Even After the Battle Ends, There's Still Plenty to Do
The raid party's morale had risen a bit, but inwardly, I was on edge. The rampaging fire spirit series were low-level field bosses to begin with, so the only people who knew all their patterns were the true veterans from the early days who'd gathered lowbies for raids. Even those folks had forgotten the patterns over time, and nowadays, when newbies begged for help with achievements, max-level players would portal in with their leisure, spend a minute killing it, then five seconds on a recall stone back to the guild house—three minutes tops. Nowhere near enough time to see every pattern. By contrast, this fight had already dragged on for thirty minutes. Watching the rampaging fire spirit unleash patterns I didn't recognize now and then, how could I not grow anxious?
Already three people were out of commission. Even if I resurrected them, they wouldn't be jumping back into the fray right away. If a desperate crew banded together for resurrection runs—dying and reviving in relay to stick to the rampaging fire spirit like glue—Hanbyeol would eventually take it down. But these were just guildmates who'd shown up for the muster. It was hard to imagine any of them burning with a sense of mission to slay the thing.
Would they keep following my orders after dying and coming back? Even if I'd given my all with those orders, I objectively knew the accidents stemmed from slow reactions or insufficient skill. But raid leader was the position that shouldered all that responsibility. If I wasn't going to nitpick every mistake, it all fell on me. Even I felt like my blood was drying up from the constant focus—what must it be like for the others? This place, filled with nonstop chants from everyone, felt more like a prayer service than that bathhouse echoing only with my moans and splashing water.
I couldn't let my concentration slip for even a moment, and exhaustion crashed over me. I'd slept from yesterday afternoon through the night to stockpile stamina, yet here I was, drained after just thirty minutes of combat. Was real life just that much harder than the game? Back then, all I had to do was stare at the monitor, tap the keyboard, and talk. Now, I was dodging blind rock shards and fireballs on my own two feet, bellowing orders to the raid while reciting prayers. Way tougher, physically and mentally.
Still, after the two tanks and two priests dropped, no major screw-ups happened—no one else fell. The tanks swapped smoothly, trading aggro ping-pong after tanking bursts adeptly, and the priests laid down sanctuaries on my cue whenever AoE came, cutting raid-wide damage. Casting in pairs meant if one flubbed and canceled, coughing up blood, the other held it together—no one took those monstrous hits bare.
Meanwhile, Hanbyeol steadily chipped away at the rampaging fire spirit's health with ice spears and blizzards, forcing it into new patterns I hadn't seen before.
"Phase 3! Sanctuary cooldowns are up—I'll drop the first one!"
The phase shift came with a massive tell: not just raising its arms, but its waist elongating skyward, like it was about to slam the ground with all its might. Instinct screamed at me—this wouldn't be blocked by one sanctuary.
"Tanks, pop your personal survival cooldowns! Returned Team 1 and 2 priests, all of you prep sanctuaries! Off-tanks, everyone fall back to main base!"
No replies—just bracing. Aside from the sub-tank waiting diagonally behind the holy knight main-tanking, the others circled wide around the spirit to join the priests. The flaming barriers splitting the field from the central blaze divided us, so tanks split half-and-half, rushing to both priest groups. Anyone could see the shockwave radiating from the spirit—we huddled behind the holy knights' shields, their white barriers shimmering as we prayed. Kneeling among the priests prepping sanctuaries, a stray thought hit: if we're this devout, shouldn't some god give us something?
Eyes shut, bracing—then a rumble bigger than I'd feared swept everything. My body shook so hard my balance vanished, but I clenched my teeth, holding posture. Was I falling? Still kneeling? No clue. The air scorched. Breathing felt like lungs aflame; even with ongoing chill blessing, heat gusts pierced it, skin burning then chilling. Ears rang till the shockwave faded. Mana drain halted, leaving me more depleted than expected—I gasped, eyes opening to Team 1 and 2 survivors vomiting blood, collapsing. Others eyed us worriedly, but I couldn't waver. Raid leader had to stay cool.
"...Focus on HP recovery. I know it's tough, everyone, but we're in phase 3 now. Like in the game, it's almost over. Hang in just a bit longer."
"Ivy-nim, your nose..."
"Ah."
Dizzy—no wonder. Overdid the mana? I'd thought I managed it, but piled with mental fatigue, my body was screaming. Still, nosebleed or not, I couldn't pull from the front. Already six down. Our front-line tanks, shielded from the AoE, weren't fragile enough to wipe—they got priest heals and rotated back in, faces etched with exhaustion. Facing those flames head-on? Obvious. And this was reality, not a game. Unless you're a vet who soloed raids first-person, staring that thing down wasn't easy. Add the pain of direct hits... Dizziness worsened my turmoil.
I shook it off, standing. AoE passed; raid leader couldn't kneel forever. I wobbled—another priest caught me. No time for thanks; I ticked low-mana heals on tanks. Slower, but mana-efficient over big bursts. Ten heal costs ten mana; twenty heal costs twenty-five. With no potions, rely on natural regen. Next raid, gotta stock mana pots. In-game, cooldowns meant pots for DPS bursts only—HP/mana ones obsolete endgame. Here? Chug 'em cooldown-free.
The rampaging fire spirit, form unchanged, hammered tanks, AoE'd, then abruptly stretched arms skyward. Another shockwave? I opened my mouth—then froze. Not a ground-pound fist. But familiar...
"The pattern from the start! It'll turn the ground to a sea of fire like it split main base! Watch close and dodge!"
