The next morning, they entered the collapsed stone zone, a land of desolation, where ancient battles and the ravages of time had left their deepest marks.
Every step felt like treading across an unhealed wound of the world, where the land had been torn and devastated by fierce, relentless combat.
They crossed ruined paths, the ground beneath littered with jagged, broken stones, like cracks upon the skin of a long-dead giant.
This place, deep within the heart of the mine, was once a convergence point of mysterious powers, now reduced to nothing but a desolate wasteland.
Ren was certain of it. As the group ventured further into areas where even seasoned miners dared not tread, strange things began to appear.
Beneath the fractured soil and stone, remnants of a distant past slowly emerged, as though they refused to be forgotten.
Ruins buried for centuries in darkness still rose with quiet defiance, a reminder of what once existed here.
Massive stone pillars, seemingly embedded deep into the earth from a glorious bygone era, rose high with solemn majesty, many now cracked and worn by time and rock.
They were not ordinary structures, but remnants of a civilization erased and forsaken by the silence of the earth itself.
Shattered statues lay strewn across the ground, crumbling into fine sand, faded and eroded by time.
The faces of gods or warriors remained only as empty, soulless fragments of stone, stripped of meaning, stripped of life.
These statues were not mere works of art; they were signs of greatness that once was, now just faint shadows of a lost era.
And then, the paintings and strange symbols Ren caught glimpses of told a story he couldn't fully understand, but could somehow feel.
The images, though smudged and unclear, bore sharp, cryptic strokes, as if they sought to depict a brutal war that would never be explained.
The symbols resembled ancient characters, belonging to no language Ren had ever known, holding secrets even his mind could not grasp.
These traces were not just discoveries, they were invitations into a secret the world itself had chosen to forget.
Yet it seemed no one in the group paid much attention to any of it.
Everyone kept walking, their eyes and focus tightly drawn to the dangers lurking around them.
No one paused to study the ruins. No one asked questions.
They were too preoccupied with deep fissures, lurking shards of stone, and careful steps in a hostile terrain.
Anything beyond their immediate understanding was simply ignored.
If anyone noticed, it was perhaps only Diavel. Occasionally, when no one was watching, his eyes drifted over the broken statues and faded glyphs on the stone walls.
As if he could see something others couldn't. A silent curiosity, a faint awareness of what might be hidden beneath the dust of ages.
But he never spoke, never asked. Perhaps he knew that in a world where life and death were already uncertain, there were questions no one wanted to answer.
Each crack in the ground held a terrifying presence, long and deep, as though torn open by some colossal claws.
They didn't just split the earth, they tore through space and time, seeping with a darkness that could be felt in every crevice.
These wounds on the land were not ones that could easily heal.
Each deep fissure carried death, scattered like hidden traps, obstructing their every move.
These voids were not just physical, they pressed down like a weight, as though the earth and air themselves wanted to devour them, to erase them into darkness.
The terrain was rugged and unstable, filled with loose, fragile ground, ready to collapse at any moment and swallow everything in its path.
Nothing here was steady. Nothing was safe. No one who stepped foot in this place could feel truly at ease.
From the deepest cracks, oppressive heat rose, carrying the musty scent of decay, of ruined stone, and the metallic tang of long-abandoned iron.
The air was thick, choked with dusty haze that filled every corner, making each breath labored and suffocating.
Everything clung to their bodies, a constant reminder of how fragile life was in this place.
Barely a few steps in, Ren already felt a crushing sense of isolation creeping from his chest, slow and inescapable.
It felt like being a grain of sand, lost in a world too vast and too dark, a place with no room for weakness.
He could feel the weight of aimless steps in a dead space where everything was steeped in hopelessness.
With every step, Ren felt himself drifting further away from everything he once knew, from those he once held dear.
The loneliness didn't come from being alone, but from the feeling that he was no longer a part of the group.
As the formation split, Lind, Shivata, and Chest led the way, signaling the others to stay close.
Yuna and Nautilus followed right behind, step by step, moving in sync, like perfectly linked chains in a single unified motion.
As for Ren...
