No One Is a Supporting Role.

Kibou sighed. A heavy sigh, unclear whether it was disappointment, reluctance, or simply surrender. He said nothing more, quietly turning away and stepping back to his old place under the silent gazes of everyone.

The firmness in his eyes earlier seemed to retreat behind a mask of coldness. Neither victory nor defeat, just a silent pause between cracks too difficult to mend.

Diavel gave a slight nod, his eyes full of gratitude directed toward Agil. No words were needed; a single nod spoke volumes.

Agil, the tall man, quietly returned to the back row. His silhouette stood like a steadfast wall amid a divided world. Not because of strength, but because he knew when and how to stand up at the right time.

The atmosphere in the hall settled, but had shifted. The tension was less thick, yet the cracks… remained. Only, at least, they had not spread further.

"All right," Diavel spoke up, lightly clapping his hands as if to break the lingering suffocating air. "Now, let's continue what's still unfinished."

The sound was just enough to draw the whole room's attention. All eyes turned once again toward him.

Diavel bent down and picked up a guidebook, one that everyone in the hall had at least flipped through once, but this time, he read it as if it held the fate of all.

Page by page turned slowly, his gaze resting on each line carefully, as if a single small mistake could lead to disaster.

"Based on the information recorded here," Diavel said, his voice deepening, "the final boss of this floor, the gatekeeper to the next floor, is named Illfang the Kobold Lord."

A faint ripple of murmurs spread among the players below. That name, though just a name, carried an indescribable weight, like a heavy iron block placed suddenly on all their chests at once.

Ren squinted slightly, not out of fear, but because that name… sounded familiar. He had seen it somewhere, somewhere in a torn piece of news, in a test player's notes… or maybe in an unpleasant dream.

"According to the test records," Diavel continued, his voice clearly echoing across the square, "Illfang the Kobold Lord has four HP bars… four health points. In battle, he is supported by a group of Ruin Kobold Sentinels."

He looked up, scanning to ensure everyone was listening.

"Initially, his main weapon is a large bone axe, combined with a crude leather shield. But the important detail is…" Diavel paused, then continued, "when his HP drops to the last bar, he will drop the shield and draw a Talwar hidden behind his back."

A wave of whispers rose again, not exactly fear, but the quiet tension of those who understood the significance of that detail.

The Talwar, a weapon of speed and the ability to launch lightning-fast counterattacks, meant the battle's rhythm would change completely in the final phase.

"But…" Diavel emphasized softly, "the book also mentions something else: this is no longer a test version. Everything could have been altered. Skills, behavior, even the boss's tactics."

He slowly closed the book, gripping the leather cover as if feeling the weight of the unknown.

Diavel's gaze turned serious, more determined than ever, sweeping across every face present in the hall.

And then, it stopped.

On Ren.

For a very brief moment, Diavel looked at him, not by chance.

It was the look of someone who had realized something… or confirmed a suspicion.

Surprise was there, but mixed with silent agreement, as if the two were looking at each other through a thin mask.

That gaze drifted away immediately after, as if it had never paused.

Ren only slightly furrowed his brow, his heart full of unnamed questions.

Diavel lifted the book again, but this time did not read from the pages. His voice slowly rose, as if weighing each word:

"We need to clarify more about the guards… the Ruin Kobold Sentinels."

He paused briefly. The atmosphere in the square instantly thickened. The players who had been whispering also quieted down.

"They are not like the Kobolds we have known. Not the clumsy ones swinging rusty weapons like the normal Ruin Kobolds. Nor the heavy-armed Ruin Kobold Troopers."

Diavel stepped down one stone step, lowering his voice, deep and steady. As if telling of something witnessed or vividly imagined.

"Sentinels are a completely different version. Taller. Hardier. Each is armored head to toe in metal plating, armor that not everyone here can pierce.

Not only well-defended, but they possess reaction speeds far beyond what you would expect from a heavy creature."

