Nearly a full minute passed without a single voice rising to claim leadership. It wasn't hesitation—it was understood by all.
Why volunteer for leadership when one had already established himself?
Finally, one of the climbers broke the silence, "Jonas… I think most of us here already see you as the best choice for leader."
Murmurs of agreement followed, heads nodding, gazes locking onto Jonas. The decision had been made, not by vote but by the simple reality that Jonas had naturally assumed command the moment he called this meeting.
Jonas exhaled through his nose, glancing down as if contemplating the weight just placed on his shoulders. But he didn't refuse."If that is what everyone believes, then I will do my best to lead us through this trial."
The next step was obvious. If they were to survive, they needed to establish a system. Strength alone wouldn't carry them through a week in this fortress.
"To do that," Jonas continued, "we need to understand each other's abilities and skills. We need to know what each of us brings to the table."
One by one, the climbers revealed their strengths. Some wielded elemental abilities, others possessed enhanced senses, while a few had utility-based skills that could prove invaluable for survival. Yet, unsurprisingly, when it came to Kairos and Sigurd, neither spoke. Their silence was expected—both were too proud to openly share their cards.
And then it was Noah's turn.
He met their gazes, measured the room, and gave them the most basic answer. "Spearmanship."
Nothing more, nothing less. A weapon art wasn't uncommon, and it would keep suspicions low.
The discussion was about to move forward when a voice from the crowd cut in.
"Wait, we're missing someone."
Noah stilled.
A second later, the same climber looked directly at him. "What about the guy who's not here? If we're all sharing, he should be here too."
Noah exhaled quietly before answering, his tone even. "He's in a bad state. He couldn't join us."
But instead of understanding, what he got was irritation.
"Tch. Lucky bastard," someone muttered.
"Must be nice," another scoffed. "While we're here putting in work, he gets to slack off?"
Noah kept his poker face, but his fingers curled into his palm beneath the table. So that's how it is, huh?
Jonas's voice cut through the murmurs of discontent, steady and unyielding.
"What if it was someone else in his state?" He leaned forward slightly, his gaze sweeping across the gathered climbers.
"His limb is non-functional. He was infected. Healing will take time… If anyone here has a way to speed up his recovery, then by all means, step up. Otherwise, I suggest we stop complaining about things we can't change."
Silence followed.
Noah remained still, his expression unreadable. He had planned to speak, but now that Jonas had taken control of the conversation, he kept his mouth shut out of respect.
The room remained tense for a moment longer before Jonas shifted the atmosphere with a single movement. He reached down and pulled up a large bag, dropping it onto the table with a heavy thud.
Noah's eyes narrowed slightly. That bag…
It was Cedric's.
Jonas rested a hand on it. "Thanks to Mister Cedric, we have food for tonight—enough for everyone. And," he added, unfastening the top and revealing a collection of supplies, "we even have weapons in case we decide to hunt tomorrow."
Noah exhaled through his nose. Good. At least for tonight, order will hold.
…
Noah pulled the last strip of fabric tight, securing Adam's fresh bandages with careful hands. His brother flinched slightly but said nothing, staring at the ceiling with an unreadable expression.
"You'll eat after this," Noah said, his voice low.
Adam exhaled. "I'm sorry… I can't be more useful right now."
Noah shook his head. "You're doing well just by recovering."
Adam turned his head slightly, studying him. "Will I be fine by tomorrow?"
"Sure."
A beat of silence. Then—
"Damn it."
Woah there…
"Just eat," Noah muttered, pushing the meal toward him. "Rest. Let your body absorb the nutrients and sylix from the food."
Adam gave him a long look before sighing and picking at his meal. Noah took that as his cue to leave.
But just as he reached the door—
"Don't you have any questions for me?"
Noah hesitated for only a fraction of a second before stepping out without answering.
…
The cold bit into his skin as he stepped onto the battlements, his cloak long sacrificed to keep Adam stable. The fortress stretched out in shadow and stone beneath him, but beyond its walls, the jungle remained. Silent. Unyielding. Why?
Something was wrong.
Noah's breath came out in slow, controlled exhales as his eyes swept over the endless mist and darkened treetops.
If this trial was just about survival—then why did so many climbers fail? Food, water, leadership, organization—it was manageable. Too manageable.
This trial isn't that simple. There's something we're missing.
