Jaemin showed up earlier than yesterday. Just past 4. The sun hadn't even cleared the skyline, and the strike team was nowhere in sight. Only the miners were there—suits half-zipped, eyes still carrying sleep.

  "Mister Han!"

  "There's our man!"

  "Han Jaemin!"

  Shouts echoed across the staging lot. Calloused hands waved him over. Someone clapped his shoulder hard. Jaemin blinked, caught off guard, but smiled quickly, dipping his head and returning the greetings one by one.

  The foreman pushed through the crowd, helmet tilted back, brow furrowed.

  "Jaemin"

  He started, voice low, rough with sleep.

  "You sure you wanna go in?"

  Jaemin nodded once, firm.

  "You can always say no, you know…"

  The old man's eyes were...Worried.

  "No one here'll think less of you."

  Jaemin let out a small breath, then gave a faint smile.

  "It's fine. I'll do it. I'm fine with it."

  The foreman's shoulders didn't relax. His eyes dropped, jaw tight, as if he was the one who'd signed the kid's death slip. The regret sat on him heavily.

  Behind them, the miners erupted.

  "YAAAY, KID!"

  "SHOW 'EM WHAT YOU GOT!"

  "MAKE YOUR WIFE PROUD!"

  "I DON'T HAVE A WIFE!"

  Jaemin yelled back without missing a beat.

  "Dumbass," someone muttered affectionately.

  Then the foreman stepped forward again, holding something out. A worn ID card—Jaemin's mining tag from the day before.

  "Put this on," the old man said.

  "If the strike team sees this, they won't throw you into combat."t.

  Jaemin took the card and clipped it onto his belt loop.

  "Thanks," he said quietly.

  The foreman didn't say anything more. Just gave him a nod—and turned back toward the gear line, voice raised, barking orders at the others like nothing had happened.

  But Jaemin saw it—the little smile still stuck on his face.

  The kind only an old man could wear when he was proud and afraid at the same time.

  "Sorry to keep you waiting."

  The voice came from behind. Jaemin turned.

  A tall man stood there, armour unmistakably Bastion-class—black steel trimmed in silver, chestplate marked with the sigil of NOVA.

  "I'm Seo Jungtae," the man said simply.

  "Han Jaemin," Jaemin replied.

  "Follow me."

  Jungtae turned and walked without waiting. Jaemin fell in step behind him.

  They approached the strike team. Ten members already gathered—eleven now, with Jaemin. Six DPS: two Precision, two Flux, two Velocity. Three Auxiliaries. One Bastion.

  Relaxed energy. Some stretched, others leaned on crates or laughed under their breath. Veterans. The type that made silence feel calm, not tense.

  Jaemin weaved through them, eyes landing on the Rift ahead. Tier 3. Normal. Nothing special.

  He exhaled.

  "Let's enter," Jungtae said.

  And just like that, the team moved—no hesitation, no formation calls. Just quiet confidence stepping toward the unknown.

  A cavern?

  Jaemin blinked, adjusting to the dim, damp air pressing in around them. The walls were too narrow. The ceiling felt low. Everything echoed.

  Didn't expect a cavern. Not for a Tier 3.

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  He walked with his hands in his pockets, head slightly down, eyes scanning every step. The others were mostly silent. Professionals moved like that.

  "You seem too relaxed."

  The voice came from his left—soft but clear.

  He turned his head. A woman, maybe mid-twenties, walked beside him. Light on her feet. Her Auxiliary gear was streamlined, built for speed and fast diagnostics. She gave him a small smile.

  "I'm Lee Nayun."

  "Han Jaemin," he replied.

  "And yeah, I'm relaxed. You guys seem strong."

  He grinned, casual.

  Nayun smiled back, eyes flicking down at his posture.

  "Yeah, well… We've been training together for years. Don't worry—nothing's gonna go wrong. Even with you."

  She nudged his arm lightly with her elbow—and paused. Her eyes widened just a bit.

  Jaemin's hoodie hid it well, but under the fabric, her elbow had hit nothing soft. That arm was dense. Firm. Not bulky like a Bastion, but compact—coiled power beneath the surface.

  "You a Bastion?"

  She asked, genuinely thrown off.

  Jaemin smirked, just a little.

  "Nope. Precision."

  "Precision…?"

  Her brows furrowed slightly.

  "Why's he built better than our captain? she thought."

  "Attention, everyone!"

  Jungtae's voice cut through the low echoes like a blade.

  "Rifthowlers."

  Flux Cores dropped their stance. Auxiliaries spread into supporting arcs. DPS locked eyes.

  "Leave it to us!" a Precision Core and Velocity Core called out in sync.

  The Precision Core flared first—"Thundering Bolt Blast!"

  Twin streaks of charged energy surged from his palm, screaming forward like lightning lances. A split-second later, the Velocity Core unleashed—"Swift Tornado!"

  The wind roared through the cave, funnelling the bolt attack into a concentrated spiral. The result was devastating—each bolt spun faster, sharper, like a buzzsaw of compressed lightning.

