Night descended upon the cathedral like a golden-embroidered shroud.
Tall towers pierced the sky, stained-glass windows reflecting torchlight and enchanted lanterns. The main hall was adorned in grandeur blood-red curtains, white marble pillars, a long carpet stretching like a tongue of flame toward the altar throne.
At the far end stood the grand statue of Seraphiel, the Angel of Light worshiped by humanity in this kingdom lead by sanctuary church.
Its wings were spread.
Its face smiled.
Too perfect.
Too clean.
And beneath that stone gaze, the feast began.
The Welcoming Feast of the Hero
Crystal glasses chimed. Harp and violin melodies flowed softly. Knights and priests smiled proudly at Arga and the chosen students now called "the hope of mankind."
Arga stood at the center of a circle of light. His white shining armor reflected golden brilliance. Every movement he made was met with praise.
Elara stood beside him, beautiful and gentle like the morning sun.
Meanwhile,
Kafka stood alone at the edge of the hall.
No one invited him into the circle.
No one called his name.
He stood like an ink stain upon a white canvas.
And stains always make people uncomfortable.
Adam approached first.
Followed by Satrio.
Ilham trailed behind with laughter that rang too loudly.
"Look who's standing alone," Adam mocked quietly. "The burden."
Satrio shoved Kafka's shoulder hard enough that the small glass in his hand fell and shattered.
"Sorry," Satrio said with a fake smile. "Your hands too weak little guy?"
Several young nobles turned to look.
Whispers spread like termites gnawing through wood.
"That's the one without a rank?"
"Why is he even here?"
"Isn't he just bad luck?"
Elara saw.
She walked quickly toward them.
"That's enough."
Her voice wasn't loud, but it carried a force that made several step back.
Adam shrugged. "We're just playin."
But before things could settle,
A church servant in uniform approached.
"Hero Incarnation. Gracebound Healer. His Eminence Archbishop Magnus called you two."
The name hung in the air like a blade.
Arga fell silent for a moment.
Elara turned to Kafka.
Their eyes met.
I'm sorry.
That was what she wanted to say.
But the words never came.
They left.
And Kafka was alone again.
As soon as Arga and Elara disappeared beyond the marble corridor,
The circle around Kafka tightened.
Those smiles changed.
No longer pretending politeness.
"So you're really rankless?"
"How does it feel standing among heroes?"
"Are you not ashamed?"
Kafka wanted to answer.
Wanted to say that this world was wrong.
That something was rotting behind the light.
That Archbishop Magnus was...
His tongue froze.
When Magnus' shadow surfaced in his mind, his heart felt crushed by an invisible hand.
Pain.
Cold.
Suffocating.
Adam laughed.
"See? He can't even talk."
Satrio shoved him until his shoulder slammed into a pillar.
Ilham dropped a plate of food at his feet.
"There it is. Ain't this is shit good for you?."
Laughter spread.
And in the middle of the noise, Kafka felt
Himself slowly disappearing.
***
Elsewhere in the Cathedral
While the feast continued,
Mr. Rahmat was not in the hall.
He walked through the cathedral's dark corridors.
Without light.
Without sound.
His steps were light as smoke.
His adaptive ability worked swiftly. He had already memorized patrol patterns, guard rotations, blind spots behind stone pillars.
He already set his target, the Grand Cathedral Library.
Where ancient knowledge was kept.
A massive iron door seals, carved with sacred symbols.
Mr. Rahmat touched it.
He felt magical energy flowing behind it.
"Tsk…"
His eyes narrowed.
The protective magic barrier was too strong for mere holy archives.
He moved toward a narrow window.
Slipping like a shadow.
But,
He did not realize.
A pair of eyes watched him from the upper tower.
Unblinking.
Inhuman.
Footsteps of knights approached.
Mr. Rahmat prepared himself.
If discovered, he would have to explain or fight for it.
Suddenly,
A loud voice echoed from the opposite corridor.