A brief command pushed him to the back line, alongside a few low-level players struggling to stay on their feet amid the trembling ground.
"Protect the rear," Diavel said.
A task so simple it almost felt like a deliberate afterthought.
Ren tightened his grip on his sword hilt.
He nodded, no protest, no question.
Just quietly slowed his pace, letting the distance between him and those he once fought beside stretch farther and farther.
.....
The air in the collapsing stone corridor grew thick as a new wave of monsters surged up from the deep cracks in the earth.
The ground shook under the weight of their heavy steps, and the growls and shrieks they let out echoed through the space. The stench of blood and rusted metal flooded the air.
Diavel's voice rang out across the battlefield:
"Team A, hold the front! Team B, flank right! Rear guard, hold your position!"
Ren drew his sword, his palm cold against the hilt. The familiar feel of metal no longer brought the confidence it once had.
It felt like a tool, necessary in battle, but no longer a part of him.
He watched his teammates charge ahead, agile, decisive, moving in perfect unison.
Every step they took forward was like a storm, sweeping away everything in its path.
And he, he stood behind them, surrounded by nervous, trembling beginners.
A Hollow Fang, half-hyena, half-beast, lean and unnaturally fast, suddenly tore through the front line.
The monster barreled straight toward where Ren stood, wild fury burning in its clouded eyes.
Ren reacted on instinct. He lunged forward without thinking.
A swift slash struck the creature's side cleanly.
Red pixelated blood splattered, bursting like embers into the air. The beast roared, recoiling to strike back, its feral gaze locked on him.
Ren sidestepped the lunge, dragging his sword behind him.
Then slashed again, this time, the tip drove straight into the back of its neck, ending it instantly.
The Hollow Fang collapsed, breaking apart into fragments, dissolving into the air.
No one looked back at him. Those ahead were still deep in their own battles, moving with the speed and precision of a perfectly tuned machine.
Their strikes were sharp, relentless, never ceasing. But not a single one of them paused, no glance, not even a flicker of acknowledgment toward where Ren still stood.
He understood. They were fighting hard too, sweat and blood blending together, no time to worry about anyone else.
But understanding didn't stop the loneliness from settling in. Not a single person turned back. Not a single glance was spared, to check if he was okay.
Only Ren remained there, gasping for breath, gripping his sword tightly as monster blood shimmered into the air like tiny ruby-red dust, glittering faintly in the dim battlefield light.
Pixelated drops fell, staining the blade...but there was no pride in the sensation, no satisfaction.
They were just scattered fragments, nowhere near enough to fill the emptiness inside him.
He didn't feel stronger. He didn't feel more meaningful.
All he felt was a strange kind of hollowness, something heavy rising in his chest, like he himself was slowly being forgotten.
At that moment, from the distance, a shout rang out:
"Nice one, Nautilus!"
Ren jerked his head up.
Off on the right flank, Nautilus had just taken down a monster twice his size, his sword slicing with force and precision.
Chest, Yuna, even Lind turned to clap him on the shoulder, grins on their dirt-streaked faces, eyes bright with praise and pride.
Ren looked at them, like a vivid painting glowing with warmth, and realized he had been pushed entirely beyond the invisible line he once belonged to.
Like a ghost, he stood silent, stepping back, though mere seconds ago, he'd still been tied to them.
Another pack of Hollow Fangs came surging from behind, crashing through while the beginner players screamed and their formation collapsed.
Everything descended into chaos once more. Ren gritted his teeth, no time left to think.
He charged in.
No one gave the order. No one needed to acknowledge him.
His sword became a shield. Each slash steady, precise, without flair.
Every swing sliced through the air and drove into the monsters charging forward.
Ren alone held off three, four Hollow Fangs at once, shielding those behind him with nothing but his body.
He wasn't thinking of winning or losing, only that if he didn't stop them, someone else would pay the price.
His hands tore open. Cuts streaked across his arms, but they no longer hurt, they were just part of the fight, marks of existence in that moment.
His legs grew heavy, as if every step carried the weight of the world. But Ren didn't stop.
He fought. He protected.
Because if he could no longer walk beside them, then at the very least...he could still protect them from the shadows.