The afternoon breeze in the Northern Alliance territory carried the scent of fresh pine and damp earth, a pleasant contrast to the stench of decay Lily imagined Renn breathed on a daily basis.
Lily Thornwhisper stood in front of her main warehouse, a reinforced wooden structure her troops had built during their first year. Her wristband projected a holographic list that seemed endless, and she reviewed it with the intensity of a general before a war, though her current mission was far more personal.
"Grade B medical supplies... check. Travel rations for three days... check," Lily said, sliding her finger through the air to check off boxes. "Gift for Renn..."
She paused at that last item. Her gaze drifted toward the small, cloth-wrapped box on the makeshift table.
What do you bring your best friend, whom you saw just a week ago at his pet shop being the 'Lord with no troops,' and who now, suddenly, is the owner of a super-powered, celestial-level cat girl?
It hadn't been that long, just a few days since they had coffee at Renn's Rescues, but it felt like a lifetime. Back then, Renn was on the brink, ready to give up. Now... now he had hope. And Lily felt an almost physical urgency to be there, to see that hope with her own eyes, to make sure it wasn't a fragile dream about to shatter.
"My Lady."
The deep, resonant voice of Helga Ironbreaker interrupted her thoughts. The battle dwarf approached, her plate armor making a rhythmic and comforting sound. Behind her came Greta, her twin, identical in every way except for the scar on her cheek and her perpetually skeptical expression.
"Beta Squad is ready for perimeter defense," Helga informed her, squaring up with a fist to her chest. "Sera has command of the night watch. Thrain is overseeing repairs on the east wall. Everything is in order for your departure."
"Thank you, Helga," Lily gave them a tired but genuine smile. "You know I don't like leaving the territory for so long, but..."
"It's for the swamp boy, we know," Greta interrupted, leaning casually on her massive battle axe. "The one with the cat princess."
"He isn't 'the swamp boy,' he is Lord Blackwood," Lily corrected, feeling heat rise to her cheeks. "And yes, it is important. He needs support for... the transition."
"Transition," Greta let out a raspy chuckle. "Is that what they call 'seeing the crystal assassin girl' now?"
"Greta!" Helga scolded. "Have some respect. The Lady has diplomatic business."
"Diplomatic business that involves taking meat pies to a boy with pretty eyes."
Lily opened her mouth to protest, to say that Renn's eyes were normal and that the pies were purely nutritional, when her wristband emitted a sound that froze the blood of everyone present.
It was a siren. Low, resonant, a tone that vibrated in the bones.
[ALLIANCE ALERT - HIGH PRIORITY]
The red hologram deployed automatically, eclipsing her packing list.
[DIMENSIONAL PHENOMENON DETECTED]
TYPE: Dungeon Raid
RANK: E (Unstable)
LOCATION: Northern Border, Sector 7 - Whisper Rift
STATUS: Active - Expansion Imminent
Lily read the lines with her heart sinking into her stomach.
"A Dungeon," Helga whispered, her joking tone evaporating instantly. "And a Raid, no less."
"Rank E," Greta read, leaning in. "That requires... what? Fifty heads?"
The text continued scrolling.
[PARTIAL MANDATORY MOBILIZATION]
REQUIRED: 50-80 Combatants
SUMMONED LORDS: Level 15-35
ASSIGNED SUPERVISOR: Commander Varic (Level 42)
RAID START: Tomorrow, 08:00 AM
Lily stared at the screen, paralyzed.
Tomorrow. Just when she had planned to leave for Renn's swamp.
"Shit," she said, breaking her own rule about not cursing in front of the troops.
"It's in our sector, boss," Greta said, pointing to the holographic map. "If we don't go, we lose massive contribution points. And if the rift expands, the monsters will spill over here."
Lily closed her eyes. She was right. Dungeons in the Infinite World weren't static video games waiting for a player; they were wounds in reality. If they weren't cleaned out, they festered. Monsters, mana corruption, aggressive territorial expansion. Ignoring it wasn't an option.
