Cha Hae-In's specialty was speed. Her style built on refined swordplay, then layered on a dazzling, relentless offensive—blows coming so fast they overwhelmed the eye, pressing an opponent down like a driving squall.
So the clash between Scáthach and Cha Hae-In was, at its core, a summit duel of pure speed.
Ordinary eyes couldn't even catch the afterimages of their movements. All that could be seen were the shockwaves exploding from each weapon collision—bursts powerful enough to pulverize rock—and the streaking aura of mana around Cha Hae-In, dragged out by her velocity like flowing light.
As the tempo sharpened—faster, harder, more urgent—Cha Hae-In's gray-black irises gradually bled into a brilliant, molten-gold sheen. A fiercer golden flare surged from her blade, and the terrifying speed flung it trailing behind her, sketching a pair of radiant wings in the air—beautiful, magnificent, as though granting her speed beyond the mortal realm.
"Not bad," Scáthach said, still with enough leisure to offer commentary. Her vermilion spear moved with casual, effortless parries, her posture composed. "I can tell from your form—you're nothing like those green rookies. You've truly put in the work with the sword. Before you became a Hunter, did you receive formal training?"
In stark contrast to her calm evaluation, Cha Hae-In's expression had gone grave, fine beads of sweat already gathering.
Even pushing her speed to its absolute limit, even pouring out sword-light like wind and rain, she still couldn't so much as brush the edge of Scáthach's clothing—let alone touch a single strand of hair.
If Scáthach were simply suppressing her with overwhelming speed and strength far beyond her own, that would be easy to understand. But that wasn't what was happening.
From beginning to end, Scáthach used only speed and power on the same "line" as Cha Hae-In.
Invisible.
That was the unsettling part.
Whenever Cha Hae-In launched a sharp, committed attack, the seemingly plain vermilion spear in Scáthach's hands would, in that instant, become like a mana-charged magnet—clamping onto Cha Hae-In's blade.
Every strike that should have landed, every attack she'd been certain of, would twist at the most crucial, most abrupt moment—against her own intent—veer off at an impossible angle, and be dissolved by Scáthach with the smallest motion and the least effort.
Cha Hae-In had always known Scáthach was unimaginably strong. She'd even watched more than once as Sung Jinwoo got beaten senseless in one-sided fashion.
But knowing and seeing were still only knowing and seeing.
Now, standing opposite Scáthach with her own blade pointed at the Queen of the Land of Shadows, that strength—and that wrongness—was no longer a vague idea or someone else's story. It became a cold, biting reality that seeped into her skin, into every pore.
And at last she understood, fully and viscerally, what Sung Jinwoo had felt when he fought Scáthach—pouring everything he had into the struggle, only to sink as if in a mire, every technique and every ounce of force quietly unraveled by something unseen.
The fight on Scáthach and Cha Hae-In's side was ferocious—clashing shockwaves, energy surging and scattering in bursts so violent that even without the heightened senses he possessed, Sung Jinwoo could tell how intense it was.
And yet he didn't have the luxury of even glancing over.
Right now, he had his own problems.
Because Scáthach was personally instructing Cha Hae-In, she didn't have the spare attention to "look after" Sung Jinwoo—so, very thoughtfully, she assigned him a "class exercise," or perhaps a "pop quiz."
Without the slightest regard for his wishes, she shoved a massive egg into his arms—basketball-sized, from some unknown creature—and told him that until she permitted it, no matter what happened, he was not to drop it or damage it.
To make sure of it, she carved a powerful rune script into the shell, making the egg stick to him as if it had grown into his hands. No matter how he strained, he couldn't pry himself free.
"So… what the hell kind of egg is this?" Sung Jinwoo demanded, his dread sharpening into certainty.
"This is—ah. Looks like the egg's owner has come to find you."
Scáthach didn't finish the sentence.
She didn't need to.