It clicked; I yelled. But a priest knelt anyway, dropping sanctuary—pure white aura spreading to cover tanks, even Laila and three priests beyond the wall. But rooted like that? Couldn't evade the spirit's fire pools. Luckily, that whip/club-like arm lashed the opposite side. Tanks, watching, dodged sharp; new fire walls split the field like a halved pizza pie. Viewed from above, exactly.
The spirit's rampage didn't stop. Our safe space shrank slice by slice. I clocked it instantly.
"Stop healing! Everyone, spoon some DPS! This is a wipe mechanic!"
"Yes?! But..."
"I'll solo the raid-wide heals! Hurry!"
Some judged quick, chanting their lone offensive spell; others panicked over hot flames, spamming heals. Those maintaining DoT heals on top of raid-wides? Saints. Self-preservers turned tail from the spirit—outbursts like the fleeing holy knight, but without her lover in tow. Spirit ignored them; it'd wipe us all by burning the ground anyway. Escapees despaired at towering fire pillars ringing the edge—raid-room barriers in high-end content. Tanky enough? Breach 'em. Otherwise? No exit alive.
Forces split by walls drifted as spirit torched safe zones alternately—no mounts, pillars erupting endlessly. Winter heat soaked us in sweat; my ropes stayed taut amid it. Hoped returnees rejoined, but they slumped, resigned. As split raid's footing vanished, I sensed shared dread: pillars crashing one side first, then total wipe.
Should I have left all DPS to Hanbyeol? Gone back pre-fight for fire resist prep? Brought Laila for firepower, more elemental attackers? Regrets too late. All I could do: squeeze remaining mana into my single offensive spell, watch safe zones shrink. Death delayed, but I disgusted myself wishing pillars hit them first. My survival urge wanted others sacrificed. To forget, focus on raid status.
Air, thought max-hot, intensified—sweat poured. Without chill blessing, we'd be ash. One by one, vomiting blood, staggering: mana exhaustion. I'd puked from over-squeezing mana; knew their state. Heat pain plus wipe panic spasmed heals or desperate DPS. Those helped, but raid-wide spammers depleting? I took that baton. Worst: despairing sitters. Couldn't blame—anyone cracks before death. My fault too.
Then pillars fell opposite—dozens of ice spears slammed the spirit. Piercing its "body," they piled, melting... then stopped, stacking. As pillars piled to torch us, heat blast scattered flames. Spirit's scream? Just crackling, but ice-spiked like a porcupine, shrinking.
"Did we get it?"
A collapsed holy knight muttered; glares shot her way, but spirit vanished—half-melted spears clattering down.
Even after, we panted, unbelieving success. I stared blankly at the red core amid spears till cool wind on raw skin snapped me out.
"Good work, everyone. Check on the downed."
Declaring end, I squatted. Regen mana, res then rest.
"Haaah..."
"You were amazing..."
"Geumran! Open your eyes!"
"You bastard! Happy shoving me to run?!"
Folks collapsed in relief, hugged neighbors, wailed over lovers, shook fleeing collars. Energy left for that? Wild. Worried endgame holdouts got jumped by mana-hoarders, but fleers were priests. All saw the early back-turner tank insta-gibbed armor-caved—no tank repeats. Priests with mana? Only heals anyway. Harmless.
But raid leader couldn't let private grudges fly.
"I get the emotions, but we're not fighting each other. You bailed late-fight, so handle resurrections for the dead. We'll join once mana ticks."
"...Ivy-nim's right."
Feared half-wipe leader ignored mediation—luckily, collar-grabbers with murder-eyes released. Fear before death natural. They hadn't ditched raidmates on purpose—just prioritized self. Now, mercy via resurrections might soften judgment. Me? No punishment intent—didn't excel myself. Others disagreed. Flee-stigma already branded sans formal slap.
"Sis, good work."
"Ahhhngh."
Complex watching monitored flee-res under glares, Hanbyeol hugged from behind. Normally, clingy affection—welcome. But...
"S-Sis. Hurts bad? Sorry..."
"No... just burns stinging. Fine..."
Skin lightly cooked by flames throbbed; groan made Hanbyeol over-apologize, teary. Calming her while she paced sorry-less, guilt hit—I self-healed. Planned res first post-regen, but her guilt too much. Without chill blessing, charred black, bald maybe—but blisters-free, week-to-heal first-degree. Low-mana DoT heal: no res impact. Rationalized.
"You took fire bare-skin, that's why."
Now healed, she hugged grumbling. Unfair—I shrugged, whining.
"Everyone else's clothes fine. Mine burned off."
"Ivy-nim's was shop gear. Ours temple-issued. Probably magic resist diff."
A resting priest for res-regen explained. Felt injust.
"Saint name-drops, no robes? What religion! Ow..."
Blasphemy—relic tail smacked butt; Hanbyeol grinned reason.
"Saint robes super slutty. You couldn't wear."
Slutty priestess robes? Better shop gear. Instant agreement. Hanbyeol draped her cloak. Side-eyes vanished; raidmates neared, greetings.
Resurrections, feedback, return left—but skip feedback. Late-order ignores, my faults, near-wipes galore. Whatever. Never raid-leading again. Shoulders too narrow for weight.
"Hehe, all admit now? I helped heaps?"
Gleaming Laila approached resting us. Impossible sans chill blessing, but honey-sipping outside irked. Still, raid member.
"Good work."
I smiled at Laila too.