Her wristband vibrated again. Private messages. The Alliance system was already coordinating.
[NEW MESSAGE - DARIAN VOLT]
Lily grimaced. Darian. A "Strategist" class Lord who believed himself to be the reincarnation of Sun Tzu, but whose only real strategy was throwing waves of kobolds until the enemy got tired of killing.
She opened the message.
Thornwhisper.
I see you are in the summoning range for tomorrow's Raid.
I am organizing the Vanguard Group.
Your dwarves are useful as cannon fodder for the front line.
Join my squad. I'll give you 10% of the loot.
"Idiot," Lily muttered.
"Darian?" Helga guessed.
"Darian. He wants to use you as meat shields for ten percent."
"Tell him to shove his ten percent where the system's sun doesn't shine," Greta growled, stroking the edge of her axe. "My shields are worth thirty, minimum."
Another message came in before Lily could reply.
[NEW MESSAGE - ELARA VANCE]
Lily! Did you see the alert?
I'm going with Devon and a couple of the guys from the West sector.
We're putting together a balanced group, none of Darian's suicidal nonsense.
Joining us? We need your DPS and that wall of dwarves you have.
Equal distribution of resources.
Elara was good people. Competent. Fair. It was the logical choice.
Lily looked at her half-packed backpack. She looked at the gift for Renn.
She had promised to go. She had told him she would go. Renn, who had spent two years being ignored, being cast aside... and now she was going to cancel on him at the last minute for "work"?
He would understand, she thought. Renn always understands. He's too good.
And that was exactly what hurt. That he would say "it's okay, go, be careful," and stay alone in his swamp for another couple of weeks.
"There has to be a way," Lily muttered, walking in circles. "Elara needs people. The Raid needs between 50 and 100 people. I have..." She did the mental math. "I can take twenty troops without leaving my base unprotected. Elara will bring thirty. Devon maybe twenty."
She stopped.
An absurd, dangerous, and absolutely brilliant idea crossed her mind.
"Wait a moment."
"That's the 'I have an idea that's going to get us in trouble' face," Greta observed.
"It's not trouble, it's... creative logistics."
Lily opened the chat with Renn. Her fingers flew over the holographic keyboard.
Lily: Renn. Quick serious question. How strong is Valeria really? Don't tell me "strong." Give me a scale. Could she survive in a closed environment with a high density of hostiles?
Renn's reply came with that near-zero latency indicating he had the wristband in his hand, likely waiting for news from her.
Renn: Valeria? Lily, the other day she deleted sixteen goblins without moving from her spot. Literally disintegrated them. She says she is "Celestial Level," whatever that means in practice, but her health bar didn't even move. Why? Is something wrong?
Lily bit her lower lip. Celestial Level. If that was real, Valeria wasn't a troop; she was a one-woman army.
Lily: Listen to me carefully. An emergency came up. An E-Rank Dungeon Raid in my sector. I have to go. It's mandatory, and if I don't go, my territory is in danger.
She saw Renn's three "typing" dots appear and disappear. She could imagine his disappointment.
Renn: Oh. I understand. Don't worry, Lily. Seriously. Duty comes first. Go kick some ass. We can meet when you finish. The swamp isn't going anywhere.
Lily felt a pang in her heart. It was exactly what she expected him to say. So understanding. So resigned.
Lily: You didn't finish reading, dummy. I'm not cancelling on you. I'm inviting you.
Long pause. Very long.
Renn: ...What?
Lily: Come to the Raid. Bring Valeria. Bring Lysandra. Meet me at the entrance of the Whisper Rift tomorrow at 07:00. We do the Raid TOGETHER. And then we go to your swamp to celebrate with the loot.
Renn: Lily, did you hit your head? I am Level 3. You are Level 34. The Raid asks for minimum Level 15. If I show up there, the Supervisor in charge is going to kick me out before I can say "hello." Or worse, your alliance members are going to make fun of me and then use me as trap bait.
