For four seconds, her body became intangible, a transparent purple silhouette. All those attacks—arrows, magic, energy—passed right through her, leaving no trace, striking the ground or even their own allies on the opposite side. The sound of explosions and panicked screams filled the air.
Four... three... two... one.
[Phase Shift] ended.
She still stood in the same place. Unscathed. No dust on her shoulder.
"You missed my cooldown," Nyxaria whispered, and this time her voice sounded in everyone's ears, a whisper directly in their minds. "[Shadow Step] is ready again."
And she vanished once more.
This time, she appeared right before the leader paladin, who stood somewhat behind them with a pallid, stony face. Nyxaria was already before him before the man's pupils could dilate. She didn't attack. She merely extended her hand, and with the tip of her index finger, touched the center of the paladin's [Holy Guardian's Plate] breastplate.
BOOM!
A different sound—not loud, but deep, like a death knell being struck. That Epic armor, which should have been resistant to darkness energy, didn't shatter. But a perfect crack, spiral-shaped like a spider's web, appeared right at the point of that contact. From that crack, thick black smoke poured out. The paladin was hurled back ten meters, fell tumbling, not seriously injured but left gasping for air and stripped of all his protective buffs.
Physical damage minimal. Mental damage maximal.
Panic erupted like wildfire. Formation collapsed. "She can't be hurt!" "Her skills are strange!" "System, why is there no HP bar?!"
Nyxaria now stood again in her original place, as if she had never moved. She gazed at the crowd beginning to descend into chaos. A panicked archer, his hands trembling, released arrows blindly. The arrow flew—not toward Nyxaria, but sideways, straight toward a young priestess who was trying to recite a protection spell.
Mara's reflexes screamed inside. No!
Nyxaria moved her hand. Not [Shadow Step]. Not any registered skill. Just the speed of AGI 7,200 in motion. She caught that arrow in the air, from a distance of fifteen meters, with a blurred motion that made some players retch from dizziness. She held the still-vibrating arrow, looked at it for a moment, then snapped it with two fingers.
"Even to kill their own, you are careless," she said. Her voice now contained something new: a very human disgust, seeping from the cracks of the Demon Queen persona. "Is this what is called 'heroic'?"
Silence fell again, but this time it was different. This was the silence of shame, fear, and a dawning reality. They had thrown everything. The boss hadn't even drawn a weapon yet. Hadn't summoned forces. Hadn't activated any 'phase'. She just... stood. And they had already lost.
A rogue, perhaps the most pragmatic, began to retreat slowly. Then a mage. A wave of despair spread.
"Leave." Nyxaria spoke that word. Not a shout. Not a threat. A statement.
"Or you won't have a second chance. This sanctuary is not your dungeon. I am not your loot. Now. Disappear from my sight."
That was the final blow. The authority in her voice was irrefutable. Some players immediately turned and ran, without a care for their comrades. Others retreated with devastated faces, dragging their injured friends. The leader paladin was carried away, his head bowed in total defeat.
In less than three minutes, the stone plateau was empty again. Only footprints remained, extinguished totems, and scattered pieces of shattered weapons.
Nyxaria remained standing, watching them leave. Inside, Mara took a deep, virtual breath. I... did it. Without [Death's Embrace]. Without killing anyone. They... just fled.
A strange relief, mixed with emptiness, flooded her. She felt weary. Not physically, but mentally. Maintaining that impenetrable figure was exhausting.
[System Feedback: Non-Lethal Encounter Registered.
Entity: Nyxaria.
Outcome: Territorial Defense – Successful.
World Rumor Mill: Active.]
Good. Let them spread rumors. Let them be confused. A boss that's aware. That talks. That doesn't kill. That will buy more time than piles of corpses.
She turned, preparing to [Shadow Step] back to the sanctuary.
"Wait."
That voice came from behind a large boulder at the plateau's edge. Someone who hadn't fled.
Nyxaria turned. From behind that boulder, a player emerged. Unlike the others, she wasn't wearing gleaming armor. Just simple leathers, with a faded camouflage cloak. She wasn't brandishing a weapon. Her right hand was empty, raised waist-high, palm open forward. The universal sign for 'I am not hostile'.
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
She stepped forward slowly, until about twenty meters away, then stopped. Then, with a slow and clear motion, she raised her hand and removed her helmet.
Under that helmet was the face of a woman, perhaps the same age Mara used to be. Short black hair, cut unevenly. Her face bore an old scar on her cheek, and her eyes—an ordinary gray—held a profound exhaustion. An exhaustion that didn't come from today's battle, but from something far older.
The woman looked directly into Nyxaria's eyes. There was no blind fear there. Only calculation, sharp observation, and a decision that seemed already settled.
She took a breath, then spoke words that weren't in any raid scenario, words that halted Mara—and Nyxaria—where they stood:
"I want to join you."
"Join."
That word hung in the air between them, heavier than the residual magic dust from the flight of sixty players. Nyxaria didn't move. She didn't need to. The world around them held its breath—the wind whispering carried the scent of retreating fear, leaves ceased swaying, the gray sky light seemed to focus on the two figures facing each other on that stone plateau.
The woman, Seris, remained standing with her helmet cradled in her hand. She didn't approach. She didn't lower her still-open hand. That was the posture of a trained scout—ready to retreat, ready to defend, but choosing to do neither. Her gray eyes observed Nyxaria not with awe or loot-lust, but with a deep, analytical exhaustion. An exhaustion that knew numbers, patterns, and the price to be paid.