"Fire! Fire in the southern kitchen!"
The guards turned.
Ran away.
Mr. Rahmat froze for a second.
Who created the diversion?
He looked around.
No one.
Only an empty corridor.
A cold wind brushed his neck.
As if someone had just passed,
Unseen.
His instincts told him retreat.
He abandoned his attempt to enter the library.
And returned to the hall.
When Mr. Rahmat returned,
He saw a circle of people.
And at its center,
Kafka.
Cornered.
Mocked.
Adam grabbed his collar.
"If you had any self-awareness little shit, maybe you'd kneel to Arga every day."
Before Kafka could fall,
A hand stopped Adam.
Strong.
Rough.
"Enough."
A girl stood there.
Short hair. Sharp eyes.
Former karate athlete in previous world.
Job Class: Iron Valkyrie – Rank B.
Her name: Rina.
Behind her stood a tall, broad-shouldered man.
Former volleyball athlete.
Job Class: Tempest Striker – Rank B.
His name: Yogi.
Satrio smirked. "Want to play hero now bitch?"
Ilham sneered. "Man, Just cause you rollin on the Hero Team with Arga, Ain't gonna do shit to us"
Rina's answer was a straight Karate punch.
THUD!
Satrio flew into a long table. Plates scattered. Candles fell.
"Eat this shit!"
Ilham attacked from the side,
Rina spun like a tornado evading the attack.
WHAM!
A roundhouse kick struck his jaw. He crashed into chairs, wood splintering.
But the true battle stood elsewhere in that room.
Adam faced the tall man.
Yogi.
Kafka could see it.
Wind swirling faintly around Yogi's body, not mere wind, but dense air pressure like invisible hands.
Adam smiled thinly.
Small sparks crackled at his fingertips.
Lightning.
Wind vs. Lightning.
"Stay out of this Slenderman," Adam warned.
Yogi rolled up his sleeves slowly.
"If your business is humiliating someone who won't fight back… then it's the Slenderman business you bald fuck."
"This tall shit!"
Adam struck first.
BOOM!
Lightning struck the floor.
Yogi leapt, wind propelling him.
FWOOSH!
He moved almost like a blur.
Adam chased.
Lightning crackled in the air. The smell of ozone burned sharp.
They met at the center of the hall.
Adam's fist coated in electricity.
Yogi's fist layered with compressed wind.
BOOOM!
A shockwave exploded as their fists collided.
The carpet lifted.
Stained glass trembled.
Several nobles fell.
Adam stepped back.
So did Yogi.
Even.
Adam chuckled. "Not bad Slenderman."
Lightning fully wrapped his arm.
Yogi inhaled deeply.
Wind gathered at his feet.
"You too cancer patient."
Adam dashed forward.
"It's not bald, it's genetic! LIGHTNING FIST!"
CRACK! BOOM!
The lightning punch aimed at Yogi's face.
Yogi tilted his head,
Wind twisted the trajectory.
Lightning struck a pillar, exploding marble shards.
Yogi countered.
"Same case as me then, WIND SPEAR!"
BAM!
His fist struck Adam's chest, but electricity retaliated.
CRASH! THUD! BOOM! WHAM! CRACK! BOOM!
Wind and lightning roared like a storm.
Current traveled up Yogi's arm.
He groaned.
Adam deflected Yogi's rapid blows, he is more skilled in close combat from his past life before arriving in this magical world. Adam spun, a lightning-coated kick sweeping wide.
Yogi blocked with a vortex of wind.
FWOOM!
An air explosion rippled outward.
Candles were extinguished.
Music stopped entirely.
The hall had become a battlefield.
Adam leapt into the air, electricity condensing like a spear.
"Try blocking this tall bitch! STORM BLADE!"
KRRRRAAASHHH!!!
Yogi raised both hands.
Wind spiraled into a rotating shield.
Lightning slammed into the vortex.
Blinding white light engulfed the hall.
Time felt eternal.