Lily: Nobody is going to know you are Renn Blackwood, the Level 3 Lord. Because you aren't going as a Lord. You are going as my "Hired External Specialist."
Renn: Your what?
Lily: Valeria is a mercenary, right? That's the story you're using. Well, you are her "Handler." Or a consultant. Or whatever. The point is: We need firepower. You have a nuke in the shape of a cat girl. And I want to see you. I'm not going to choose between my duty and my best friend if I can have both. Besides, if you don't come with me then I'll cancel going to the Raid; you will always be before anyone else in my priorities, Renn.
There was a digital silence. Lily held her breath. She knew what she was asking him. Renn hated crowds, hated being judged, and a Raid was full of arrogant Lords measuring their... power levels.
Renn: Do you think it will work? Do you really think I can pass unnoticed?
Lily: With Valeria by your side, nobody is going to look at you. She is the perfect distraction. And if anyone asks, you are with me. Nobody messes with my guests.
Renn: ... Ok. Let's do it. But I need to get something to cover my level. If they scan me and see "Level 3," the game is over.
Lily: Get a Mask of Concealment. See you tomorrow, Renn.
Lily lowered her arm, exhaling a breath she didn't know she was holding. A wide, almost painful smile spread across her face.
"Boss?" Helga asked, looking at her curiously. "That smile is scary. What did you do?"
"I just invited the heavy artillery to the party," Lily said, turning toward her troops. "Attention! Change of plans. Pack light siege equipment. We are going to a Raid. And I want you to polish your armor. We are going to have VIP guests."
"VIP guests in a cave full of monsters?" Greta snorted. "Humans are weird."
*****
Renn looked at his wristband as if it were an alien artifact that had just suggested he invade a planet.
"A Raid," he muttered, sitting on the rotten log that served as a bench outside his tent. "She wants me to go to a Raid. With other Lords. Tomorrow."
Valeria, who was sharpening her nails (in human form, which made the gesture much more intimidating since she was using a crystal dagger and not her own claws), didn't even look up.
"I heard the conversation, Substitute Lord. You have a tendency to read out loud."
"It's to process the panic," Renn defended himself. "Valeria, this is insane. I'm Level 3. An E-Rank Raid is full of Level 15 or 20 monsters. If one sneezes near me, I die."
"Technically, if it sneezes, it would only cover you in infectious bodily fluids," Valeria corrected. "But I understand your point. The fragility of your existence is a constant factor."
"Thanks for the support."
"However," Valeria sheathed the dagger and looked at him with those golden eyes that seemed to see right through his skin, "Miss Thornwhisper is right. It is an invaluable tactical opportunity."
"Tactical? It's suicidal."
"Dungeons are concentrations of mana and resources. The experience you would gain, even passively by being in the group while I eliminate threats, would boost you several levels." Valeria crossed her arms. "You need to reach Level 10 before your expulsion, remember? Nine days left. Killing swamp wolves one by one won't be enough. A Raid is an accelerator."
Renn knew she was right. She was always right. It was annoying.
"And what about the other Lords?" Renn asked. "Her alliance members... if they find out who I am..."
"That is why we need the mask."
The voice came from below. Lysandra, in her orange cat form, was curled up on Renn's boots. She opened one lazy eye and meowed.
"Her Highness says," Valeria translated, "that you should stop being a coward and go buy the mask. She also mentions that Dungeons usually have 'Treasure Chests' and that she expects a worthy offering if we are going to bother traveling."
"Great. Peer pressure from my two cats."
Renn stood up, brushing dry mud off his pants.
"Fine. Let's go to the trading settlement. I need that mask. And... I guess I need to mentally prepare myself to pretend I'm not terrified for 24 hours straight."
"That is the definition of being a Lord, isn't it?" Valeria smiled, one of those small, sharp smiles. "Fake it until you stop dying."
"What an inspiring phrase. You should write greeting cards."
