45 felt something strange around them. It wasn't another duplicate or monster, but something else. He turned back but saw no duplicates.
Then he shouted, "89, look back! They're not here!"
89 and the others turned around, but there was no one. "Stay alert, everyone!" 89 warned.
They stood together, scanning their surroundings. The low-rankers trembled with fear—Arya, too, felt uneasy. Suddenly, the weather changed. The sky darkened, and thick black smoke began to spread.
"Everyone, grip your weapons tightly!" 89 ordered. "The enemy can attack from anywhere. We can't see properly in this smoke!"
They moved cautiously, forming a defensive circle. Eyes darted in every direction.
"45, can you clear this with your magic?" 99 asked.
"I'll try!" 45 raised his hand, casting an air magic spell, but nothing happened. He tried again—still no effect. Again and again, he cast different spells, but none worked. His mana was running low.
Then, a chilling laugh echoed from all directions.
99 clenched his fists, anger rising. "You coward! Come out, bastard! I think the sound is coming from that way, but I swear, I'll kill you!"
"Stop!" 89 warned. "Don't go! It's a trap. Stay here!"
Suddenly, shadows appeared from every direction. The thick smoke started to clear, revealing not just 12 duplicates—but over 100.
Arya's heart pounded. "What… their numbers increased?! What should we do? If we attack, we die. If we don't, they'll kill us!"
"For now, just defend!" 89 commanded. "Everyone, listen carefully. And you, 99—don't rush in!"
The duplicates' eyes glowed red. Then, all at once, they began chanting something in an unknown language. Arya and the others exchanged confused glances.
"They're saying something, but we can't understand," 45 muttered.
One of the 89 duplicates stepped forward. His expression changed, and then—he spoke in their language.
"Humans… humans… humans."
A chill ran down Arya's spine.
"Now you understand me?" The duplicate smirked. "Listen carefully. If you want to live, follow us."
Before he could finish, 99 interrupted. "What do you think you are, ordering us around?! You say a few words and expect us to follow you?"
"It's a trap. Don't listen to him!" 89 warned.
Arya took a step back. He could feel it—this thing's power was beyond anything he could handle.
The duplicate 89 narrowed his eyes. "You don't understand? Fine. Let me show you."
He turned to one of the B-rank mage duplicates.
Before anyone could react—he sliced the mage duplicate in two.
Everyone was frozen in shock, their bodies tense with fear. Arya's mind raced—what was happening?
A real B-Rank mage stood in the middle, rubbing his temple. "I… I don't feel right," he muttered.
Another mage turned to him. "Are you okay?"
Before he could answer, his body split clean in two. Blood splattered across the ground as his upper half slid off, crashing onto the floor.
Silence. Then panic.
Sweat dripped down the faces of the remaining assassins.
"This… this isn't an S-Rank monster," 45 stammered, his voice trembling. "This thing… is at least S++ or even S+++ rank."
The duplicate of 89 smirked. "You saw that, didn't you? You don't have a choice. Follow us… or die."
The real 89 clenched his fists. "If we run, we die. If we fight, we die." He exhaled. "Sorry, everyone. But we have no choice… We go with them."
99's eyes narrowed. "Are you giving up?"
"No." 89's voice dropped to a whisper. "Listen carefully. Once we find their leader… we kill it. That's our only way out."
The others remained silent, processing his words.
Three of their members were already dead. If they refused, they would all be next.
89 stepped forward, staring directly into his duplicate's eyes. "We'll go with you." He paused. "But until then… you don't touch anyone else."
The duplicate tilted its head, then spoke in a deep, inhuman voice.
"Follow us."
The group followed their duplicates in silence, trapped in the middle of a formation—some in front, some behind.
After a few minutes of walking, the duplicate of 89 suddenly stopped. The others followed suit.
Without a word, 89's duplicate raised a hand, opening a dungeon portal.
A massive blue gate materialized before them, swirling with unstable energy. One by one, the duplicates stepped through. The real 89 and his team could only watch as their exact copies disappeared into the unknown.
Then, the portal pulled them in.
On the other side, they found themselves standing before a massive, ominous structure—a dark palace.
Towering black walls stretched into the sky, and a colossal gate loomed over them. Before they could react, the portal behind them vanished.
The duplicate of 89 spoke one last time.
"Go inside."
Then he, along with the other clones, faded into nothing.
Now, Arya and his team stood alone.
89 turned to the others. "We have no choice. We go inside."
45 stepped forward. "Wait. Before we enter, we need a plan."
89 nodded. "Listen carefully. Once we go in, we split into two teams."
He glanced at each remaining member. "We have three swordsmen, three tanks, and two mages left. Team 1: Me, 45, and two tanks. Team 2: 99, two swordsmen, one tank, and one mage."
He looked at 99. "You'll lead Team 2."
99 cracked his knuckles. "Got it. Let's find that bastard and kill him."
89 took the first step forward. The others followed.
Arya hesitated. His mouth felt dry. Fear crept up his spine.
28 noticed and patted his shoulder. "Let's go."
Taking a deep breath, Arya tightened his grip on his sword and forced himself to move.
Before they reached the massive palace doors, 89 stopped and turned to the team. His voice was firm, unwavering.
"Everyone, be ready. Once we step inside, there's no turning back. We do not leave this palace unless we kill the boss."
The weight of his words settled over them like a storm cloud.
"I know it sounds crazy, but this is your chance to prove yourselves. Give it everything you have. If not now, then never."
His eyes scanned each of them. "We don't know what's waiting for us in there. But until our last breath—we fight."
He raised his weapon.
"LET'S GO!"
As they reached the massive palace doors, an eerie sound echoed through the air—the groaning creak of old metal slowly opening.