Chapter Seventy-Seven: The Girl on the Run

“King Fang!” Inside a hidden tavern, a hurried figure entered and called out someone's name. In the shadowed corner, another person waved at him.
“How is it?” King Fang's squad hadn't been attacked, but seeing Lancer's urgent expression, he couldn't help but ask.
“Whew!” Though the sensation was illusory, Lancer gulped down a mouthful of liquor, finally relaxing.
“POH, huh? He got away, but the other two—I sent them off.” At these words, the other's eyes widened.
“Enough, let's not discuss those trash anymore. Now I'm being hunted.” He spoke with a lingering fear on his face.
“Hunted? Who's bold enough for that? I doubt even that leader could force you to flee, even if he managed to defeat you.” The man before him was the only one known to regularly roam the frontline hidden maps alone, whereas even elite squads ventured there in groups.
“Who else? Those guys dared to—” Before Lancer could finish, the tavern door was suddenly slammed open.
“Inquisition! Searching for traitors!” They began checking the symbols above everyone's heads. Most players ignored these people, notorious for constantly apprehending their own kind—no one wanted to get involved.
“Damn! So fast?” Unbeknownst to Lancer, his nearly iconic coat was far too conspicuous. He only remembered to change outfits after teleporting, but the teleport point was already controlled, trapping him on this floor. Naturally, the tavern he frequented became a prime target for searches.
Bang! With a crash, the tavern's window shattered, and Lancer tearfully watched as his stash of gold coins dwindled.
“Damn it! That’s so expensive.” He grumbled, but vanished from their sight.
------- End of flashback -------

“Only you remain.” Wiping imaginary blood from his dagger, Lancer stood over a figure at his feet, which disintegrated into fragments before his eyes.
“Want to kill me? I'm not one of those guys. Out there, I've really killed before.” He picked up his cleaver once more.
“Killing? Indeed, you don't look like someone killing for the first time in this world.” The other gripped his dagger, holding it level across his chest, body crouched, left hand bracing its hilt, eyes like a wolf stalking prey.
No dazzling sword aura or odd visual effects—just ordinary offense and defense, yet every move targeted vital points. According to the game’s mechanics, neither could be instantly killed, but both would certainly fall into the red danger zone.
“Ah!” At that moment, a girl carrying a hammer appeared in their field of vision. Seeing their reckless fight, she couldn’t help but cry out.
Lancer fought without hesitation; in a flash of reflex, he slashed at the other’s right elbow. The opponent, not to be underestimated, blocked a blow meant for his heart with his elbow.
“Die!” After an exchange, the two separated temporarily. Lancer discreetly noted the girl—an unrelated party, but POH was a mad dog in Lancer’s eyes, and he had no wish to harm the innocent. Though he always called himself a shut-in, Toria’s chivalric influence ran deep. POH caught Lancer’s glance and decided to gamble; their previous clash proved he couldn’t defeat Lancer, and carelessness could mean dying here. So he decisively abandoned his weapon, hurling it at the girl. As Ata predicted, Lancer immediately abandoned pursuit and dove after the weapon.
“Look out!” Almost as soon as POH shouted, Lancer echoed him. POH’s thrown cleaver was intercepted as Lancer lunged forward himself.
------- Progression divider -------

After arriving, the Inquisition members exchanged information. Encountering a special boss, it was safer for all to join forces, but none had found one. When they reported to Lancer, they discovered he had not responded to several messages. Lancer was notorious for replying to every message, except when asleep, so his silence was unusual.
“Was he attacked?” Though the idea sounded absurd, it couldn’t be dismissed. Lancer’s strange attire quickly revealed his current location, and everyone rushed to the teleport point.
First to arrive were those led by the Scythe of Execution—the Scythe of Judgement, Ritual Scythe, Executioner’s Scythe—held by ordinary members, core members, squad leaders, and Lancer himself, respectively. The Executioner-level players and several Ritual Scythe teams formed the main force Lancer had prepared to counter the Red Guild. Their gear was all speed-enhanced, so they reached Lancer’s forest first, encountering “Wind, Forest, Fire, Mountain” and the main force of Holy Dragon along the way. Knowing Lancer’s guild by their distinctive attire, none wished for conflict—their goal was the boss, not a brawl.

When they arrived, they saw Lancer, having shed his coat and changed into new gear, lying “intimately” atop a girl.

“Whoa!” Klein and the Wind, Forest, Fire, Mountain team instantly sensed countless dark presences around them and prudently withdrew.
“Captain-sama!”
------- Pursuit begins -------

“Mm~~” The girl let out a small animal-like sound as Lancer tackled her. Lancer’s right shoulder weapon, its owner gone, was now available for pickup. Lancer quickly extracted the cleaver and heard the girl beneath him speak.
She slowly opened her eyes, first seeing an unfamiliar girl lying atop her, and blushed at the ambiguous scene. But seeing the weapon retrieved from her shoulder, she guessed what had happened—when the attack came, she saw the weapon flying toward her, and realized she’d been tackled to be protected.
Just as Lancer tried to recall who this familiar-faced girl was, he heard a voice filled with boundless resentment. Instinctively, he equipped the superior Judgement Scythe and a matching set, and bolted—he doubted anyone would listen to his explanation.
Soon, all Inquisition members knew their leader had betrayed them, and a fierce pursuit began.
The girl who slowly rose from the snowy ground realized she hadn’t asked for his name. Remembering Lancer’s equipment, she resolved to ask her guild friends about him later.