The group of survivors and heroes consisted of 14 people. As they walked through the long, rocky maze-like paths, Daryl began explaining the so-called "System" to everyone. That strange hologram was referred to as the "System" because that's what people called it in a bunch of cliché web novels.
"The System is only granted to people younger than 40, give or take," Daryl began.
When he explained this, the older survivors looked visibly disappointed, some even a little broken.
Daryl continued, "According to our records, there are over 30 of these powerful creatures."
"For example, there's the Creature of War, the Creature of Explosion, and the Creature of the Undead."
"And what about the other 27?" Negan, one of the younger survivors, called out.
"I forgot their names," Daryl admitted honestly, smiling awkwardly with both eyes closed for a second.
"Ah, got it," Negan muttered and turned away.
Huff-huff, Daryl faked a cough to get everyone's attention again.
"Anyway, like I was saying—based on our records and observations, people are granted personalized abilities. For example, healers who used to be surgeons get unique healing powers that allow them to repair organs and stuff like that."
"And the most important thing: the fragments."
"Fragments?" Jack piped up, almost tripping over a tree root. "Oh, you mean that weird counter at the bottom? 0/100 Fragments, right?"
"Exactly," Daryl nodded. "You earn fragments by killing beasts or other monsters. When you absorb the glowing fragments they drop, your inner essence grows stronger."
"But there wasn't anything about essence mentioned in our System?" Mira, wearing her signature pink blouse, asked with a confused look.
"Yeah, we were confused too at first," Daryl admitted. "But if you overuse your abilities, you'll pass out. That's when we realized essence was involved. You feel it when you absorb fragments, or when your essence regenerates after using a power."
"And what happens when we hit 100 fragments?" Mira asked again, curiosity lighting up her eyes.
"No clue," Daryl replied, gazing off into the distance.
About 40 minutes later, the group came across several paths leading downward into the ground. Daryl explained that these were entrances to a dungeon—much more dangerous than the surface of the Earth, or rather, the giant, circular maze they were stuck in.
They kept moving, step after step until they reached a massive, flat dead end. But it wasn't empty—there were small, makeshift tents scattered around, along with wooden signs. The first sign they noticed read: Welcome to Heart Citadel.
Some of the survivors let out relieved sighs, while others wept openly with joy.
To Jack, it felt like he was witnessing the birth of a new village. But deep down, he couldn't help feeling disappointed—disappointed that he was stuck in the healer class instead of being a fighter.
"If only I'd had these healing abilities back then..." Jack thought to himself, his chest tightening as he exhaled heavily.
"Alright, we've arrived. Set up a tent and then report to the mayor," Daryl announced, before letting the group disperse.
Most of the survivors paired off into twos or threes, using the opportunity to get to know each other better. Only Jack stayed on his own. Despite everything he'd done—like saving that elderly woman earlier—he received no recognition. Not even a simple "thank you."
"What am I even expecting?" Jack muttered, shrugging his shoulders as he walked toward the main tent to borrow a tent and check in with the mayor of this small citadel.
...
"Name and age?" asked a man with long blond hair and a dirty blue robe.
"Jack Aston, 17 years old," Jack answered, meeting the man's brown eyes.
"Alright, Jack. You can call me Spencer," the man said with a grin before his face shifted into a more neutral, professional expression.
"So, what's your ability? Or wait—let's start with your class."
Jack hesitated for a moment before admitting, "I'm a healer."
"Interesting… Hmm, healers are in high demand right now," Spencer said, nodding as if impressed.
"In demand? Aren't there enough healers?" Jack asked, tilting his head.
"In demand?" Spencer repeated with a dry chuckle. "The opposite. We have plenty of healers. But we've got even more injured people—some barely clinging to life."
The mood turned heavy for a moment, an uncomfortable silence filling the air. But Spencer, clearly used to breaking such tension, quickly moved on.
"Anyway, thanks for being honest. Oh, here." Spencer handed over a bundle of tent materials, lifting it with both hands before placing it in Jack's arms.
As Jack accepted the heavy load, he nearly dropped it, the weight catching him off guard. He barely managed to steady himself before leaving the large tent, offering Spencer a faint smile of gratitude.
Carrying the bundle, Jack trudged toward the cluster of other tents, scanning for a free spot where he could set up his own.
"Over here!" a voice suddenly called out. Jack turned toward the sound and saw someone waving at him from one of the nearby tents.
Realizing they were talking to him, Jack walked over, curious to see what was going on.
"