Chaos engulfed the southern gate just as fiercely as the north. Mines erupted like scattered thunder, and the battlefield roared with clashing steel. Lug, fully transformed into his bestial wolf form, hurled himself into Meteor's ranks with twin daggers flashing. His bracelets and anklets—usually jingling on his limbs—had been discarded. Only claws, fangs, and raw instinct remained.
Elsewhere, Anastasia stood with both hands extended, weaving invisible patterns through the air as she murmured a quiet incantation. Two scarlet threads of blood stretched from her fingertips, trembling like taut strings desperate not to snap. The chant wasn't for power—it was for focus. A personal ritual to steady her will.
The blood thread reached the corpse of a Meteor caught in the earlier mines. Through the lingering warmth of its blood, Anastasia seized control.
And from that moment on, that blood belonged to her.
A furnace-like blaze burst into existence, consuming the corpse in an instant. Magically charged blood ignited like burning oil, splashing across nearby Meteors. The monsters shrieked as they collapsed, the flames spreading again and again in an unbroken chain.
Lug's ears twitched. His tail bristled. The scorching heat swept rapidly toward him.
"Not again—!"
He bolted away from the firestorm, bounding over Meteor skulls and landing beside Anastasia with a gasp. Her expression already twisted into guilt.
"Ugh… Annie… you little—"
"It was an accident!" she squeaked. "I've been practicing my blood-thread technique and thought this was the perfect moment and—"
"You didn't SEE me in there?! Did you want to cook me alive?!"
Her eyes grew wet. Then wetter. Then she burst into helpless sobbing, her powers faltering as her emotions spilled over. The burning chain reaction sputtered, and the Meteors began to stir again.
Lug panicked immediately.
"Stop crying! Stop—no, seriously, now's not the time—okay, okay! It's my fault! I'm sorry! There, you happy?!"
"Hueeeng…"
Desperate and annoyed, Lug snapped toward the third member of their team.
"HEY, NOBLE! FAN LADY! BLUE HAIR! DO SOMETHING!"
But Maiael didn't move. Her sky-blue hair drifted gently in the heated wind as she stared blankly ahead, buried deep in her thoughts.
Why hadn't her magic sword reached the giant earlier? Why did Connor separate to fight it alone? If the red mask could distort time and skill, how strong could Connor become while wearing it?
Lug shouted every nickname he could think of, but nothing worked. Anastasia cried harder, the fire vanished entirely, and the Meteors regrouped.
Left with no choice, Lug used the one nickname he swore he'd never speak again—the one Connor had used to snap Maiael out of her spiraling thoughts.
"HEY! MAYU!"
Maiael's head snapped toward him so fast that Lug flinched. Finally awake, she watched the Meteors charging in.
"You're the strongest one here!" Lug barked. "Please—just clean them up—"
"Lug."
Her voice froze the air. Lug shut his mouth instantly.
Maiael drew her magic sword. "Don't call me that again."
Then she dashed forward. A single horizontal slash unleashed a storm of wind blades, shredding Meteor ranks by the dozens. Lug could only rub the back of his neck bitterly.
"…Connor got a pass, but I get yelled at? Why?"
Meanwhile, the central battlefield drowned in blood and smoke. Connor carved through monsters in brutal succession—goblins, orcs, reptilian beasts—his dwarven blade now stained purple. Professor Master Muscle fought beside him, crushing Meteor skulls with casual brutality.
"Can you keep fighting, Connor McCloud?" the professor shouted.
"Still holding up fine!"
Their banter sounded light, but the situation was anything but. Even with traps layered three deep and Lanius raining fire from above, the enemy numbers refused to thin fast enough. For every monster they felled, two more pressed forward.
Connor's hand drifted toward the mask inside his coat.
Kyle, should I use it?
[Not yet.]
Why?
[Your body can't sustain that swordsmanship for long. The giant hasn't appeared. Save everything for that moment.]
Connor clicked his tongue but relented.
Then—pain.
A sharp blow struck his forehead. His vision blurred. His legs buckled.
The giant's presence washed over him like icy venom.
The professor moved instantly, smashing a Meteor before it reached Connor's throat. "Are you alright?!"
"…It's him. He's coming."
A terrifying magical force approached from afar. Connor steadied his breathing. The timing felt inevitable.
"Professor, step back."
"What? You're still—"
"I'll handle this."
Blue mana surged around Connor's hand, shaping itself into a horned crimson mask. A monstrous visage, carved as though from a forgotten legend. Meteors retreated instinctively, sensing the murderous presence brewing in the air.
"A mask…?" the professor breathed.
Connor held it tightly.
"My future self used this. Some of his memories… some of his battles… they all remain inside."
The professor hesitated but stepped away.
Then the ground trembled.
A giant, five meters tall, emerged from between the trees. Its head replaced by a blazing purple core. A living creature—yet not truly alive. Its club dragged across the earth with a sound like splitting stone.
Connor exhaled.
"Let's go."
The mask latched onto his face.
Memories not his own surged in—footwork, sword forms, killing angles, the instinctive knowledge of a fighter far more experienced than him.
[Type 1. Mask of the Demon.]
Connor stepped forward.
Professor Master Muscle stared. It was Connor—yet it wasn't. Something in the boy's presence had shifted into something deeper, darker, sharper. The dissonance rattled the professor's thoughts.
How did he gain this strength? When did he have time? During the hall test? And Principal Parcaso—just what did he plan?
His spiraling questions were cut short when a Meteor pounced from behind. He smashed it away and shook his head.
No time for mysteries. Survive first. Ask questions later.
A shriek echoed across the sky—the sound of something massive being pierced through.
Connor had begun.
And the battlefield trembled in response.