A helper? Why is there one here?
Well, whatever the reason—an extra hand meant extra strength!
Without hesitation, Darrick chose to summon him. Sure, the bald guy glowing inside the summoning sigil didn't exactly look trustworthy…
But they were all adults—how could he judge someone by appearance alone? Darrick decided that Patches looked fine. That wasn't a treacherous face—it was clever. Smart.
And Darrick liked smart people.
Back on the battlefield, the fight had reached its peak.
Seven against one—no, six now. Terl was dead.
Still, the battle's outcome didn't seem entirely hopeless.
The Hunter's movements were wide and sweeping. He wasn't relying on stalling tactics or cheap tricks. His weapon, the Saw Cleaver, was deceptively short yet hard to read, constantly catching anyone careless enough to step too close. Combined with his ghostlike dodges, it was nearly impossible to land a clean hit.
Not that it was the adventurers' fault. Wade had given the Hunter absurdly high evasion stats—almost like he could read their inputs before they acted.
If someone could just get close enough—risking life and limb—to pin him down, the others could finally strike.
Bang!
A gunshot cracked the air. The adventurer who had tried to sneak up behind the Hunter dropped to his knees.
But before the Hunter could finish him, Roger emerged from stealth and forced the phantom back with a sharp, precise slash.
"What the hell is that weapon?" Maru hissed. "It's so loud—don't tell me it's enchanted with lightning magic?"
Drew shook his head. He sensed no mana from the gun. That meant the weapon dealt purely physical damage.
Such a thing shouldn't even exist. He wanted to bring it back for study.
And now he really regretted not learning Disarm Weapon when he had the chance.
Bang!
Another shot. Blood sprayed from Roger's shoulder, though this one wasn't a counter—it was a regular attack.
In the Dungeon, gunshots that weren't timed as parries weren't especially lethal—roughly equal to a low-tier magic missile.
"Grab him, Roger!"
Drew shouted. Roger gritted his teeth and lunged, enduring two slashes just to lock the Hunter's arms.
"[Mid-Tier Slow]!"
A burst of mana flared. The spell hit!
But it caught both Roger and the Hunter—splitting the effect.
"I'm coming!"
Maru dashed forward, cutting a diagonal line across the Hunter's chest.
He retaliated, but slowed by the spell, his cleaver missed by inches.
"Haah!"
Roger thrust his sword straight for the phantom's heart—
—but the Hunter suddenly roared, pulling something from his coat. In an instant, the slowing effect shattered.
One slash. Roger's abdomen split open, spilling his guts in a grotesque spray.
"Damn it!"
The fight had reset to its chaotic balance once again.
Then—a sharp whistle tore through the air. A projectile flew toward the Hunter.
He slashed it apart—but its contents splattered all over him, coating his coat in slick, pungent liquid.
The smell—oil?
The Hunter turned—and there he was. A golden, bald man with a greatshield in one hand and a spear in the other, flinging a firebomb.
It missed, of course. But the oil on the Hunter made him slip, his movement faltering.
"Patches! You go left—I'll go right!"
Darrick charged. Patches gave no reply, just flashed a sly grin and barreled in, shield-first.
Shield bashing—cheap, irritating, brutally effective. Even the Hunter struggled to break through that defense. Patches didn't let up for a second.
"Who is this guy?" Maru blinked.
"Looks like a helper," Drew said, astonished. "Who even has the time—or resources—to draw a summon sign for strangers right now?"
"He looks… really shady," Maru muttered.
Yet, for some reason, once Patches joined the battle, everything flowed smoother. The Hunter's movements slowed, his rhythm disrupted. He was reduced to dodging and firing desperately.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Gunfire echoed through the fortress like rolling thunder.
"Whoa!" Maru barely ducked a swing from the cleaver, stumbling to the ground.
Patches extended a hand to her.
"Th-thank you," she stammered, bowing slightly.
Patches only smiled, turning back toward the fight.
Maybe he's not such a bad guy after all, Maru thought, a flicker of guilt touching her chest for judging him earlier.
The Hunter was tiring. Everyone could feel it—the moment to strike was now.
They prepared to rush in together for the final blow—
"Raaaaagh!"
The air erupted with howls and screeches—monsters!
"The noise from that weapon attracted them!" someone shouted.
Of course! That was why the Hunter had kept firing!
How dirty!
A tide of Ghru surged toward them. Then the Hunter pulled out a small dagger and sliced it through the air.
[Invader "Hunter" has returned to his original world.]
"What!?"
He… ran away?!