Then,
An explosion.
Both were thrown in opposite directions.
The floor cracked.
Thin smoke rose.
Adam stood first, breathing heavily.
Yogi rose slowly, a thin line of blood at the corner of his mouth.
Mr. Rahmat appeared in the middle.
"Stop this crap! What are you two doing?"
Yogi smiled.
"Now we're even bald head."
Adam growled,
"Fuck..."
The knights had already entered.
The fight was stopped.
Rina muttered internally,
Not bad... Skills and face are good tho, Wind user,huh?
She smiled faintly.
Nadia, who had been trembling the entire time, finally gathered the courage to approach Kafka.
"Kafka… are you okay?" she asked softly, checking him.
Kafka nodded.
He hadn't focused on the fight at all.
His mind was still trapped in the terrifying image he saw behind Archbishop Magnus.
Rina and Yogi approached him as well.
Still, Kafka did not utter a single word.
But the message was clear.
Kafka was no longer alone.
***
The Next Morning
The atmosphere was far colder.
A Church General stood before them. A long scar split his face.
"Listen carefully."
He drew a circle on the ground with the tip of his sword.
"Dungeons are not just caves with monsters."
He stepped on the soil.
"They are fractures of reality."
Silence.
"When hatred between races, war, and excessive magical energy reach a certain threshold… space begins to rot. The world forms a curse.'"
He lifted a small stone.
"Inside it, time flows differently. Monsters from Jotunheim do not immediately emerge. They develop. Incubate."
Several students swallowed in nervous.
"If incubation completes and the Dungeon Core is not destroyed,"
He struck the ground.
"The fracture will burst. And whatever is inside will flood the world. Then only dead ahead."
His gaze sharpened.
"You will enter. Form formations. Clear floor by floor. Defeat the Guardian. Then the Boss."
"Take the Core. Bring it out. Destroy it with blessed energy."
"Fail… and the nearest city will be annihilated. Thousands, perhaps millions of innocent lives could perish."
No one was joking now.
Only intense Training.
The teams were separated.
The Hero Team trained advanced strategy and high-tier magic combinations.
The Support Team?
They were forged like raw metal.
Running around the fortress with iron weights.
Push-ups on rough sand.
Endless sparring.
A trainer mocked Kafka.
"Lift your sword! That's not a spoon idiot!"
Kafka tried.
His hands trembled.
Ilham snickered.
Adam smirked.
But Mr. Rahmat stood behind Kafka.
"Inhale through your nose. Lock your grip. Don't think about what they say."
Kafka tried again.
More stable this time.
Mr. Rahmat observed all the students, not just Kafka. He corrected posture, refined steps, unified rhythm.
He did not only teach technique.
He built mental foundations.
Kafka wanted to speak.
About Magnus.
About that face.
"Sir… I saw something that day…"
The Archbishop's shadow surfaced in his mind.
His face peeling.
Empty eyes.
Split jaw.
Kafka choked.
His tongue froze again.
Mr. Rahmat noticed the fear.
But he did not force Kafka to speak.
***
Second Night.
At dinner,
Adam spoke again.
"Amazing. The rankless one still isn't dead."
Before laughter could spread,
Arga stood.
His chair scraped loudly.
"Enough."
Silence fell.
Adam looked at him. "Seriously?"
Arga's gaze was steady. "We will not become heroes if we cannot even protect each other."
The room froze.
For a moment, the light truly felt warm.
But then,
Arga's face paled.
His breathing grew ragged.
His hands trembled.
He collapsed.
THUD!
Panic erupted.
Elara screamed for help.
Priests rushed forward.
And in the middle of the chaos,
Kafka turned toward the statue of Seraphiel.
Its wings were wet.
Blood streamed from the stone eyes.
Dripping.
No one saw it.
Except Kafka.
The statue's head moved.
Very slowly.
Turning toward him.
And smiling.
Not a savior's smile.
But the smile of something that knows.
~To Be Continued ~