He glanced around. A few players swallowed dryly. Some whispered softly to those beside them. Ren stood still, eyes fixed on Diavel, but he knew what was coming next was the worst part.

"And most importantly," Diavel said, "they are not the type of enemy you can finish off and then focus back on the boss. Illfang can summon them, continuously. One squad, then another, then another. There is no clear limit."

A heavy wave passed through the crowd. Some players shifted uneasily. Others even lowered their heads, mumbling something unclear, perhaps calculations, perhaps prayers.

"This is not a battle against a big monster," Diavel continued, his voice stiffening.

"But against a defense system designed to crush any unprepared formation.

Every time we split the team to attack, they will appear exactly where needed to break the formation. And if you think victory can come from luck…"

He paused, his serious gaze sweeping across every face.

"…then you will be the first to fall."

Those words struck deeply in many hearts. No one argued, no one laughed. Only silence—a silence filled with awareness and worry.

Ren remained seated, hearing every single word. He could imagine the scene.

A chaotic battlefield where every small wrong decision leads to death. No resurrection system. No second chances.

"Therefore," Diavel took a deep breath, as if to regain calm, "we cannot enter this battle with a 'try your luck' mindset. We need organization. Strategy. And above all, trust in each other."

He closed the notebook decisively this time. "Now… let's start dividing into groups."

"We will split into six main groups, each with a specific role in this battle." Diavel spoke clearly, carrying the weight of someone ready to command a life-or-death war.

"Groups A and B will be the frontline, the Tankers. Their task is to draw Illfang's full attention. Fix its movements, keep the boss from disrupting the rear formation. They are the living shield for all of us."

He paused, glancing at several players clad in thick armor, gripping heavy shields and weapons tightly.

"Groups C and D will be the main damage dealers, DPS. They will exploit every opening created by the Tank groups, focusing all their force on reducing the boss's HP as fast as possible. But without recklessness. Their role also includes maintaining the battle's tempo, creating space for the Tankers to retreat and recover when needed."

The atmosphere grew tense. Some players touched their weapons as if feeling the weight of responsibility on their shoulders.

"Then there are groups E and F." Diavel looked up, his tone deepening but growing stronger.

"Sounds secondary, but I say plainly, they are the last fortress of the entire formation. Their role is to protect the rear line. To ensure that the Ruin Kobold Sentinels, Illfang's guards, never breach the Tank and DPS ranks."

He stepped to the center, emphasizing each word:

"If you fail, the formation will shatter. The boss will be free to slaughter each group one by one, and then no one will survive to return here."

The atmosphere thickened. No more whispers. Everyone followed Diavel's every word, understanding that no role in this battle is "secondary."

He nodded, as if releasing some burden inside.

"We don't know how many Sentinels there are, nor Illfang's summoning frequency. But no matter how many... as long as the last defensive line holds firm, we still have a chance to win."

Then the square burst into life. As soon as Diavel finished speaking, the plaza shattered into fragments of noise, footsteps, calls, urgent exchanges.

People began to gather into groups, chatting eagerly as if they had long prepared their minds.

They did not hesitate. Many players quickly reunited with familiar faces, brief but firm handshakes, knowing glances like comrades who had stood together from the beginning.

Ren stood still for a moment, observing around. In that crowd, he recognized many groups who had been close before.

There were groups wearing matching uniforms, some who laughed loudly at a glance and slapped each other's shoulders walking in one direction. As if everyone already had a place to belong.

…Except him.

No one approached Ren. No eyes sought him out as a natural part of the formation. He was not surprised. He was used to it.

Ren tightened his grip on his sword hilt, eyes briefly following Yuna and Nautilus at another corner of the square.

They were talking with other players, apparently preparing to form groups as well. But no one looked his way.

Ren did not blame them. If anything, he only blamed the slight sting in his chest realizing he had quietly begun to step back, unnoticed.

…No, maybe someone noticed. But no one spoke up.

He had grown accustomed to walking alone… and he was not the only one…