Chapter 40: The Truth

The weight of the new shortsword was a solid, grounding presence in Michael’s palm. He could still feel the residual hum of the physical assembly vibrating through the air, a stark reminder that the System was no mere digital interface, but something different, some sort of a real tool that directly affected the physical world.

His analytical mind had already cataloged the brutal reality of this new discovery. The staggering price of magical accessories, the grind of the Mana Crystals, and the absolute necessity of keeping the masses oblivious to the true value of the shards hidden within the monster skulls as long as possible.

With his lips curved into a lingering, dark grin, Michael finally adjusted his grip on the hilt, sheathed the molecular edge, and turned back toward the main entrance. He had spent valuable minutes collecting the mana cristalls, dissecting the mechanics of Level Ups, EXP siphoning, and the leftover unallocated surplus of status points. It was time to rejoin his vanguard. He expected to find Jakob, Rashid, Maximilian, and the others waiting, perhaps still debating their next strategic move or basking in the adrenaline of their hard-fought victory against the late waves.

Instead, as he stepped out of the shadows of the ruined lecture hall, a heavy, suffocating silence pressed against his eardrums.

The frantic, loud-voiced discussions that had previously echoed from the main hallway had vanished. The ambient noise of hundreds of terrified students had dissolved into nothingness. As Michael navigated down the concrete steps of the Audimax, his eyes swept across the vast space.

To his profound surprise, the area was almost completely barren, nearly devoid of human presence.

The living, breathing army of survivors he had left behind was gone. In their place, scattered across the debris-strewn floor like discarded debris, were only a handful of wounded individuals. These left-behind students were huddled in the dim light, groaning softly, their bodies broken, calcified, or torn by the claws of the variants. They were barely capable of moving, let alone holding a weapon.

A sudden, intense knot of tension tightened in Michael’s chest. A deeply unsettling, dark premonition washed over him. The calculative composure he prided himself on maintained its grip, but the scene forced his mind into overdrive. Where was the group? Where was the defensive line he had painstakingly helped maintain? Hundreds of people were missing.

He marched toward the nearest huddle, his shoes clicking sharply against the blood-stained stone. He stopped before a young man clutching a deeply lacerated torso, his breathing ragged and shallow.

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“Where did everyone go?“ Michael demanded, his voice cutting through the silence like the edge of his new blade.

The wounded student slowly tilted his head back, his eyes bloodshot and glazed with a mixture of agony and raw, biting cynicism. He looked at Michael, his gaze lingering on the pristine, unblemished state of Michael’s clothes and the predatory aura radiating from him. A bitter, breathless laugh escaped the man’s cracked lips.

“Where is everyone?“ the man wheezed, coughing up a fleck of dark ichor. “Why are *you* still here? That is the real question. You don’t look a single bit injured. Tell me… do you simply have no family? Do you have no anyone out there?“

Michael’s eyes narrowed into dangerous slits, the cold air freezing in his throat. “What are you babbling about? Speak clearly. Where is the crowd? Where is my troop?“

„Gone, you fool,“ the man spat weakly, his hand trembling as he tried to stanch the flow of dark fluid from his side. „They left. Everyone left. Where in the hell have you been hiding this entire time?“

„You are wasting my time with useless deflections,“ Michael growled, tapping his stained fingers against the pommel of his shortsword with volatile impatience. „Tell me exactly what transpired here. Now.“

As the wounded student slumped back against a collapsed concrete pillar, his mind drifted back to the chaotic chain reaction that had shattered the Audimax community mere minutes ago—a cascade of terror that Michael had completely missed while wrapped in the experiments and collecting crystals.

Some minutes ago..

Michaels troop was heading back to the main gathering area of the survivors.

They had just killed the last monster in the Audimax. As silence had initially reclaimed the lecture hall, Jakob had stood amidst the mountain of fresh carcasses, his chest heaving with an unrefined, intoxicating pride. The revelation of his newly unlocked Class Skill was humming through his veins, and the surrounding fighters had gathered around him like moths to a flame, desperate for a beacon of absolute strength.

Eager to reunite with the main group of survivors holding the doors, Jakob had led the battle-worn unit back through the debris-strewn corridors toward the primary entrance. Jakob had been boasting openly, his voice echoing off the walls as he explained the nature of Class Skills and the sudden manifestation of his shop interface. They had expected a spectacular welcome—an ovation of relief from the hundreds of peers who depended on their lethal vanguard to keep the encroaching nightmare at bay.

But the moment they crossed the threshold into the main hall, the illusion of their triumph was brutally obliterated.

There was no applause. There was no greeting. The hundreds of students crammed into the perimeter were locked in a state of hysterical, absolute uproar. The air was thick with the suffocating stench of sweat, tears, and raw desperation. People were screaming at one another, hands gripping their hair, while others stared at the flickering screens of their smartphones with expressions of hollow, catatonic horror.

Confused and insulted by the complete lack of attention, Jakob had marched forward, grabbing a nearby student by the collar of his shirt. He asked, “What is wrong with you people? What the hell is going on here?”

The student had blinked at Jakob with a vacant, shattered gaze, his voice trembling so violently he could barely form the syllables. “You’re… you’re back. At least some good news, I suppose. Though… it doesn’t matter anymore. None of it matters. Everything is entirely irrelevant now.“