*****
The trading settlement "Edge Refuge" wasn't a city; it was more like a conglomeration of tents, prefabricated buildings, and glorified market stalls, all surrounded by a wooden palisade that looked like it would fall over if the wind blew too hard. But it was the closest place to spend his points.
Renn walked with his hood up, trying to look mysterious and not like someone hiding from his creditors. Valeria walked beside him in human form, drawing stares.
It wasn't just her beauty, though that was undeniable. It was the way she moved. As if the world around her were made of paper and she carried scissors. The other Lords and adventurers instinctively moved out of her path.
"That guy is staring at you a lot," Renn whispered, discreetly indicating a Lord in leather armor who kept eyeing Valeria.
"He is evaluating my equipment," Valeria said without turning her head. "And calculating if he can afford to hire me or if he should try to rob me. He has reached the conclusion that both options will result in his premature death. Look, he already turned away."
Renn looked. Sure enough, the guy had hurriedly left.
"It's useful having you around."
"I am a natural deterrent. Here is the shop."
They entered "Margo's Gadgets and Curiosities." Margo, an older woman with more scars than teeth, looked at them from behind the counter.
"I'm looking for a Mask of Concealment," Renn said, trying to sound grave and professional.
Margo didn't even blink.
"Shelf three. The cheap ones make you itch. The expensive ones make you look handsome. The middle ones just work."
Renn went to the shelf. There were several options. Some were theatrical, Venetian masks that didn't fit in a swamp. Others were simple black rags.
Finally, he found one that caught his attention. It was a matte gray metal, covered the lower half of his face, and had a small voice distortion module in the throat.
[SHADOW MASK - RANK D]
EFFECT: Hides Name, Level, and Affiliation from any scanner below Rank C.
BONUS: Basic voice filter.
PRICE: 800 Resource Points
"Eight hundred," Renn grimaced. It was expensive. He could buy food for a month with that.
"It is an investment," Valeria said, appearing behind him like a ghost. "And the voice filter is useful. Your voice tends to get high-pitched when you panic. That gives you away."
"My voice doesn't get high-pitched."
"It did yesterday when you almost stepped on that snake. You sounded like a five-year-old girl asking for a pony."
Renn sighed and took the mask to the counter.
"I'll take it."
While he paid (the transfer of points hurt physically), Renn put on the mask. It adjusted to his face with a soft hum, sealing hermetically.
"Audio test," he said.
"Audio test," his voice came out slightly metallic, deeper, devoid of the usual nervous inflections. It sounded... competent.
Margo let out a dry laugh.
"Suits you, kid. Now you look like someone who would kill his mother for a handful of coins. Very professional."
"Thanks... I think."
They left the shop. The sun was going down, dyeing the sky in shades of purple and orange. Tomorrow, under that same sun, Renn would enter a Dungeon with fifty strangers, a high-level commander, and his best friend who apparently was in love with him.
"Valeria," Renn said, his distorted voice giving him borrowed bravery. "Do you think we're ready?"
Valeria looked at him. For a moment, the cold assassin disappeared, and he saw a glimpse of something softer in her eyes.
"You have the potential, Substitute Lord. I have the power to ensure you live long enough to use it. And Her Highness has... well, she is hungry, so we better find something good in that Dungeon."
"Fair enough. Classic motivation."
"Exactly. Now, let's go. We have to pack. And if you are going to present yourself as a mysterious specialist, we need to work on your posture. You slouch when you are nervous."
"I don't slouch."
"You are doing it now. Shoulders back. Chin up. You are the owner of the deadliest mercenary on the continent. Act like it."
Renn straightened his back, took a deep breath through the mask's filter, and looked toward the horizon.
"Tomorrow," he said with his new synthetic voice. "Time to kick some ass and get some loot."
"That is the attitude," Valeria smiled. "Although technically I will be kicking the asses. You just try not to trip."
"Deal."
The duo walked back toward the darkness of the swamp, ready for the day that would change everything.