Before Sung Jinwoo's eyes even caught the shape, what he sensed first was a vast life force and surging mana—violent and scorching, like the heart of a living volcano. The pressure hit like a physical tidal wave.
A monster that should not exist in reality.
An ultimate fantasy standing above all life.
Compressed to an extreme, wild mana streamed around it. Its blood was like boiling magma beneath the earth—packed with raw power and the taste of destruction. It possessed a massive body that was both majestic and sleek, sheathed in dark scales.
Its huge golden slit-pupils burned with towering rage as the dragon locked onto Sung Jinwoo—cradling the egg—and unleashed a roar so thunderous it felt like it could tear the soul apart.
"ROAAAR—!!!"
Hot wind slammed into his face. Sung Jinwoo felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over his head. He nearly flung the egg away in panic—or rather, he desperately wanted to hurl this red-hot disaster out of his hands, but the tragic part was: he couldn't.
The dragon's aura was even more terrifying than Demon King Baran had been back in the Demon Castle. No question about it—aside from Scáthach, this was the strongest thing Sung Jinwoo had ever encountered.
"This is way too much!!" he shouted, on the verge of collapse.
"That's exactly why it's good," Scáthach said, utterly without tension. "A body that large—don't you think it has real value as something to beat up? It's a dragon, you know. Dragonkind is famous in countless myths. And the ones who slay dragons are, without exception, the pinnacle heroes of those myths. Well? Excited?"
"The gap is insane! I'm going to die!"
"It's only death," Scáthach said breezily. "You should cross that gap with sheer willpower…"
She paused, then continued as if reconsidering.
"I'd like to say that, but even in my Land of Shadows this dragon is a rather powerful monster. With your current ability, it's still too early to defeat it. So I've lowered the requirements. Today, your goal is to survive its pursuit. If you can hold out until dinner, that's enough. I'm counting on you."
And just like that, with the utmost irresponsibility, Scáthach abandoned Sung Jinwoo and let the dragon "take care of him" in her stead.
The idea of fighting the dragon head-on never even crossed Sung Jinwoo's mind—because it was impossible. Both his hands were glued to the egg. He couldn't even draw a weapon. How was he supposed to have a chance?
He could only roll and scramble across the ground in disgrace, barely dodging a dragon's breath hot enough to melt rock. Feeling the heat wave burst at point-blank range—stuffed with pure destructive force—Sung Jinwoo screamed over his shoulder at the dragon that refused to let up.
"Stop chasing me! Your baby was shoved on me by my shishō! Even if I wanted to give it back, I can't! If you've got a problem, go find Scáthach—!!"
"ROAR—!!"
The dragon ignored his cracked, near-tearful howl completely. To it, the human holding its egg was the only target in the world.
Its powerful draconic heart thudded like a war drum. Even more terrifying mana gathered and compressed in its chest. Its jaws opened—
—and a dragon's breath even more violent, even more scorching, poured out like a breached flood of molten lava, surging straight at Sung Jinwoo.
He tried sending his shadow soldiers to block it, or at least draw its attention.
In that annihilating, searing breath, they were no sturdier than paper. In an instant they were reduced to ash, unable to buy him even a heartbeat.
Even Igris, Tank, Iron, and Tusk—his most dependable elite commanders—could at best take a grazing hit at the edge of the breath. Then they too were instantly vaporized, returning to shadow.
Trying to distract it didn't work either. Even when Sung Jinwoo had Igris wield Demon King Baran's sword, it was difficult to pierce the dragon's scales and actually harm it. And the dragon didn't care about the harassment in the slightest—its eyes held only Sung Jinwoo, clutching the egg.
Fortunately, he still had Kaisel.
Compared to the dragon, Kaisel's body was far slimmer, granting it agility and quickness in motion. Astride Kaisel's broad back, Sung Jinwoo—rising and juking with his mount's rapid climbs and turns—finally managed to steal a precious sliver of breathing room.