[You have received the Hunter's Gift: The Hunting Manual.]
[You may now view information on all hunted creatures.]
Some kind of new feature? No time to think about that now!
Dozens—hundreds—of monsters were flooding in. There was no hope of holding this position.
"Run!" Drew roared.
He turned to flee—then felt someone grab his arm.
"Take… take me with you…" Roger gasped, pale and trembling.
"Your guts are hanging out! How are you even alive!?" Drew cursed, but still hoisted Roger onto his back—intestines and all—and bolted.
Maru turned to follow—but paused, glancing back toward Patches.
[Helper "Patches" has returned to his original world.]
Oh. Well, that solved that.
The survivors sprinted for their lives.
But the monsters kept coming. Ghru after Ghru, until the entire fortress seemed to be chasing them.
"Could that guy really have drawn all this attention!?" Maru screamed. There was no way a few gunshots could attract so many. It was like the dungeon itself was helping the Hunter!
Their formation shattered. By the time Maru managed to break free of the horde, she was completely alone.
She'd reached the fortress's edge. Ahead lay only a bottomless abyss—one step forward meant death.
Beside it, a cave flickered faintly with torchlight, beckoning.
Maru hesitated. She knew better than anyone—something that inviting had to be dangerous. She took a cautious step back.
"Hey, little miss! Over here! Don't let the monsters see you!"
"Who's there!?"
The voice was sharp. Greasy. Sly.
"It's me! I helped you earlier, remember? Quick, get in here!"
Maru crept forward—and saw that golden bald head glinting in the firelight.
Patches.
He was crouched by the flame, grinning up at her.
"You… didn't you leave?" she asked, surprised.
Her guard lowered immediately. Not just because he'd helped her, but because of something every adventurer now believed—
Helpers were good people.
After all, there was Stella—the beloved "Warrior of Sunlight," adored by countless players for her kindness.
And the Church of Fire's faithful "Warriors of Sunlight" who patrolled the dungeons to save others—symbols of selflessness.
Even if they weren't as strong as Stella, their generosity had built an unshakable image:
Warrior of Sunlight = Good Person.
And while Patches wasn't one of them, he was a helper. That had to count for something… right?
"It's a long story," Patches sighed. "I did leave, but right after, someone else summoned me again! Monsters chased me the whole way—I didn't even get the chance to use my Return Knife. So I ran and ran until I found this safe spot."
He even explained the "Return Knife"—a tool that let helpers go home.
"I'm sorry," Maru said sheepishly.
"No worries, no worries! I get to keep helping you, don't I? Heh heh."
That made her like him even more.
They chatted idly while resting in the cave. Then Patches pointed to a chest tucked in the corner.
"I see you've been eyeing that chest," he said. "I'll be honest—I found some loot earlier and stashed it in there. Want to take some?"
"Huh? Oh, I couldn't possibly…" Maru waved her hands quickly.
"It's fine! I can't carry it all anyway," Patches said with a friendly grin. "Go on—take a look."
Maru hesitated, then stepped forward and carefully opened the chest—tensing for reasons she couldn't explain.
Nothing happened.
Inside were herbs, moss, potions—simple supplies.
"Phew…"
She exhaled in relief. Why had she been so nervous? Did she really think Patches would hurt her?
She took a few items—not much, but enough to make her trust him completely.
Sharing loot was the ultimate sign of friendship among adventurers.
"Alright, let's get moving," she said eagerly.
"Hold on," Patches said suddenly. "I think I dropped something over there. Can you check for me?"
He pointed—toward the cliff.
"It fell down there? There's no way to get it back," Maru frowned. Still, she trusted him. She walked to the edge and peered over.
Nothing but fog. But she thought she saw a faint glimmer below.
"I think I see it! Maybe I can—"
She never finished.
Behind her, Patches' tone shifted—slick and mocking.
"No need. Thanks for checking, though, you little fool."
"Wh—?!"
Thud!
A heavy shove. She'd already leaned too far over the edge—there was no recovering.
"KYAAAA—!"
As she plummeted, she caught one last glimpse of Patches' grinning face.
Why!? We were comrades!
Until the moment she hit the ground, Maru couldn't understand it. But one thing became perfectly, eternally clear in her mind:
Patches! The next time I see you, I'm smashing that smug face in!
Maru's tragedy wasn't unique.
That day, every adventurer who had fulfilled the same three conditions—
entered Farron Keep, been invaded by the Hunter, and summoned Patches—met the exact same fate.
By the next morning, wanted posters for Patches were plastered all over the Adventurers' Guild.