Near the Northern Mountain – An S-Rank Gate
Hope exhaled slowly as the last remnants of the S-rank gate dissolved behind her, the swirling purple vortex collapsing in on itself with a final, thunderous crack. The air, thick with residual mana and the smell of ozone, began to clear.
Around her, the other heroes were already dispersing, some heading toward the medical tent, others gathered in small groups, debriefing and clapping each other on the shoulders.
Hope ran a hand through her sweat-damp golden hair, pushing it back from her face. Her silver-white armor was scuffed and dented in a dozen places, and there was a shallow cut on her forearm that she hadn't even noticed during the fight. Her mana reserves were running on fumes.
A tall man from the Crimson Blade guild approached her, his armor still immaculate—because of course it was, he'd spent most of the fight on the periphery, casting support spells from a safe distance.