A faint rustling of wings made him glance upward.
His stomach twisted.
The crow was still there.
Perched atop the watchtower, staring directly at him. Again.
It didn't move. Didn't shift. Just watched.
Noah's jaw tensed.
Then, without warning, the bird let out a single, piercing caw.
The sound cut through the quiet like a knife, something about it too sharp, too deliberate. The air around Noah seemed to tighten, a phantom pressure curling at the edge of his senses.
Noah took a slow step back, exhaling as he forced himself to turn away.
…
Noah barely made it three steps toward his room when he caught a whiff of himself.
Goddamn, I reek.
For the first time since being thrown into this world, he had a moment to acknowledge just how bad he smelled. Blood. Sweat. Dirt.
A day of running, fighting, and tearing his cloak into makeshift bandages had turned him into a walking disaster.
I need a bath.
He exhaled, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He'd ask Cedric to heat some water for him tomorrow—
BOOM.
His body reacted before his mind did. His half-closed eyes snapped open as the reverberation shook the stone beneath his feet.
Another explosion. Then a scream.
Noah was already moving.
His room was close to the watchtower, so he pivoted, sprinting up the narrow staircase. The air thickened with noise—shouts, more explosions, and the deep, rhythmic pounding of something striking wood.
The gate.
If the booms weren't stopping, it meant the gate was still holding. For now.
As he emerged onto the battlements, his breath steadied, his eyes adjusting to the dimness. Something—someones—were standing ahead.
Five humanoid figures. Unmoving. Half-hidden in the dark.
Noah froze, his instincts flaring.
They weren't normal. Their presence was wrong.
Then, another shape climbed over the wall, descending from a rope ladder.
An intruder? No—more than one.
Before Noah could react, light erupted overhead.
A luminous orb shot into the sky, bursting into brilliance—illuminating the fortress below like a second moon.
And from it—
"Paimon."
The Administrator's voice rang out in a theatrical, mocking tone.
"INCOMING ATTACK! INCOMING ATTACK! STOP THE NAGA WAVE~!"
Noah's blood ran cold.
His gaze snapped back to the figures in the dark. Now, fully illuminated, their forms became clear.
Their upper bodies were humanoid—bald, earless, their skin a sickly, scaled gray. But below the waist—
Serpentine tails coiled over the stone, thick and powerful.
Nagas.
Noah took a step back.
Too loud.
The click of his boot against the stone gave him away.
The nagas snapped their heads toward him, slitted eyes gleaming like wet coins in the moonlight. A second later, they moved.
Not slithering—lunging.
Fast. Too fast.
Noah flicked his fingers, willing Gáe Bulg to activate.
A thread of light slipped from his fingertips—shimmering, reaching—but not far enough.
The nearest weapon was beyond his range.
Shit.
He turned on his heel, rushing down the staircase. He needed a blade, a spear, anything. But as soon as he reached the lower floor, his stomach sank.
More of them.
They were already there. Blocking the path.
A dead end.
No way out.
His mind raced. I'm dead. No, not yet. If I'm going to die—
I'll take one with me.
The first naga lunged.
Noah thrust his hand forward, fingers digging into the creature's throat. Scales tore beneath his grip, black blood seeping between his nails.
The creature hissed, but in the same instant, its spear pierced through Noah's gut.
The impact sent a crack through his mind. His body jerked as the weapon punched clean through, the cold steel emerging from his back.
Pain.
Sharp, burning pain.
But Noah didn't stop.
The naga let go of its weapon.
the moment its hands left the spear—
Gáe Bulg's thread connected.
Noah's lips curled.
With the last of his strength, he gripped the spear impaling him—
—and pushed it deeper.
His own body twisted as the weapon forced itself out of his back. The thread of light, still tethered to the blade, turned.
The spear ripped free from his flesh—spinning midair—before slamming into the naga's skull.
The creature's body convulsed, then went limp.
[You have defeated a Low-Rank Naga.]
[User is critically Low on Vitality.]
Noah's vision blurred. The battlefield tilted, his legs gave out.
As the stone floor rushed up to meet him, only one thought flickered in his fading mind.
So this isn't a survival trial.
It's a fucking tower defense game.
A shaky, bitter laugh bubbled up in his throat.
"Fuck you, Paimon—"
Then everything went black.
[You died.]
[Innocent Shall Receive a Second Chance.]