Join. Join? I have a long list of needs: a non-existent tutorial system, a real-world guidebook, a psychiatrist for eight thousand hours of trauma. But a 'player' willing to join? That's atop the 'things potentially stabbing me in the back' list, number one, sub-category 'Crimson Crusaders'.
Nyxaria remained silent. Weighted Silence was her weapon, and now it was filled by calculations spinning rapidly in Mara's head. Level 78. Arcane Scout. A build focused on mobility, reconnaissance, and long-range magical attacks from concealment. Ideal for an assassin or, more pertinently, a spy. Simple leather armor, camouflage cloak. Not for show, but for disguise. She didn't flee with the others. She was already in position before the battle, observing. She calculated the risk and chose to approach.
"Why?" Nyxaria's voice broke the silence, flat, devoid of questioning inflection. More like a demand for a report.
Seris drew a deep breath, as if she had awaited that question and prepared a weighed answer. "Because they," she nodded toward the distant traces of flight, "are running toward more of the same noise. While You," her eyes met Nyxaria's directly, "stood in the silence and won without bloodshed. That... is not normal. And in this world, 'not normal' is the only thing that still holds my attention."
Fine, praise. Or observation. Or a cunning plan. My gamer logic says: verify.
"You are a player," Nyxaria said, and this time the sarcasm of isekai'd Mara seeped through, cold and piercing. "I am a raid boss. A walking loot box. Isn't the logic that you should try to kill me, or at least run while screaming 'hell, hell'?"
For the first time, Seris's flat expression cracked. A thin, bitter, utterly weary smile touched the corner of her mouth. "I've followed that logic. For the past two years in this world. The result: my guild disbanded, my friends died or turned into bastards who only see the numbers above people's heads, and I'm tired." She paused, weighing her words. "Tired of pretending this is still a game where death means respawn. Tired of the 'hunt the weak' culture. And especially, tired of people like them," another nod toward the distance, "who see everything, including You, only as a sequence of phases and rewards."
Her words struck true. Right into the deepest core of Mara, into the scar of forty-seven deaths. But trust isn't given freely. Trust is the rarest bug in any system.
"Tell me," Nyxaria commanded, her voice suddenly lower, more dangerous. "What do you know about the Crimson Crusaders?"
Not 'do you know them'. But 'what do you know'. A test. A simple trap.
Seris frowned, then nodded slowly, as if understanding the game. "Toxic guild number one. Led by Draven Kross, a charismatic psychopath who treats this world as his private playground. They specialize in spawn-camping, robbing weak players, and now... they're targeting You. Since the system announcement about the active 'Catastrophe-Class Entity', they've raised the crusade banner. They call it 'The Greatest Endgame Event'. They're gathering forces, not just from their ranks, but recruiting other players with promises of mythic loot and... freedom to do anything after You fall."
Each word was a hammer blow to the ice in Mara's chest. So they're still there. And now they have an official reason. They're even using my own fear—that Catastrophe status—as a recruitment tool.
"And you?" Nyxaria asked, taking a single step forward. Just one. The distance between them narrowed, and the aura previously restrained began to seep out—not a killer's aura, but a ruler's aura demanding accountability. "Why not join their crusade? The promise of mythic loot should be tempting."
Seris's face wrinkled in genuine disgust. "Because I've seen their version of 'freedom'. It's just another word for massacre. I was once in a guild they destroyed for refusing to join. I witnessed... things that even the system couldn't record with numbers." She glanced at her own hands for a moment. "And hearing that You didn't kill the party that came before, only drove them away... that's the most illogical thing to happen in Aeternum since this world became real. Either You're more dangerous than they think, or You're not what they think. I chose to find out, even if it's my last mistake."
Honest. Or a superb liar. My CHA stat is 9,500, it should detect major falsehoods... but there's no guarantee. In games, there are always items or skills that deceive detection. What would a veteran gamer do?
The answer came immediately. You don't grant full access. You administer a test. You set a trap that can only be passed one way.
Nyxaria raised her right hand. Not to attack. Her index finger glowed with a soft purple light, and she began to write in the air—complex, glowing rune after rune. Not an offensive spell. This was [Contract Zone].
A circle of purple light, with a radius of exactly thirty meters, expanded from beneath her feet, engulfing them both. The air within that zone changed; became static, silent, and filled with a subtle pressure like being in a cosmic courtroom.
"[Contract Zone]," Nyxaria's voice echoed with system authority. "For five minutes, within this area, no violence can be committed. And lies..." she looked at Seris, "...will be punished." She didn't explain the punishment. Let the scout's imagination and survival instinct work.
Seris straightened, her face alert but not panicked. She understood the rules of this new game.
"This is your test," stated Nyxaria. "Not for me. For you. If you're truly disgusted with their game, then play by mine. I will ask three questions. Answer truthfully, with your whole self. If you survive, we will talk further. If not..." she shrugged, a human gesture stark against the sacred atmosphere, "...you will leave with a terrible headache and a valuable lesson."
This is insane. Truly insane. But at least this... is different. Not 'attack or flee'. This is quest dialogue with real stakes. I need information, and she needs to prove something. A potential win-win. Or a shortcut to disaster.
"I agree," said Seris, without hesitation. Her voice was clear in the absolute silence of the [Contract Zone].