I Don't Need To Log Out

Before arriving at Vraka, where the members of the Gamers Guild were hanging out, Arlon visited somewhere else.

Istarra.

The starting town he hadn't seen for a long, long time.

Unfortunately, it was also one of the few front lines that had fallen.

Lost to the Keldars.

When Arlon arrived, the sight that greeted him was painfully familiar.

Ruins.

Just like in his past life.

Istarra lay broken, its streets crawling with unintelligent Keldars, roaming aimlessly through the shattered remains of buildings and market stalls.

His heart ached—not because he had a deep attachment to the place, but because once upon a time, he had thought about buying a house here.

Just a simple place to settle in, maybe after things had calmed down. Well, that meant some kind of attachment.

He remembered the trio—Lodi, Sar, and Vers—the ones he'd gone to the festival with.

Yuma. Situ. Charon. Shirl.

They weren't dead.

At least, not as far as he knew.

Civilians didn't usually die in these attacks. The Trionian army always pulled them back before it reached that point. It was mostly the soldiers who fell.

Still, Arlon couldn't help but wonder.

Charon had been someone on the verge of ascendence before his curse.

So why hadn't he done something?

Why hadn't he saved the town?

Charon wasn't the type to watch Trion burn out of spite. No curse could twist him that far. At least, Arlon didn't want to believe that.

If Istarra had truly fallen, then there had to be a reason for it.

A good one.

So Arlon didn't dwell on the worst possibilities. He pushed the thought away and did what needed to be done.

He cleared Istarra.

No need for hesitation. No need for dramatic spellwork.

With no one around, he simply raised his hand and cast a wide-range spell—clean, efficient, lethal.

The Keldars dropped instantly.

None of them, aside from Asef himself, could survive a single spell from him now.

And then he searched.

Not for people. He already knew they were gone.

But for pieces of the past.

The buildings were mostly rubble, but he still walked through them, remembering where things used to be.

Charon's Moonlight Potion Store had been reduced to fragments—but oddly, a few potions had survived. Scattered across the floor, somehow untouched.

The passage underneath the shop, though, was gone. Collapsed.

Same with Situ's forge—what was left of it, anyway.

Yuma, most likely, had been recalled by his father or older brother before things got worse.

That was the reality now.

This wasn't a game. There were no NPCs waiting on their scripted paths to hand out quests or rewards.

These were real people. They ran from war just like anyone else.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, something new stirred in Arlon's chest.

Anger.

It wasn't loud or uncontrollable. It burned quietly, steadily, beneath the surface.

He hadn't felt this way in a long time. Not since he'd stopped letting himself care.

But now, standing in the ruins of what should've been a safe place, thinking about the people who had once lived here—he felt it.

And he made a silent promise.

Asef wouldn't walk away from this war.

Arlon would be the one to end him.

---

The others didn't ask Arlon how or why he didn't need to log out.

Arlon was already someone who didn't share much about himself.

But if he didn't tell them about this fact that could change the war, it meant that he couldn't do so.

Instead, they wanted to hang out.

For just a moment—joke around, talk nonsense, sit down somewhere, and breathe. Not as warriors. Not as leaders or living legends. Just as friends.

But they didn't have time.

And every single one of them knew it.

The war was at its final threshold. Whether they won or lost, the outcome would be decided soon.

There was no escaping it. No more running, no more stalling.

Only the end.

So, instead of relaxing, they gathered in the courtyard, forming a loose semicircle around Arlon and June.

The sky above was just beginning to lighten with early morning hues, and the air held a chill that hadn't yet burned off.

The laughter from earlier was gone now, replaced by something steadier—silent resolve, the kind forged not by bravado but by everything they had already survived.

Arlon looked at them.

Seven of the strongest players in the world, standing shoulder to shoulder. Not just strong. Reliable. Hardened. Ready.

"I didn't think you'd get this strong in just two months," Arlon said finally, his tone somewhere between surprised and impressed. "You surpassed my expectations."

They blinked, caught off guard for a second by the rare compliment.

But Arlon meant it. As someone who had reached level 300, he could feel it in their presence—the subtle force that lingered behind their steps, their mana, even their stillness.

He didn't need to ask their levels to know they had each crossed the threshold.

Over level 150. All of them.

It was more than just a number. It was a statement.

That they had earned their place here.

That they could be trusted with what came next.

If there had been time—if the war wasn't breathing down their necks—he might have used the Eyes of KETA* on each of them. Seen their weaknesses, identified the cracks in their growth, helped patch them before the final fight.

But they didn't have time.

And their current strength would have to be enough.

It was already more than he had hoped for.

As that realization sank in, a few of the Gamers allowed themselves a smug grin.

Zack crossed his arms and tilted his head like he was trying to act casual, but the satisfied glint in his eyes betrayed him.

Pierre gave a slight nod, proud and steady.

Lei didn't say anything, just raised one eyebrow with a smirk that said, of course we did.

Carole looked away with a soft smile.

Maria, Carmen, and Evan shared knowing glances.

Arlon let them enjoy it for a moment, then continued, voice steady. "I can entrust you with the last Demon now."

That made their expressions shift.

The atmosphere, already serious, sharpened even more.

"But there's a reason I told you not to attack him before," Arlon said, gaze firm. "His level isn't his strong suit."

They listened closely now.

"He's the one controlling the lower-level Keldars. Even though they're supposed to be mindless, he's the one keeping them coordinated. Without him, they scatter."

That fact settled over the group like a weighted blanket. Some of them exchanged glances—Carole furrowed her brow, and Evan's lips tightened.

This is why Arlon didn't fight him before he climbed the Tower.

He could beat him. One-on-one, it was not impossible. But killing him would've thrown the entire battlefield into chaos.

Also, saying he could kill him might've been a little generous.

Not because he was strong. Even though he was the second strongest Demon after Syme, Arlon could beat him back then.

But the real reason was that he was the one Demon personally safeguarded by Asef.

And that changed everything.

He was the most important piece on the board, so of course, Asef would keep him safe.

Even in his last life, Arlon could only kill him thanks to a mistake Asef made.

Was it a mistake? Arlon wondered.

Last time, Asef had left.

Arlon hadn't understood where Asef had gone or why he would leave the one Demon he was meant to protect—especially after nearly wiping out the strongest defenders of Trion.

But now… he had an idea.

There weren't many places Asef would go. Not at a moment like that.

Not with so much at stake.

Still, it didn't matter. Not yet.

This wasn't the time to dig into it. The only thing that mattered now was the plan.

"The plan's not that complicated," Arlon said, looking at each of them in turn. "You—" he gestured to the Gamers, "—will take care of the number one Demon."

June didn't react.

She already knew.

Arlon went on. "Asef won't protect him today. He can't. Because if he does… we'll have a chance to go after him."

The implications hit hard.

It wasn't just about surviving anymore.

It was about ending it.

And they were all part of that endgame now.

Arlon glanced at the horizon. The sky was beginning to brighten further—streaks of gold and violet bleeding through the clouds.

A new day.

But one with no guarantees.