"A and B Teams, move! Get to the boss immediately!" Diavel's voice rang out with force, like an irrefutable command. The sword in his hand rose high, steel gleaming under the flickering magical light from the stone walls.
The air in the chamber seemed to freeze. But only for a heartbeat.
Both Tank formations leapt from their positions, charging straight ahead. No one waited. No one needed further signals.
They knew, this was the decisive moment.
Rushing footsteps echoed like war drums. Gleaming shields, sharpened and upgraded over countless days, now became the first wall to block the wrath of the giant beast seated at the center of the room.
The moment the Tanks entered combat range, Illfang the Kobold Lord, as if he had been waiting, roared once again.
That sound was like an invisible strike, slicing through the air, shaking the mind.
An axe swing came down, straight, swift, brutal. The broad blade ripped through the air, howling like the scream of death itself.
A resounding clash exploded as the Tank line raised their shields nearly in unison to absorb the blow. The impact was so strong that some players slipped, staggering back half a step, but not one of them fell. Their health bars flickered, but none dropped into danger.
Cracks split the stone floor beneath their feet, dust billowed into the air. But the wall held.
Catching that moment, Diavel shouted:
"C and D Teams, follow me! Flank from both sides... NOW!!"
He led the charge, gliding like a blue wind through the blaze of battle. Teams C and D immediately fanned out into two V-shaped formations, sweeping around to the boss's flanks.
The midline players began shifting into their pre-assigned positions. No one lagged. No chaotic shouting. Only determined strides and razor-sharp eyes.
The glow of activated skills began to shine. Slashes, precise thrusts, and their signature sound effects burst forth in a violent symphony.
"Use skills! Focus on its left side!"
"Don't let it turn! Control its movement!"
Ren stood in the support group at the rear, breathing slow but heavy, as if each heartbeat synced with the relentless clash of metal from the frontlines.
The battlefield felt alive, and his heart was just one part of its furious rhythm.
Hand gripping the hilt at his side, Ren still hadn't drawn his sword. Not because he wasn't ready, but because he was waiting. Waiting for the moment. The signal. A sliver of opening in the chaos where he could strike without breaking formation.
The heat of battle surged around him. His chest burned with emotion as screams echoed, footsteps raced by, and skill lights flashed relentlessly.
Everything felt like it was setting his blood on fire. But he wasn't allowed to charge in.
The giant leather shield of the boss, Illfang... was knocked away.
A barrage of sword skills and multicolored weapons hammered a single point, opening a small but precious gap.
In that fleeting instant, the swiftest players slipped through. They darted in like wind through leaves, their blades slicing air with bone-chilling whistles and carving crimson gashes into the boss's blood-colored hide.
Illfang shrieked. The piercing sound stabbed into their ears. He was truly enraged now.
No longer wielding his axe, this time, he swung his massive shield, a weapon seemingly made only for defense, now turning into a moving wall, sweeping across the battlefield with terrifying power.
"Get out of the way!!"
A shout rang out, but it was too late for some.
Three players were caught in the sweep, their bodies flung backward, rolling across the stone floor like ragdolls. Their HP bars plummeted, red warning lights flashing above them.
"Heal Team B! Quickly!" someone screamed from the support line.
Their response was almost instant, even without prior drills or coordination. A few potions were thrown directly to the wounded, caps popping with a hiss and the telltale glow of healing items rising in the air.
The rest of the formation didn't falter.
Three other pairs from the attack teams instantly withdrew, re-forming a tight defensive perimeter to cover the gap.
Ren was still there, his eyes never leaving the monster, quietly sensing the world moving around him.
He knew, his moment was coming.
The boss let out a thunderous roar, then swung the massive axe in his hand. A deadly arc sliced through the air, red, vast, and sharp as a wound in reality itself.
The axe crashed into the front defense line.
A metallic collision exploded outward, followed by a shockwave that made the entire floor tremble.
Some Tanks, unable to brace in time, were hurled away like limp dolls, skidding across the marble with long streaks of red pixelated blood trailing behind.
Others, still standing, were pushed back several meters, feet grinding into the stone in a desperate attempt to hold firm.
"Close in! Don't give it space to use skills!" Diavel roared, his voice thundering through the shrieks and chaos.