Unfortunately, that reprieve didn't last.
When the dragon behind them threw back its head and roared—its cry carrying the crushing pressure of bloodline dominance—terrifying dragon might swept out like an unseen tsunami. Kaisel's body jolted violently, as if every shred of strength and will had been ripped away. It let out a mournful cry and, like a kite with its string cut, lost control and plummeted from the sky.
What Sung Jinwoo didn't know was that wyverns, like drakes, were only lesser dragonkin. Their bloodline's purity and rank couldn't begin to compare to a true pure-blooded dragon. Under the suppression of a higher pure-blood's draconic aura, they had almost no resistance at all.
Which meant, in the end, Sung Jinwoo could rely only on himself.
After being put through so many inhuman drills by Scáthach, he might not have improved evenly in every area—but his will to claw his way through desperate straits, and the bag of tricks he'd amassed for staying alive, had improved by leaps and bounds.
It was that cockroach-stubborn vitality that let him endure hours of the dragon's frenzied pursuit and still be alive.
After being chased for hours by a dragon for no apparent reason—skipping across the edge of death more times than he could count—any normal person would have a great deal of resentment piling up inside.
Sung Jinwoo was no exception.
His body and mind were both at their limit. Exhaustion and tension blurred his thoughts. Heat rushed to his head, and he roared the honest words he'd been swallowing for hours.
"Damn it! That purple old hag—"
Before the final, deeply insulting word could fully leave his mouth, a purple figure appeared in front of him like a specter.
Scáthach's long, powerful leg snapped out like a whip. Too fast for the eye to follow, it slammed into his abdomen.
"Guh—!"
Pain detonated through him. Sung Jinwoo felt his organs shift out of place as his body folded in on itself, curling like a shrimp tossed into boiling water. Whatever he'd meant to shout next got rammed back down his throat.
Far away, on another hillside, Cha Hae-In—steadying her breath—stared blankly at the empty training ground in front of her and blinked in confusion.
Just a second ago, Scáthach had been standing opposite her, calmly correcting her swordwork. The next, she'd vanished as if she'd never existed—no trace left behind no matter how Cha Hae-In looked around.
What Cha Hae-In didn't know was that the master she was searching for was currently sitting squarely on Sung Jinwoo's stomach.
Scáthach didn't say a word.
She just punched him—again and again—solid, heavy blows crashing into his face. Every punch precisely avoided vital points, yet drew blood every time, perfectly demonstrating what "physical education" truly meant.
Scáthach's sudden intervention made the dragon—having enjoyed the chase immensely—freeze for a moment. But it quickly recovered.
It still hadn't gotten its egg back.
So it gathered its courage and rumbled a series of low growls toward Scáthach and Sung Jinwoo.
Those poorly timed growls succeeded in making Scáthach pause mid-punch.
Slowly, she turned her head. Her expression darkened as she looked at the dragon, and she squeezed a single icy syllable out from her throat.
"DA?"
She said nothing else.
She only stared at it—coldly.
Under that look, the dragon's massive body went rigid, as if frozen by invisible ice. It immediately withdrew every trace of its violent aura and draconic might. In its golden slit-pupils—so full of brutality moments ago—there appeared, forcibly, an almost human hint of ingratiating flattery, as though its eyes were hurriedly sending a message:
It's fine! It's fine! We can talk about the egg later! Please, you go ahead—do what you need to do! I'll wait nicely over here! I absolutely won't interrupt you disciplining your disciple!
The terrifying dragon that Sung Jinwoo couldn't defeat even with everything he had—the one that had chased him into utter misery—was reduced, with a single cold glance from Scáthach, from a world-ending beast into a meek little cat that didn't even dare breathe too loudly.
It was terrifying.
Seeing the dragon behave so sensibly, Scáthach ignored it—and went right back to beating Sung Jinwoo senseless.
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T/N: LMA)OOOOOO CALLED HER A HAG AND PAID FO RIT