Seeking aid - Part 1

As Dylan sat against the wall, still struggling for breath, a group slowly approached from the nearby training field—the Scavenger Team.

Noah turned to them, crossing her arms. "Can you take care of him?"

Venn gave a quick salute, flashing a confident grin. "Of course, Miss Noah! He’s in good hands, right?"

Lucas let out a fake cough, deliberately avoiding eye contact.

Mira remained neutral, her gaze sharp as she studied Dylan, her expression unreadable.

Silas, however, scoffed. "And why should we do that? He can deal with his own problems. Let’s get back to training—I was this close to beating the big guy!"

Garek, arms crossed, smirked. "Oh? That close, huh? I think I may have hit you a little too hard if you’re hallucinating now."

Silas’s eyes twitched. "How dare you!? I was winning!"

Garek chuckled. "Sure… You were at 46% HP, while I was sitting comfortably at 58% HP."

Silas growled. "That’s only because you have more HP! But I deal more damage!"

Garek gave an exaggerated shrug. "I have more HP and more damage than you. But I’ll admit—you’re faster than me. That’s about it."

Silas smirked. "Yeah, yeah—speed means higher DPS. Which basically means more damage."

Garek said nothing. Instead, he reached out his right hand and placed it on Silas’s head, ruffling his hair.

Silas froze.

Then—he exploded.

"GET YOUR HAND OFF ME!"

With a burst of energy, Silas tried to continue their sparring match, but Garek—unbothered—was still holding Silas in place by pressing down on his head.

Lucas, watching from the sidelines, burst into uncontrollable laughter.

"Silas, how desperate are you to get beaten up? Just look at yourself—you’re basically begging for it!"

Silas’s rage turned to Lucas instead.

"Shut up, Lucas! Or you’re next!"

Lucas smirked. "Whenever you want, kid runner."

Silas’s entire body stiffened. "...What did you just call me?"

Lucas, grinning, opened his mouth again. "Kid ru—"

Before he could finish, Silas dashed forward.

Lucas had no time to react.

Silas’s training spear struck first, hitting Lucas square in the chest and sending him stumbling backward onto the ground.

For a moment, Lucas just sat there, stunned.

Then—he slowly stood up, his expression irritated but with a slight smirk. "Alright, fine. You wanna fight?"

Grabbing a training sword, Lucas readied himself.

The battle between them resumed.

Meanwhile, Venn was still focused on Dylan, carefully checking his state.

It was clear that Dylan wasn’t injured—there were no wounds or bruises.

But his labored breathing and difficulty speaking suggested something else.

Venn frowned. "I’m not a medic… but from the very basic medical knowledge I have, I’d say… there’s a high chance you might have a problem with your lungs."

Dylan’s gaze flickered up, still too weak to respond.

Venn sighed. "You should see someone who actually *knows* about this stuff. But in Silivia, there’s no one who specializes in this… unless…"

Venn’s expression shifted.

He turned to Mira.

"Do you think Mister Sans might know about this?"

Mira hesitated.

For a moment, she simply stared at Venn with a neutral expression—clearly not caring much about the topic.

Then, after a brief silence, she finally spoke.

"Most probably. As the King’s right hand, he may possess many kinds of knowledge…"

Dylan, with great effort, forced out a question, his voice weak and strained.

"Who… is that… damn Sans guy…?"

Mira’s expression didn’t change, though her eyes seemed to observe Dylan a little more closely.

"Sans is the name we use for UltSans."

Dylan’s breath hitched.

"UltSans…?"

Mira gave a small nod. "I don’t know much about him myself. The only times I’ve ever heard about him were from mentions in the Adventurers’ Guild, from the Kings, and from the Elite Guards."

Dylan swallowed. "...Wha-… H-how…?"

Mira continued. "The **Elite Guards** told me that **Sans is their superior**—despite not being a guard himself."

Dylan’s mind froze.

"...What?"

That didn’t make sense.

A person outside the Royal Guard—but still their superior?

Mira’s tone remained the same. "Sans is one of the very few adventurers who remained to fight against the Demon King."

Dylan tried to process everything, but his mind was still foggy from exhaustion.

Mira’s voice lowered slightly, her expression neutral but her words carrying a strange weight.

"As it stands, we barely know anything about the Demon King. There is no recorded history… no written information… and no one who has fought him has ever lived to tell the tale."

Dylan’s body tensed.

His breathing slowed slightly, but the weight of Mira’s words sank into his chest—and he suddenly felt much colder.

Venn crossed his arms, looking at Mira expectantly. "Mira, do you know where Mister Sans might be?"

Mira hesitated, her neutral gaze unwavering, as if weighing her words carefully.

"It’s difficult to say with certainty. He is one of—if not the—most active person in Silivia. He is constantly moving. However, if I had to narrow it down…"

She paused for a moment before continuing.

"The places I have seen him most frequently are: the Phoenix Alliance building, the Crying Crow, his home—or at least what I assume to be his home—and outside Silivia, completing quests for Alice and the Adventurers’ Guild."

Venn nodded along, absorbing the information. "And… where do you think he might be now?"

Mira exhaled slightly. "I think I saw him at his house last. But I can’t be sure."

Before Venn could respond, Garek suddenly joined the conversation, having been listening from the side.

"Well then, let’s move. We don’t know if one of our new scavengers just picked up something serious."

Venn glanced at Dylan, then back at Garek. "His name is—"

He stopped mid-sentence and turned to Dylan, stepping closer and lowering his voice to a whisper.

"Uh… what was your name again?"

Dylan, still struggling to breathe, hesitated before forcing out a weak response.

"…Dylan. My name is Dylan."

Venn straightened up with a bright smile. "Of course! Of course! His name is Dylan!"

Garek stared blankly at Venn. "…You do know we’re not deaf, right?"

Venn blinked. "Oh. Right… Y-yeah…"

Garek sighed, his expression softening slightly. "Apologies for never properly introducing ourselves before. But in times like these, time is an irreplaceable resource. Every moment lost is a moment closer to death. Every second counts—and it only ever counts down."

He paused, glancing at Dylan. "Once we have secured our survival… then we can afford formal introductions. I hope you don’t take offense."

Before Dylan could even think of responding, Garek reached down and effortlessly lifted him.

Dylan barely had the strength to react—one second he was sitting against the wall, the next, he was being carried with ease.

Garek adjusted his hold, making sure Dylan was secure. "Now—let’s get you to Sans. If we can find him."

As Garek carried Dylan, with Venn and Mira following close behind, the group left the training field.

Meanwhile, Lucas and Silas were still locked in battle, completely unaware—or completely ignoring—the fact that everyone else had already left.

Lucas smirked, his training sword flashing forward, forcing Silas back step by step.

"You’re slipping, Silas. Losing your edge?"

Silas growled, gripping his training spear tighter. "Tch! Don’t get cocky!"

Despite his bravado, he knew the odds were against him.

He had started the fight at 46% HP.

Lucas had started at 92%.

Right now, Lucas had the upper hand.

But Silas wasn’t about to back down.

With a quick burst of speed, he lunged forward, attempting to turn the tides.

And so—the fight continued.