons on his shoulders. They had been given to him by the scarred man... no, Nine.

“...Thank you. I’ll repay this debt.”

Before leaving, Nine — whose affinity had finally unlocked — bowed his head like a completely different person.

Nine had guessed the sniper was his “benefactor.” The one who picked him up during a joyless childhood and taught him survival and combat. But one day, that person disappeared without warning.

— I only knew he always carried a massive sniper rifle... and that he was supposed to appear in the Labyrinth around this time. That’s why I came.

Ultimately, the sniper must be the contractor of an Ancient God. After all, he was the one who taught Nine the dual-blade technique.

“......”

When the unique scenario first appeared, Gunther’s initial thought hadn’t matched any system option.

Take the scarred man hostage to lure out the sniper.

Battle or negotiation — either way, seize what he wanted by any means.

“...I could’ve gained massive benefits instantly.”

But he hadn’t chosen that efficient path.

— Please. Tell me. Where is he? You definitely saw him?

That desperate look searching for someone precious stopped him.

As a child, when he searched for the runaway adult who abandoned him, he must have worn the same expression.

And Suhyeon — who was likely searching for her missing brother right now — would have that same look.

Once the thought formed, the desire to exploit the situation faded.

“...Soft. Too soft.”

Of course, he had demanded payment.

If his guess was correct, it would return a substantial reward.

But was it optimal profit? He didn’t know.

“...I was supposed to stay calculating.”

The scenario was already full of variables, and the difficulty kept rising.

Would it be fine?

Gunther exhaled heavily.

Step. Step.

Footsteps approached from behind.

— Heavy work’s done. Why do you look like you just ate shit?

Tarsha.

He saw her without her mask for the first time. He’d expected a mischievous childlike face.

Instead, she looked surprisingly mature.

Gentle eyes. Corners of her lips playfully raised. Bright yellow hair spilled over her shoulders, striking against the bleak cityscape.

— ...I just finished. Was about to head back.

— Heeey, why so slow? The others worked hard cooking for you. It’ll get cold.

Despite her words, she plopped down beside him.

Neither rushed the other. Tarsha tapped her staff lightly against the ground. Gunther sank back into thought.

Her playful voice pulled him out.

— Hey, rookie. Know why they call us the “burden platoon”?

— ...You’re aware of that?

— We’re not idiots. Of course we know. They treat us like second-rate. Grand Crow’s a good man, but he separates flies from meat cleanly.

— And the reason?

She smiled peacefully.

— We’re soft. Our people are too soft-hearted.

— ...Soft-hearted?

Gunther chuckled at the unexpected word.

— The entrance exam wasn’t easy enough to admit “soft” people.

— Hey, sure. At first we were all crazy avengers. Who in their right mind joins the “Night Raven” without a tragedy on their back?

She laughed. Gunther nodded.

To throw your life at something as impossible as overthrowing Luthien required abnormal resolve.

— But everyone overcomes differently. Some cling to vengeance until the end. Others, after a few years in madness and blood, slowly let go.

— The Fourth Platoon is the latter.

— Yeah. We didn’t forget everything. We just found the strength to want to stay human instead of becoming monsters.

Tarsha added with a smile:

— Which is... well, extremely unfortunate for leadership.

— ...I don’t see your point.

— Just saying~. Don’t beat yourself up too much. Roughly speaking, today’s softness might become tomorrow’s good result, right? Humanity is never a mistake, no matter the situation.

Gunther stared at her silently.

In this brutal Labyrinth, he had never expected to hear such words from a senior officer of a secret organization.

— By the way, those beautiful words weren’t mine. They were our former commander’s.

— ...Now I really see how much he influenced you.

— Ha-ha. He was that kind of person. If # Nоvеlight # you’d met him, you would’ve liked him too.

Tarsha jumped up, dusting off her pants, and extended the tip of her staff to Gunther.

— Come on. Let’s eat. It’ll taste bad if it gets cold.

It was clumsy comfort.

But it eased him nonetheless.