The blue glass of Hanae's barrier shattered. It sounded like a dropped chandelier, a sharp, crystalline explosion that sent sparks raining down on Rika's face.
The Worg's claw didn't stop. It tore through the fading magic and raked downward.
Move.
The word screamed in Rika's head, not as a thought, but as a panic-induced spike of adrenaline. She didn't know how to fight. She didn't know how to hold a dagger properly. But her body... her body knew she was a Rogue.
Her Agility stat was 6. It was double that of Ren.
As the claw descended to rip her chest open, the world seemed to lurch. She threw herself to the right. It wasn't a graceful roll like in the movies; it was a desperate, flailing scramble.
RIP.
Pain flared hot and white along her left arm. The beast's claw sliced through the silk of her pajamas and carved three deep, red lines into her skin.
"Ahhh!" she screamed, scrambling backward on her hands and heels, kicking dust into the monster's face.
The Worg snarled, annoyed by the miss. It turned its massive head, jaws snapping, ready to finish the job. Rika hit the stone wall. Nowhere to go. She stared into the yellow eyes of the monster, her heart beating so fast it felt like it was bruising her ribs.
I'm sorry, she thought, tears blurring her vision. I'm sorry, Mom.
Then, a blur of flaxen hair and desperate screaming slammed into the beast.
Ren didn't think. He didn't check his stamina. He just ran.
The [Divine Guidance] was flashing red in his vision, a chaotic web of warning signs.
WARNING: TARGET AGGRO HIGH. PROBABILITY OF INTERCEPTION: 40%.
"Get away from her!" he roared.
He didn't swing the sword like a warrior. He swung it like a baseball bat. The flat of the blade slammed into the Worg's ribs with a dull THUD.
It wasn't enough to hurt the monster, but it was enough to piss it off. The Worg yelped, stumbling sideways off Rika. It whipped around, abandoning the crying girl to face the new threat.
Ren stood between Rika and the beast, his chest heaving, his hands shaking so hard the sword tip wavered. The Worg growled—a low, vibrating sound that Ren could feel in the soles of his boots.
It's huge, Ren realized, the adrenaline freezing in his veins. Up close, the Worg was a nightmare of muscle and matted fur. It smelled of rotting meat.
The Line appeared again.
Golden Thread: Throat. Thrust upward. Force required: 450 Newtons.
Ren's arm throbbed. He couldn't generate that force. Not with his stats. But if he didn't try, Rika was dead.
From the balcony, Sir Caelric Valdorn watched with cold, analytical disappointment.
Messy, he thought. They are a litter of puppies fighting wolves.
His grey eyes tracked Daigo, who was struggling to hold off two Worgs at once. The boy had heart, and his [Iron Skin] was holding, but he lacked technique. He was just a meat shield.
He looked at the Rogue, cowering against the wall. Useless. She has the speed to sever the beast's hamstring, yet she freezes.
Then his gaze landed on Ren.
The Hero was standing his ground. His stance was terrible—feet too close together, elbows locked. But his eyes... his eyes were tracking the beast with supernatural precision.
"He sees the kill," Valdorn muttered to the Mage beside him. "But he is terrified of taking it."
"Should we intervene, Captain?" the Mage asked nervously. "The Rogue is bleeding."
"No," Valdorn commanded. "Let them bleed. Pain is an excellent teacher."
"Get off him! Get off Daigo!" Toru screamed, panic making his voice crack.
Daigo was on his knees, shield raised, as two Worgs hammered away at him. The Vanguard was groaning, his grey metal skin chipping away under the assault.
Toru held out his hand. His palm felt like he was holding a live coal. The heat of [Ignite] was crawling up his wrist, making the veins in his forearm bulge.
Aim. Just aim, you idiot.
But his hands were shaking. If he missed, he'd cook Daigo alive.
"Toru! Do it!" Daigo roared from under the shield.
"Screw it!" Toru squeezed his eyes shut for a second, pushed more mana into his hand—too much mana—and threw.
WHOOSH.
A jet of fire, unrefined and wild, exploded from his hand. It wasn't a ball; it was a flamethrower. It washed over the left Worg, catching its fur instantly.
Now.
While Toru was celebrating and the burning Worg was thrashing, the third Worg was distracted. It had turned its head to look at the fire.
Hinata didn't yell. He didn't announce his attack. He was terrified, yes—his bladder felt like it was going to let go—but his Class gave him a singular, cold instinct.
Opportunity.
He stepped out of Daigo's shadow. He didn't use a skill. He just used the distraction. He lunged forward with his dagger, aiming for the Worg's exposed flank.
...
It was just Ren and the Alpha now.
The other students were screaming—a chaotic mix of battle cries and panic—but Ren couldn't hear them. His world had narrowed down to the yellow, hate-filled eyes of the beast in front of him.
The Worg circled him, low to the ground. It sensed the blood dripping from Rika's arm. It sensed Ren's trembling legs. It knew this prey was weak.
Ren gripped his heavy steel sword. The recoil from his earlier training sessions throbbed in his shoulder, a dull ache that spiked with every heartbeat.
