I woke up to the first light of dawn filtering through the cracks in the earth above my resting spot. The chill of the night still lingered in the air, but I had no time to indulge in comfort. With practiced efficiency, I shook off my fatigue, gathered my belongings, and resumed my journey along the predetermined route.


    Just like yesterday, my path was riddled with battles.


    Time and time again, I found myself facing off against Gnoll Archers. At this point, I had grown accustomed to their erratic attack patterns, their piercing screeches, and the faint whistle of their poisoned darts slicing through the air. The once-grueling battles were becoming routine. I could now take down a single Gnoll Archer in less than an hour—my fastest kill so far clocking in at 47 minutes.


    And so, my daily cycle continued: traverse the winding trails near Gnashfang Warrens, engage in battle, deplete my Mana, restore it through meditation, and repeat.


    But no matter how well-planned my routine was, misfortune had a way of slipping through the cracks.


    There was an encounter that nearly cost me my life.


    Instead of a Gnoll Archer, I stumbled upon a Gnoll Warrior.


    A melee-class gnoll, bulkier than its archer counterpart, wielding a rusted, serrated dagger in its clawed grip. It shouldn’t have been here—not during the day. I blame my luck for that.


    And just like in most games, melee warriors were the natural predators of fragile ranged supports like me.


    I didn’t stand a chance in direct combat.


    The moment it lunged, I knew I had no choice but to run.


    Thirty agonizing minutes.


    That was how long I spent weaving between jagged rocks, darting through tangled undergrowth, scrambling over uneven terrain—all while that snarling beast relentlessly pursued me, its growls and heavy footsteps pounding in my ears. My lungs burned, my legs ached, and for a moment, I thought I wouldn’t make it.


    But somehow, I did.


    After what felt like an eternity, I managed to lose it. Whether it was due to sheer luck or a natural boundary in its territory, I didn’t care. All that mattered was that I was still alive.


    I took a shaky breath, steadying myself.


    ***


    Night had fallen.


    The inky darkness of the Redridge Range stretched endlessly before me, broken only by the occasional flicker of torchlight in the distance. It was around 6 PM when my ears caught a faint, ragged sound—a weak, pained whimper carried by the wind.


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    I froze, instinctively lowering my stance. My grip on my staff tightened as I strained my senses, trying to pinpoint the source.


    Someone was dying.


    Carefully, cautiously, I moved toward the sound. Each step was deliberate, my heart pounding louder with every inch I closed in. And then, as I emerged from the shadow of a jagged rock formation, the scene before me unraveled.


    A lone elf lay sprawled on the cold, blood-stained ground—his body battered, his breaths shallow. Around him, several corpses of adventurers littered the area—most likely his fallen comrades. But what caught my attention next was the only survivor still standing.


    A dwarf.


    Sturdy and battle-worn, he gritted his teeth as he stood his ground, facing off against a monstrous, 2.5-meter-tall Gnoll. The beast was enormous, a towering juggernaut of muscle and rage. Its fur was caked in blood, its eyes glowing an unnatural crimson.


    A Field Boss.


    It took me one full minute to assess the situation.


    Judging from the erratic, desperate movements of the boss—and the telltale glow of its eyes—it was already in its final phase.


    One elf archer—out of commission.


    One dwarf—acting as the last line of defense.


    It didn’t take long to decide my next move.


    [Rejuvenation casted.]


    A soft green glow enveloped the fallen elf as my magic took effect. Without wasting a second, I tossed a low-rank healing potion toward him.


    “Heal yourself, now.” My voice was firm, leaving no room for argument.


    The elf weakly nodded, struggling to drink the potion with trembling hands.


    After quickly confirming the skills and combat power of the elf and dwarf, I shifted my focus to the battle ahead. The dwarf was barely holding on—his massive shield dented, his breathing heavy. He couldn’t last much longer.


    “Hey, dwarf! Hold the line! Just keep him occupied until the elf is back in action!” I called out.


    For a moment, the dwarf scowled, clearly annoyed at being ordered around. But to my relief, he didn’t argue. He tightened his grip on his shield and dug his heels into the dirt, bracing for another brutal exchange.


    I clenched my teeth, my fingers hovering over my inventory.


    This better be worth it.


    With a sigh, I pulled out one of my most valuable items.


    [Flameburst Flask used.]


    The glass vial shattered mid-air, releasing a sudden burst of searing flames. The fire clung to the Gnoll’s fur, crawling over its body like a living inferno. It let out a guttural, agonized howl, its movements turning frenzied—wild and unpredictable.


    But that was exactly what I wanted.


    [Rejuvenation casted.]


    I immediately redirected my magic toward the dwarf. His armor was dented, his body bruised from the relentless strikes of the Gnoll’s massive axe. Unlike potions, Rejuvenation had an advantage—its healing properties continued even if the recipient was taking damage. As long as he could withstand the assault, the regenerative effect would keep him standing.


    Ten minutes.


    That was how long we had been fighting so far.


    And in those short minutes, I had already burned through three of my precious Flameburst Flasks. Worse yet, my Mana had dropped by 30%.


    I wasn’t sure how much longer we could hold out.


    Then—swoosh.


    The unmistakable whistle of an arrow slicing through the air.


    Finally.