Arrived, affected area

At noon that day, the caravan set out, a procession of white moving steadily under the blazing sun. The believers in their pristine robes, the ivory chariots, and the pure white horses formed a striking sight as they rolled forward, their pale figures shimmering in the daylight.

The destination—the site of the next disaster—was not far. What should have been a brief journey extended into the late evening, even though the Heroes could have easily outrun the carriages on foot. But the slow pace was deliberate, and Anyi found himself staring out the window, boredom creeping in as the familiar landscape passed by.

Inside the carriage, Ariana and Miruku sat slumbering against each other, their delicate forms creating a peaceful, picturesque scene. Their exhaustion was palpable, as they had scarcely rested since their trek through the jungle. Now, the gentle rocking of the carriage had lulled them into sleep. Across from Anyi, Layton, too, had succumbed to slumber, his head bobbing against the opposite window, mumbling incoherently in his sleep—a noise that grated on Anyi's nerves.

Unlike his companions, Anyi could not afford to sleep now. His body still buzzed with the energy and instincts from his past experiences as a Hero. He knew all too well that if he allowed himself to rest now, sleep would evade him when it was needed most—during the perilous night ahead.

Sighing, he pulled his attention away from the window and glanced down at the map in his hands. Three red X's marked the disaster zone, each one a Hero lost. The symbols stood out like wounds on the parchment, an ominous reminder of what awaited them.

Goblins, the lowest of all monsters, were more than capable of killing ordinary humans, but Heroes? That was a different story. Even a Hobgoblin would struggle to harm a Hero with any reasonable amount of durability. Layton, with his strange talent for boosting his stats, had somehow managed to push his durability to an absurd 29 points. Even if a Hobgoblin battered him for hours, it would be hard-pressed to leave a mark.

Durability was not just a measure of health, but of resistance. A Hero with decent durability could stand firm against a Hobgoblin's attacks. The creatures were neither fast nor agile, with common Goblins sitting at a meager 4 points of agility, and Hobgoblins only slightly faster at 5. 

Anyi himself had a base agility of 3, and with a bit of foresight and careful movements, he could easily dodge the Hobgoblin's clumsy strikes. In their current party, only Ariana would be at risk from the Hobgoblin's brute force, but her magic would ensure that no monster, Hobgoblin or otherwise, could get within striking range.

No, it wasn't the Goblins that concerned him.

For Heroes to fall so quickly in such a place, there were only two explanations that made sense. The first: a monster had appeared, one far beyond the abilities of those Heroes to handle. It could have been a higher-level creature or a sudden surge of monsters.

The second possibility was far more insidious.

A civil war.

Heroes, bound by the same system, could still harm one another, though not in the conventional sense. Weapons and skills granted by the system could not physically wound other Heroes. They could feel pain, yes, but their bodies would bear no scars, and their HP would remain untouched. The true threat came from within—the "special abilities" that were unique to each Hero.

From the moment they were chosen, the system had made it clear: Special abilities could be taken by other Heroes.

In his previous life, Anyi had witnessed the dark side of Heroic power—Heroes betraying their comrades in order to steal abilities. It was a vicious practice, but one that some embraced, seeking to become stronger by any means necessary. They would deliberately endanger their teammates, forcing them to use their special abilities in moments of desperation. And in that moment of exposure, the traitor would shout the exact description of the ability infront of that Hero, claiming it for themselves.

The cruelty of this act lay not just in the theft, but in the consequences: once a Hero's ability was taken, that Hero's lineage ended. If the Pig Hero or Dog Hero lost their ability, there would never be another of their kind. The system allowed it by design, fostering an environment where the strong devoured the weak. A Hero with multiple special abilities was a dangerous force, a superhuman capable of turning the tide in the final Holy War against the Demon Lord.

One hundred Heroes, each with a single ability, would pale in comparison to one Hero with dozens.

Not all Heroes were righteous. Whether driven by greed, ambition, or fear, some would stop at nothing to strengthen themselves. Their ultimate goal was always the same—to vanquish monsters—but the means by which they sought that power varied. Once a Hero's ability was stolen, they were not left powerless; they retained their stats and their system connection. In theory, they could reclaim their lost ability after a month—but that rarely happened. The traitor always made sure the original Hero was dead before that month could pass.

Placing others in danger was the perfect way to cover such murders. It was a double-edged tactic, simultaneously eliminating threats and bolstering one's own strength.

But stealing a special ability was not without its risks. The exact wording of an ability's description had to be guessed perfectly, and that was no simple task. For example, Anyi's special ability was [the power to split an enemy in two], and the starting conditions is to shout [A sword]. However, an outside observer might assume the ability was "after shouting 'a sword,' you gain the power to kill an enemy." If the guess was even slightly off, the ability couldn't be taken, and the opportunity would be wasted.

There were other, more subtle betrayals. Some Heroes, trusting their comrades completely, would willingly give up their ability. It was an act of desperation, an ultimate act of faith in another. Others, more deceitful, would worm their way into the trust of their companions, tricking them into giving up their abilities before betraying them.

At this stage, though, few Heroes even knew such transfers were possible. They were too new, too inexperienced, to suspect such treachery. But Anyi knew better. In his past life, he had acquired many abilities—most given to him willingly by those who had reached the end of their journey. They had entrusted him with their hopes, their dreams, their legacies. In the end, though, Anyi had perished in the final battle against the Demon Lord, unsure whether he had even made a difference. 

As the carriage rattled onward, Anyi flipped the map of the disaster zone over in his hands, staring absently out the window. He had failed them before, those comrades who had believed in him. He wondered, if fate granted him a second chance, whether he could keep them alive this time.

The sky had darkened by the time they reached their destination. The disciples, draped in white robes, followed behind as the caravan came to a halt. A lone Hero, lucky enough to have survived, was already waiting for them.

Word had reached him of their recent victory over the slime infestation in the nearby village—a feat that hardly seemed impressive to someone who had once escaped a Goblin ambush. To him, slimes were creatures even a child could kill. Still, these were Heroes, and as their senior, he felt a responsibility to watch over them.