I can't overpower it, Ren realized, watching the muscles bunch in the beast's hind legs. My Strength is 3. If I swing, it will just bat the sword away and rip my throat out.
The Golden Line shifted. It changed from an attack vector to a counter-measure.
Wait. Wait. Wait.
The Worg roared—a spray of saliva hitting Ren's face—and sprang. It was a blur of grey death, seventy pounds of muscle launching itself through the air.
Ren didn't try to dodge. He didn't try to slash.
He dropped to one knee, planting the hilt of his sword against the packed dirt floor. He angled the blade upward at forty-five degrees, bracing the flat of the steel against his shoulder.
It wasn't a sword technique. It was a pike formation.
SHHH-THUNK.
Gravity did the rest.
The Worg impaled itself. The tip of Ren's sword entered the soft white fur of its chest, punched through the ribcage, and erupted out of its spine.
The impact was horrific. Ren felt the heavy, wet weight of the monster slam into him, knocking the wind out of his lungs. Hot blood geysered over his face, blinding him in red warmth.
"Ghh!" Ren grunted, pinned under the thrashing weight.
The beast wasn't dead yet. It snapped its jaws inches from Ren's nose, its claws raking weakly at his arms. It was dying, but it wanted to take him with it.
"Die!" Ren screamed, squeezing his eyes shut against the blood. He shoved the sword handle deeper, desperate to end it. "Just die!"
The thrashing slowed. A final, wet rattle bubbled in the beast's chest. Then, it went heavy. Dead weight.
Ren shoved the corpse off him and scrambled backward, crab-walking away until his back hit the cold stone wall. He wiped the blood from his eyes, his chest heaving.
He had done it. He had taken a life.
"Hold him! I can't hold him forever!" Daigo bellowed.
Across the pit, the chaos was far from over. Daigo had the second Worg pinned against the wall with his tower shield. The beast was scrabbling at the metal, its claws carving deep gouges into the [Iron Skin] protecting Daigo's arms.
"Hinata! Stab it!" Daigo roared.
Hinata was standing behind the beast, his dagger dripping. He had stabbed it once in the flank, but his hands were shaking so bad he couldn't find a vital organ. "I... I can't get a clean shot! It's moving too much!"
"Move!"
Mei Tachibana sprinted past Hinata. The [Lancer] had been frozen a moment ago, terrified by the sheer size of the monsters. But seeing Daigo struggle snapped something inside her.
Realistically, if we hesitate, we die. Her own words echoed in her head.
Mei didn't scream. She didn't close her eyes. She gripped her spear with both hands and thrust it forward with cold, terrified precision.
Skill: [Piercing Strike]
The tip of her spear glowed blue. It drove into the Worg's neck, right behind the jaw, and severed the spinal cord.
The beast went limp instantly, sliding down Daigo's shield.
Mei yanked the spear out, stumbling back. She looked at the blood on her weapon, her face pale. "I... I got it."
The third Worg—the one Toru had torched—was the worst.
It wasn't fighting anymore. It was rolling on the ground, whimpering. The fire had gone out, but its fur was charred black, and the smell of burnt flesh was sickeningly sweet. It tried to stand, but its legs gave out.
Toru stood over it, his hands smoking. He looked horrifyingly pale. He had wanted to be a cool mage. He had wanted to shoot fireballs like in an anime. He hadn't realized that fire didn't just deal damage numbers—it cooked living things.
"Finish it," Valdorn's voice commanded from the balcony.
Toru looked up, tears in his eyes. "It's... it's already down."
"It is suffering," Valdorn said coldly. "You started the fire, Pyromancer. Have the decency to put it out."
Toru swallowed hard. He looked at the whimpering pile of charcoal. He raised a shaking hand.
"Ignite," he whispered.
A second blast of fire engulfed the beast, silencing its whimpers for good.
Silence fell over the arena.
The only sounds were the heavy breathing of the students and the drip-drip-drip of blood falling onto the dirt.
Sir Valdorn uncrossed his arms on the balcony. He looked down at the carnage. It was messy. It was uncoordinated. But they were alive.
"Training complete," Valdorn announced.
The heavy iron gate rumbled open.
"Medics, attend to the Rogue," Valdorn ordered the support staff. "The rest of you... clean yourselves up. You smell like victims."
Ren sat against the wall, staring at his hands. They were stained crimson up to the elbows. He looked at the dead Worg—the Alpha he had killed.
A moment ago, it had been a terrifying monster. Now, it was just a pile of meat and fur.
A wave of nausea rolled over him. Ren leaned to the side and retched, vomiting bile onto the dirt floor.
"Ren!"
Rika crawled over to him, clutching her bleeding arm. Her face was streaked with dirt and tears. "Ren, are you okay?"
Ren wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, smearing more blood across his face. He looked at Rika. He looked at the fear in her eyes. He had saved her. But he didn't feel like a Hero. He felt like a butcher.
"I..." Ren rasped, his voice raw. "I'm fine."
He stood up on shaky legs, offering a hand to Rika. She took it, gripping him tightly.
As the adrenaline faded, a dark thought settled in Ren's mind. Is this what Sora is doing? Is this what he escaped?
For the first time since the banquet, Ren didn't feel pity for Sora. He felt jealous.