Chapter 25: Era of Vainglory

There was one thing working in Peace’s favor: status.

The race to the boss was attempted only by high-tier parties. And those parties usually tried to stay out of trouble due to their deeds being broadcast throughout the Immortal Citadel.

But that was also an issue...

Status.

If they were nobles or knights serving nobles deeply tied to the Diver’s Guild, it wouldn’t be unheard of for certain things to be overlooked. Or perhaps they simply possessed strength indispensable enough for the guild to go out of its way to keep their records clean.

Such a possibility didn’t exist within the game, but Peace knew how people acted in real life. From what he’d seen, the natives didn’t operate like they were bound to some programmed code. He couldn’t rely on viewing them as simply NPCs.

As their cohort closed the distance, Peace preemptively prepared his ID and tag, sliding the silver chain around his neck and clamping it. He also went out of his way to stuff the Bone Sword into his bag.

It wasn’t like having it on hand would matter in this situation.

If they wanted him dead, then it would be so.

’Damn...’

’I’m more nervous than when I was running down the Maw of Hell.’

Adrenaline certainly played a part, but even gazing upon the group from a distance was enough to make Peace feel as though a vise was tightening around his heart.

Scanning left and right, Peace made sure to keep clear of any skeletons while waiting with bated breath for the party to either approach or pass.

Eventually, they drew close enough for him to read their trajectory as they barreled toward him.

’Shit.’

He could tell they were headed straight toward him, not the temple.

He could also tell they were all humans save for one dwarf...

’Not the best... Not at all.’

Weaving around more patrols, Peace waited until only a few seconds separated him from the party before dropping to both knees, still with open palms, presenting one empty hand alongside his ID.

The human at the head of the group wore only a thin T-shirt, skin-tight leggings, and boots, with long, slicked-back black hair — his real gear presumably tucked away for mobility until they reached the higher floors. He slid to a stop a few feet from Peace.

He couldn’t contain his laughter at the sight of the groveling Night Elf.

When he finally settled, he mocked:

"I’d heard rumors of an interesting Night Elf running around the slums... I presume you to be him?"

Peace took a deep breath, then closed his red eyes and solemnly nodded.

"Yes."

When he reopened his eyes, the man was already crouched before him. Smiling radiantly at Peace from eye level, the high-tier Diver extended his broad hand and rested it on Peace’s shoulder. Cock­ing his head slightly, he said:

"Are you mentally handicapped?"

’T-the hell?!’

Peace froze. He tried to speak, but the sheer pressure bearing down on him halted the words in his throat.

The man continued:

"Don’t you know how many people... suffered at the hands of the Night Parade? How many already take their frustrations out on regular Night Elves? With your appearance especially... many would kill you without a second thought for the consequences."

After a few ragged breaths and forcing down his woes, Peace squeaked back:

"O-of course I know that. But I had no other choice. What psychopath... would dare ever hire me?"

The man chuckled.

"Better choice...? There are plenty of better choices you could have made. Mainly... killing yourself. Well, that option is still readily available to you."

Reaching for the bag Peace had set down, the man pulled out the Bone Sword and placed it in Peace’s hand, then forced Peace to curl his fingers around the hilt and steered the blade toward his neck.

Peace swallowed, his adam’s apple grazing the Bone Blade.

Assisted suicide still counted as a kill for the one forcing it, so that wasn’t a worry when it came to the tag. However...

The man continued:

"I don’t mean to be too harsh... but very few would grant you a merciful death. Many would be inclined to lay you out, strip you, carve you apart little by little. Using potions whenever you got close to death... Truly, Divers are barbarians nowadays! Glory seeking is far gone, now is the era of hedonism and vainglory!"

The man chuckled as he released Peace’s hand.

Then, tilting his head slightly, he added:

"I, of course, am not beyond such petty retribution."

Peace’s stare slipped past him toward the rest of the party, taking in their gazes.

A short girl with long black hair looked unfazed by him as she languidly coiled a strand around her finger.

The short-haired, skinny man with a mole under his eye looked anxious, constantly flicking his gaze toward the Bone Temple. He was likely worried some other party would swoop in and steal the bonus EXP.

The beardless dwarf looked like he could kill Peace with a glare.

The last, a tall, muscular woman with long peach hair, fluttered around the area with a sword, cutting through any Skeleton Warriors and Archers that wandered too close.

Bit by bit, Peace broke free of his petrified state and lowered the sword from his throat.

Then, he thought of his sister.

His sister who clung so desperately to life.

Who would he be to ever throw such a precious thing away for free?

Plus...

She might be waiting for him here. He refused to die until that possibility did.

Peace flashed the group a bloodstained smile.

"Who would... willingly die? I’d rather resist to my last breath... no matter how futile."

The leader clapped and rose.

"Good answer!"

Then...

He simply walked past Peace, pausing only long enough to settle a hand on Peace’s shoulder and whisper:

"Good luck, kid."

The rest quickly followed, filing past before breaking into a sprint toward the Bone Temple. As they ran, Peace heard the short girl ask:

"Was that really necessary, Lanx?"

The man laughed in response, but he’d already put too much distance between them for Peace to make out the words.

"Haha!..."

Peace clutched his tunic, pressing his hand against his rapidly beating heart.

’What in the world... was that...?!’