Right at that moment, the monster rested its axe on its shoulder, a motion that seemed relaxed but carried a deadly omen.
The white mane atop its head swayed slightly, and then, a blood-red light began to radiate from the axe, gradually spreading into a fierce aura that engulfed the weapon.
Ren stood behind, eyes wide open. That was the signal for activating a special skill.
Diavel realized it in an instant.
"Too late! Fall back now! Get as far away as you can!"
The command had barely been given when all the assault teams instinctively scattered, trying to spread out, searching for cover behind the Tankers still holding the front line. But...
Too late.
The skill had already begun.
The boss lifted the axe with one hand...and then it moved. Unbelievably fast.
Its massive body seemed to melt into the crimson light, gliding across the battlefield in a chain of slashing attacks shaped like crescent blades.
Each strike was like the stroke of a demonic dancer, swift, clean, and eerily graceful. No one could have imagined a creature of such bulk moving with such lightness.
The sound of the axe cutting through the air, the cries of pain, and the pixelated blood exploding like shards of red glass filled the air.
A few players who failed to dodge were flung aside like scraps caught in a red whirlwind. Their HP bars plummeted from full to critical in the blink of an eye.
Above them, glaring red warning icons blinked rapidly, signaling that life was teetering on the edge.
The air in the room was no longer the same.
Every breath now carried the sharp metallic scent of blood, of sweat, and the invisible pressure weighing down on every player's shoulders.
The marble floor, once smooth and pristine, was now stained, scratched by weapon clashes, dotted with red pixel splatters left behind after every blow landed.
And yet, no one retreated.
They held their formation with unwavering resolve, like interlinked chains of steel, led by Diavel's steady voice and gaze that never faltered.
Blows rained down continuously on Illfang, echoing with the clash of metal, gradually chipping away at the monster's HP bar.
Its first health bar… was almost gone. Just a bit more, a few more coordinated strikes, one more opportunity, and they would make it through.
But just as victory seemed within reach, Illfang suddenly threw back its head and let out a rasping, primal roar, wild like a beast cornered with no escape.
The entire room trembled faintly.
Then it sprang backward.
Its massive weight moved like a mountain shifting, breaking free from the encirclement in an instant. Players who hadn't reacted in time could only fall back by instinct, raising their weapons in a defensive stance.
Illfang came to a halt, its eyes flashing with a piercing coldness, not the mindless rage of a wild beast, but a calculated glare. As if it was watching... waiting.
Then... strange objects fell.
From both sides of its waist, spherical items dropped onto the stone floor, pale white, silver-tinted, like eerie pearls emitting a faint, distorted moonlight.
The sound they made hitting the ground wasn't loud. On the contrary, just soft rolling noises, steady and chilling, like rain tapping on a rooftop in the dead of night. But it was that very silence that sent a chill down one's spine.
Ren felt an icy shiver run down his back. His hand still gripped the sword hilt tightly as he stood behind the front line, but it felt like something inside him had just collapsed.
A gut feeling… that the real nightmare was only beginning.
The orbs began to crack open. One by one, they broke like splitting eggshells, revealing… an unexpected form.
Ruin Kobold Sentinels.
Not one, but three.
They rose from the shattered shells, standing nearly chest-high to an adult, their bulky forms hidden beneath rusted steel armor. The armor was uneven, warped, as if forged from scrap metal and fragments of a nightmare, but still radiating menace.
There were no roars. No warning. They simply stood there, motionless for a few seconds, like soulless iron statues.
Then, slowly, each of them raised their weapons… Morning Stars, heavy maces, their heads bristling with sharp spikes like death traps. They gripped them tightly with both hands, letting out a chilling metallic screech as the weapons scraped against their armor.
Ren took half a step back. The pressure was suffocating.
These weren't nameless monsters like those in the forests or dungeons. According to the most recent edition of the guidebook, these were Illfang's elite soldiers, his personal guards. And they weren't there for show.
"…Damn it…" someone muttered up front.
Diavel clenched his teeth, eyes sweeping quickly across the formation. "Hold your positions! Tankers to the front line, don't let them split us up!"
But he knew. Everyone knew.
From this point on, this was no longer just a regular boss fight. This was when Aincrad bared its true fangs.
And anyone who loosened their grip… could lose their life.