Chapter 25
Staring down death itself, I took a moment to pat myself on the back—my judgment hadn't been wrong. Not some pathetic mental victory, either; it was real. The heroes reacted instantly to my voice, binding the Qi in the ground to slow the Abyss Erosion. And that countermeasure spread immediately to the heroes at a distance. They grasped its meaning on the spot and executed it perfectly. Hell, even I, the one who suggested it, didn't fully understand the precise mechanics—and yet these heroes saw through the situation with my half-baked words and made it happen. Incredible.
This body of mine might qualify as genius-tier, but even if I kept growing, I wasn't sure I could handle situations with that kind of clean precision. Thanks to their timely response, the pace of the Abyss Erosion definitely slowed. The gate was steadily burning through its Qi reserves, and factoring that in, it looked like the erosion wouldn't claim lives before the gate collapsed. If this had been a gate worthy of one of the Eight Kings, no amount of this-level defense would have held—but whatever, ifs like that didn't matter now. Point is, we'd survived, right?
"…How did you know the countermeasure? A first-year making a call like that in this situation?"
The hero who'd first responded to the Abyss Erosion stared at me in disbelief. Great, now I'd built up way more expectations than necessary. Sure, I'm a genius, but not that level. Please keep those expectations in check.
Anyway, we'd finally caught a breather. That big move nearly sent us all to the afterlife at once, but it supercharged the gate's collapse—lucky break, maybe? …That's what I was foolishly thinking.
Softened by peace, my dull brain hadn't considered the worst possibilities yet. It overlooked what lay just one step ahead. A secret technique that hadn't appeared in the world's lore yet. I'd spotted it the moment it emerged and called out the solution. But I should have thought harder about how much aggro that pulls from the caster's perspective. Wasn't that basically yelling, "Your target is right here"?
Of course, that didn't mean I could ignore the Abyss Erosion. From the start, we'd been backed into a corner. The massive binding barrier we'd raised to halt it spanned a wide area, which meant localized defense was somewhat thin. Concentrate overwhelming power on a narrow point, and you could punch right through part of it. Just like now.
KWAAAAANG!!!!
"Ah…."
To protect civilians, we'd grouped them into clusters. Circle them up and guard all sides—no attack could break through. But in that moment, the heroes hadn't watched the ground. And this was the result.
A dragon—no, a sandworm-like monster burst up through the earth, swallowing the civilians in one gulp.
"What the hell is this!?"
An unforeseen situation. Completely off-script. The people we had to protect, devoured by monsters before we could lift a finger. It was enough to freeze anyone, but the heroes snapped into action, charging the sandworm. If it was right after they'd been swallowed, maybe we could still save them. With that sliver of hope, they had no choice but to move.
But it was futile. You could sense the sheer Qi packed into that thing without sharpening your Sense Qi to a razor's edge. No doubt it was all the Qi meant for the Abyss Erosion, coalesced into form. Thanks to it, the gate was on the verge of demolition. Five minutes tops before it crumbled.
The problem? In those five minutes, we'd be wiped out first. That sandworm had the pressure to turn that nightmare into reality.
And it made it concrete. A storm of swirling Qi erupted from its circular maw. The heroes charging with their Emit Qi barrages—nothing compared to mine—were swept away.
Dead? Alive? No idea. All I knew for sure: leave it like this, and the question becomes moot.
"Ah… ugh, aaah…."
My voice wouldn't come. My legs felt rooted to the spot. I'd learned firsthand that when fear overwhelms you, even violent reactions shut down. Not the kind of lesson I ever wanted.
I'll humbly admit it. Deep down, I'd enjoyed the genius treatment and pampering since coming to this world. Even knowing it wasn't from my effort or talent. With my original knowledge and this body's gifts, I could probably muddle through, right? That complacent thought had taken root somewhere in my chest. I'd confess that too. A month-plus into possession, and I was still in game mode. Time to repent.
Reality didn't indulge my carelessness. Mowing down trash mobs in a hack-and-slash frenzy? That only worked against weaklings. Before a monster embodying overwhelming violence beyond a certain threshold, I was just one frail human.
Maybe the original Joo Hyowon wouldn't have frozen—might've fought without fear, buying time with a performance beyond those fallen heroes. She probably wouldn't win. But in this moment, even a brief delay would be invaluable.
I couldn't do it. My mind couldn't handle the extreme stress of dancing on death's edge with one wrong move. I'm not Joo Hyowon. The body's talents weren't the issue; my mental fortitude was critically lacking.
Back in my old world, disasters and hellscapes must have dragged on endlessly. But to me, they were distant tales. I slept without fearing tomorrow's death, walked city streets without dread of harm—my only worry was my bank balance. Faced with a true life-or-death gamble, all that came was pathetic tears.
At times like this, some idiot part of me was glad for the gender swap. A cute girl's tears are worth more than some shabby 30-year-old guy's, right?
Run, damn it. No matter how I screamed inside, my legs wouldn't budge. Then, like a shield, a man's back stepped in front.
"Uh…."
A familiar back. Not hugely broad, but manlier than my current frame. Hwa Yujin gripped his weapon, the pile driver, tight and planted himself in front of me. Are you insane? You're way weaker than me right now. By the time you catch up, I'll be leagues ahead. What do you think you can do, protecting the stronger one?
The words swirled in my mouth but sank back. Yujin's eyes on the sandworm weren't sane either. Fear had crushed his reason; he was in fight mode on autopilot. If animal instinct kicked in, he'd choose flight.
Soldiers, cops, even captains who abandon posts to flee—people don't hesitate to condemn them. And rightly so. Folks don't forgive those who ditch duty for self-preservation. Better not to take the role at all.
But even the steeliest resolve crumbles unknown in the moment. No one, not even themselves, knows how they'll act. Instinct usually crushes reason.
Yet this guy. Despite fear devouring his mind, his body chose to fight. Reflex like a cornered rat biting the cat? Or heroic urge to buy time for the other civilian groups? Who knows—not you, not me.
That irrational act was contagious. Ayumi, clutching her morning star, stepped beside Yujin. Oh god, you two especially—you're not supposed to do this. I'd sworn to save you no matter what. A groan rose from my chest's depths.
Unexpectedly, my frozen legs stirred. I shoved past the two and took point. I'm the strongest—leading raises our survival odds most. Obvious, right?
This isn't lemmings.
One steps up to die, and the rest trot after? I'd expected more rationality from myself. But no helping it now. I drew my sword, pulling every scrap of Qi I could muster.
"Uwaaaaaaaaah!!!!"
A war cry to blast away my inner terror. That was my last memory.
When I opened my eyes again, I stared at a hospital ceiling.
"Uh… I'm alive!?"