Chapter 89: The Midnight Warden’s Chest

Luke ran like a shadow through the crumbling ruins of the city, leaping over shattered rooftops and sliding across rotted wooden beams. He had mapped this area dozens of times. He knew every corner, every hidden path used by the Midnight Wardens, and every spot where the Reward Event chests appeared.

The event came once a week. The chests glowed in the darkness like the bait of a deep-sea predator. They also emitted a high-pitched tone, something between an alarm and a distorted chant.

That was what attracted the creatures. Giant insects. Centipedes, crickets, mutated rats. And monsters that looked like kobolds, only green and scaled.

It also drove the Midnight Wardens into maximum alert. They became agitated, reactive. It was an event, but it was also a trial.

Risk and reward.

Luke landed on another rooftop. The wood beneath him groaned, nearly gave way, but he didn’t stop. At the end of the street, there it was: a chest, glowing like a bonfire in the darkness, surrounded by a nest of abominations.

What Luke was about to attempt wasn’t something even a full team could pull off easily. He would have to fight through all those monsters, reach the chest, open it, grab everything, and escape—before a Midnight Warden arrived.

But he knew. If he ever wanted to fight one of them, this was the first step.

With HP and mana potions, humans could last longer. They could fight, use stronger abilities, recover faster. With strategy, with planning, they might someday isolate one of the Wardens and bring it down.

But everything started there. That street. That chest

It began.

Luke dropped into the middle of the horde, and the moment his boots hit the ground, his body moved on instinct.

[Demonic Blade Dance – Activated]

[Afterimage Created – Dancing Mimic]

No hesitation. No mercy.

The first cricket raised its leg. Luke was already moving—slipping through the swarm like smoke through cracks. He jumped, spun, dashed. His kukris sliced through the air, carving crimson arcs in the darkness. Behind him, the mimic mirrored each strike a beat behind, finishing what Luke left breathing. Legs, jaws, limbs, skulls—everything was cut down in fluid, lethal motion.

[You have slain…]

[You have slain…]

He split a mutant rat clean in half. Sprinting across the armored back of a centipede, he vaulted into a spinning dive that carried him straight through a pack of monstrous hounds. A scaled kobold lunged at him with a spear. Luke kicked off a collapsing beam, dodging the thrust mid-air. The mimic landed the counter, driving its blade through the kobold’s chest without pause.

[You have slain…]

[You have slain…]

[You have slain…]

He came down hard, kukris embedding into another creature’s neck, then spun again—trailing blood through the air like paint across canvas. Behind him, a trail of mangled bodies marked the path of his assault.

[You have slain…]

[You have slain…]

He had reached the chest.

It glowed faintly, vibrating in place. That hum—piercing, constant—sank into his bones, syncing with the pounding of his heart. He approached, drawn in by instinct more than thought. His fingers reached out.

The lid opened with a subtle click, releasing a stream of golden light that spilled across his blood-smeared face.

“There’s a lot in here,” he muttered, eyes scanning the depths. The problem with these enchanted chests was always the same: bottomless magical storage. Too much, too messy.

He shoved aside heaps of gold, digging through cascading coins that rang out against the stone floor. His hand swept deeper.

“Come on… where are you…” he murmured.

Then—glass. Cold. Familiar.

He pulled.

[Simple Healing Potion – Restores 150 HP]

Potions!

Without wasting a second, he tossed the potion into his storage necklace. The vial vanished. One, two, three, four—he filled it with healing and mana potions, only the essentials.

But that wasn’t all. Cans of food. Cheese. Seeds. Cartons of eggs.

And then…

Sausage and bacon.

Luke’s eyes widened.

How long has it been since I had this?

But now wasn’t the time for nostalgia. He shoveled everything in, stacking and clearing space as fast as he could. The inside of the chest was too narrow for tossing things out—the quickest method was dumping it straight into the necklace.

Seeds. More potions. Coins shoved aside. He kept pulling out vials without pause.

That was when he felt it.

Eyes.

He looked up.

A Midnight Warden stood atop a rooftop—massive, silent, glowing with primal intent. The air vibrated. Then the creature roared. The sound tore through the street, rattling his bones, sinking deep beneath his skin. Luke didn’t wait. He turned—and saw another one. At the far end of the road.

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Two!

Before he could move, the first spear came.

A blur of motion, steel cutting through the air. Luke dropped and rolled, shadows wrapping around him as he activated Basic Dark Dash. The projectile tore through the space he’d just occupied, obliterating the wall behind him. A house crumbled under the force.

He caught his balance just in time to see the first Warden leap from the rooftop—its landing cracked the stone and sprayed debris through the air. Even before its feet touched the ground, it was already charging, a living battering ram wrapped in black fury.

No weapons. Not yet.

Luke dove through the nearest window, crashing into a side room just as the impact hit. The Warden’s fist shattered the wall behind him. Luke was thrown like a ragdoll, smashing into furniture and crashing to the floor. He scrambled to rise. The roof split apart as the second Warden crashed through it, the house buckling under its weight. Stone and timber rained down. Luke rolled beneath a half-shattered table, lungs burning, every instinct screaming.

Two Wardens. At once. it was a hunt.

He vaulted out through another window just before the next spear arrived. The projectile hurtled past and detonated into the side of another home, sending a plume of dust and smoke into the night sky.