  The Rifthowlers burst.

  Limbs vaporised. Flesh peeled off bone. The tunnel lit up like a storm trapped in a bottle. Then, silence.

  Jaemin didn't say anything. Just stood still, eyes sharp, lips tight.

  "Shit… they're strong."

  He kept his hands in his pockets—but his fingers were curling into fists.

  Upon closer inspection, the Rift Howlers weren't violet after all.

  Jaemin crouched, fingers grazing the faintly glowing residue on the rock.

  "...Arcane magic," he muttered. The hue was unmistakably green—not natural. Not just Abyssal either. Something else.

  "Keep moving," Seo Juntae said, voice firm. No argument followed.

  They advanced—silent, alert. Until—

  "STOP!" Juntae barked, arm raised.

  Everyone froze.

  "...Holy shit," one of the DPS whispered.

  In the distance, dozens of towering constructs shifted into view—Iron Golems—forty-five at least, maybe more. Arcane runes pulsed across their bodies like molten veins.

  Jaemin exhaled slowly.

  "Kill all of them!" Seo Juntae roared.

  "Bastion Core: Lion's Mane!"

  Flames erupted around him in a circular dome—a living inferno shield, crashing outward with authority.

  "Velocity Core: Windwalk!"

  "Velocity Core: Powerslide!"

  "Precision Core: Bolstering Snipeshot!"

  "Precision Core: Thundering Bolt Blast!"

  "Flux Core: Phase Shift!"

  "Auxiliary Core: Shimmering Light!"

  "Auxiliary Core: Aurora Veil!"

  "Auxiliary Core: Dynamic Overdrive!"

  It was chaos. Controlled, brutal chaos.

  Steel clashed. Magic surged. The team burst into motion like a single, perfect organism. Every strike was backed by core power, every movement coordinated with raw experience.

  Jaemin watched, fists trembling.

  Goosebumps lined his arms.

  This was war. And they were dancing through it.

  "ARGHHH!!" someone screamed. A DPS was hit hard, crashing against a wall.

  "Healer! Need support!"

  "On it—Auxiliary Core: Nature's Care!"

  Green light surged. Wounds closed. Buffs spread like wildfire.

  The air reeked of ozone and blood. What started off as a winnable skirmish had turned into a desperate brawl.

  "Why are there so many?!" someone screamed over the clanging of claws against shield domes.

  "I can't hold my dome for long!!" the Bastion grunted, veins bulging on his neck, aura flickering violently as the translucent sphere around them cracked like ice under pressure.

  Then—CRACK.

  Lion's Mane shattered.

  A rush of cold terror swept through the team.

  "Shit! Go aggressive!!"

  The order came, teeth gritted. The moment the dome broke, they had no choice. Fight or fall.

  Sparks flew, blood splattered, steel clashed. They fought dirty, pushed back harder, and took hits to land heavier ones. Golems emerged in swarms from the walls—some glowing with Rift dust, others stitched with jagged cores pulsing like angry hearts.

  "It's too much!!"Another voice yelled. Panic was setting in.

  Then—

  CLINK—CLINK—SWOOSH.

  Two daggers spun through the battlefield, like twin black comets, slicing the air in a perfect orbit.

  Golems began pulling inward—not by choice.

  "?!?"

  The team paused, confused, watching the enemy cluster unnaturally.

  [Active Skill: WRAITH]

  [Active Skill: BINARY ORBITAL OVERLOAD]

  A hum built.

  A thrum, electric, vibrating through the cave.

  And then—

  BOOM.

  A white-hot shockwave erupted. Light swallowed the tunnel in a blinding burst. Dust exploded. Golems were shredded, their shells combusting mid-air.

  The ground shook. Everyone staggered back from the heat. For a second, it looked like a supernova had gone off right inside the cavern.

  "Holy SHIT!" one of them gasped, shielding their face.

  But the danger wasn't over.

  "There are still a lot of golems!"

  Jaemin said calmly—more to himself than anyone else.

  His voice was swallowed by the ringing ears, the yelling, the clash of steel.

  No one noticed him vanish.

  Not even a blur.

  Too focused.

  Too overwhelmed.

  Too late.

  While the others dug their heels in, Jaemin already moved. A flicker behind the enemy lines. Silent.

  Wraith cloaked him like mist clings to breath.

  He slithered through narrow crevices and jagged edges of the cave, sidestepping boulders, boots barely kissing the rock. His eyes scanned the field—calculating.

  Every movement is pre-mapped.

  "There's a cluster in the back. Twenty, maybe twenty-five…" he muttered, lip curling faintly.

  A smile formed—not smug. Sharp. Measured.

  "This is what I'm here for, no?"

  He lowered his body, dagger reversed in grip, every muscle taut. His back flexed subtly beneath the black hoodie, sleeves rolled just enough to show the edge of a forearm tight with lean, coiled power.

  He was still.