“One thing,” said Shane.

  His voice was low, but it cut through the frenetic murmurs of the group like a blade.

  Luke cocked his head slightly. “And that is?”

  “I’ll handle the Roses’ spores alone,” Shane stated calmly. “Have the ranged combat cover for the rogues and melees fighting the Paladins instead of wasting mana.”

  The air went still as if all the oxygen was sucked out of Brownsville. Every hunter stared at Shane, most with disbelief, but others like Whitley with open mockery.

  “…Are you serious?” asked Luke, skeptically.

  Shane gave a curt nod, his expression unreadable.

  He saw Luke’s eyes dart sideways for a split second toward where Josh Miller was standing with his own party. Josh was listening intently, his arms crossed, making no move to stop Shane.

  Shane knew exactly what was going on in Luke’s head.

  Luke, being the head of the information guild, was the only person here who had pulled Shane’s official file. He knew for a fact that Shane Ashwell was registered as an F-rank hunter.

  But for the last half an hour, he’d been watching Josh Miller, the famous Appraiser, and the Wynn Guild treat this same F-rank with a deference usually reserved for veterans or a hidden ace.

  Until now, for Luke, it had likely been a manageable curiosity.

  Perhaps he’d rationalized it and thought Shane possessed a niche non-combat skill, like a unique buff that the Wynn wanted to monopolize.

  But Shane’s words had just changed the context completely.

  Handling a B-rank horde—especially a Celestial-class horde where overlapping curses would be abound—was a task that was functionally impossible for an F-rank.

  Which meant only one thing: Shane had faked his rank.

  Could a hunter like that be trusted?

  Luke’s gaze shifted from Shane to the widening fissures in the reality behind them. The dimensional groan was getting louder.

  He had to decide which data to bet their lives on.

  But Shane knew which option Luke would choose.

  Because the math was simple.

  If Luke trusted Shane, and Shane died instantly, what was the loss?

  All they’d lost is a single F-rank, and Luke could simply order the ranged squad to revert to their original plan immediately after Shane fell.

  But if Shane truly was a hidden ace... if he could actually neutralize the biggest environmental threat on the battlefield solo...

  Then their party’s success rate would skyrocket.

  Basically, this was a free option that cost Luke nothing.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  If Shane died, they were no worse off than they were before. If Shane succeeded, Luke would look like a visionary commander for spotting the hidden talent, cementing his authority over the party.

  Shane saw the moment Luke made his decision.

  Whitley, however, almost jumped at Shane’s words.

  “Are you cra—”

  “Understood,” Luke said, cutting Whitley off with a raise of his hand. “We’ll leave all the Roses to you, Hunter Ashwell.”

  He locked eyes with Shane, adding a condition before turning away.

  “But report immediately if you find them overwhelming. There’s no reason to risk your life in a mission like this.”

  The corner of Shane’s mouth ticked upward in the barest hint of a smirk.

  It was exactly what he wanted.

  He had mentioned the boss’s healing skill, [Sacrificial Legion], earlier on purpose, specifically to guide them toward this conclusion. To eliminate every other option from their terrified minds until trusting the F-rank was the only logical step left.

  It was the only way to make these cowards at least pretend to hit the minions, even if it was just so they could say “I did my job” before they tried to run.

  All he needed was for each of them to pull their own weight for a few minutes. To spill as much blood—be it human or monster—as possible for Shane.

  He wasn’t expecting anything more than that.

  Then, Shane would take the head of the Heaven’s Executioner.

  ***

  “The dungeon is opening!” Luke shouted, his voice barely audible over the groaning roar erupting from the rift.

  The tear in the sky had gotten so high that it was way over the red buildings of Brownsville.

  Everyone scrambled to their positions.

  A desperate, frantic hope seemed to spread through the group.

  That if they just tried their best and stuck to the plan, they might survive this.

  The air shimmered violently, tearing open like wet paper. A wave of pressure blew over them, their hair immediately laying flat on their scalp. They needed to squint just to stay in formation.

  The Heaven’s Executioner stepped out of the broken gate.

  A five-story giant constructed of living marble.

  Its movements matching that of a machine more than a living creature, it marched with stiff precision, a walking cathedral of judgment whose every footfall made the asphalt tremble. A halo of burning light spun slowly behind its simple, smiling face.

  At its feet, the legion followed out.

  Dozens of Paladins marched out in perfect formation, their boots striking the ground in unison, like the beat of a heavy drum sounding the start of a war. Their polished armor gleamed under the unnatural light of the rift, and their movements synchronized with a terrifying, unified purpose.

  [You have entered the range of ‘Aura of Judgment’!]

  [This is a wide-area curse skill deployed by the B-rank Paladin legion.]

  [All stats are temporarily decreased by 30%.]

  “Ugh!”

  “My, my legs...!”

  Before they could even attempt the hit-and-run strategy on the Paladins, screams erupted from all sides.

  Then the ground rebelled.

  As the asphalt beneath the hunters’ feet exploded, giant, thorny vines tore through the apvement of the parking lot and streets.

  Crimson roses sprouted from the concrete, growing as tall as a man.

  Their flower petals unfurled with a wet, sticky sound, releasing clouds of gold-dust spores into the air. The more experienced hunters managed to dodge the initial eruption, but most had been sent sprawling, knocked off their feet by the violently growing flora.

  “Watch out!”

  Less than thirty seconds after the breach opened, their front line had completely collapsed.

  Everything was chaos.

  Their only sliver of hope—the only thing preventing an instant massacre—was Henry Stone.

  Hidden from sight, the B-rank tank made his move.

  The massive marble foot of the Heaven’s Executioner lifted to take a step that would have crushed three hunters flat—and stopped.

  Its entire body froze.

  Henry’s [Bind] skill had actually worked.

  The five-story giant strained against the golden chains, paralyzed before it could fully enter the battlefield, its body still half hidden in the rift.

  As expected of a guy with S-rank potential, his skill was on another level.

  But there was no telling how long it would hold.

  Luke Hinton had given Henry an A-rank [Stealth Cloak], so he was invisible to everyone but his own party.

  “…The [Bind] worked?” he whispered, hardly beleiving it. Then, finding his voice, he yelled over the explosions from the Roses that were still popping up.

  “A-attack!”

  But before the order had even fully left Luke’s throat, a single shadow had already darted past the collpasing front line.

  Straight into the golden cloud of spores.