It was an emergency announcement a few moments ago. By decree of King J himself, the fastest royal knights were dispatched to the different training grounds where the academy’s students were scattered.

  Artin, of the horse-insignia royal knight class, was a [Druid]. Unlike most of the Royal knights, his strength wasn’t speed in his human form, but his skill [Transform] gave him a weapon of equal measure. If he chose correctly, he could rival even the fastest class in the kingdom.

  Now, the skill was in effect. His body was no longer human. His form stretched and reshaped, his bones grinding as muscle layered thick over them, and his frame became that of a four-legged predator—feline in outline, but larger than any man. His paws struck the earth with silent precision, claws retracting with each step. The wind tore past his ears, trees blurred in streaks of green and brown. Fangs like daggers glinted under the canopy as he loped forward, his strides long and relentless.

  He smelled smoke before he saw the battlefield.

  In the distance, he finally found Professor Fin standing alone. The man’s clothes were scorched, but his body remained unbroken—broad shoulders squared, hands wrapped tight around a massive spear. The long shaft was blackened from burns, its steel tip gleaming like cold fire in the sunlight. Fin’s stance was that of a wall—rooted and unyielding. Each thrust kept the enemy at bay, the reach of his weapon making even seasoned fighters hesitate to step within striking distance.

  Several enemies already lay skewered or bleeding on the ground. Others lingered, hesitant, but none dared breach the professor’s circle of range. Behind him, the students clung to his presence as though it were a fortress.

  As expected from a northern man, Artin thought as he leapt from a ridge, landing soundlessly on the branch of an oak. His predator’s eyes swept the field and locked on their backline. The group of [Mage].

  Three of them stood weaving chants, and though their faces showed strain, they were the only reason Fin remained pinned. No matter how skilled, even a warrior with a spear could not cross while fire and lightning rained to hold him back. Not when a group of students were behind him.

  Artin didn’t hesitate.

  His form was not built for raw speed, but stealth. His paws struck the earth like whispers, his massive frame cloaked by the forest’s shadows. One heartbeat they were chanting, the next his presence loomed over them.

  The first two never even screamed. His paw crushed one’s chest with a sickening snap, claws tearing through cloth and bone. Another fell as his fangs clamped down on the skull, silencing the spell in a spray of blood.

  The remaining three turned just in time to hear his roar. It wasn’t simply sound—it was instinct made manifest, a predator’s bellow that froze prey in place. The hesitation was brief, but it was all he needed. A swipe tore through one’s throat, and another was trampled beneath his bulk.

  Silence followed.

  With their [Mage] gone, Fin’s grin returned like iron. He surged forward, spear blazing with skill-light. The weapon became a storm in his hands, each thrust and sweep extending like a wall of death. When he struck the ground, the spear’s tip glowed with a surging AOE skill, and the earth itself shuddered as the shockwave blasted outward.

  The frontline shattered. Men screamed as they were hurled aside, impaled, or swept from their footing. Within moments, the fifty who had pressed so fiercely against him were broken—dead, unconscious, or scattered into the forest. Professor Fin did not let those who ran escape easily; his strides were long, spear sweeping arcs as he cut down stragglers.

  When the dust settled, only the students’ ragged breaths filled the clearing. All tense and trembling from the sight of the bloody battlefield.

  Artin shifted back. His feline form folded into flesh and bone, his body contracting into that of a man again. Black hair fell against his brow, his jawline sharp but his frame leaner than one would expect from a knight. A small gold insignia of a horse gleamed faintly on his chest—proof of his station among the royal knights.

  “Do we have casualties?” His voice was clipped, urgent, though relief softened his eyes when he saw the students alive.

  “No,” Fin answered, wiping blood from his cheek. He planted the spear into the dirt, the weapon taller than he was, its tip still glowing faintly. “You came just in time.”

  Artin raised his hand. “[Lesser Heal].” A gentle glow seeped into Fin’s bruised shoulder, knitting minor wounds, closing cuts.

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  Fin exhaled, nodding. “Thank you. I have no idea who these men are. But we will investigate. I have students here capable enough to assist.”

  Artin’s jaw tightened. “According to the report, this is not isolated. It may be happening in every training ground.”

  Fin’s face darkened. His fingers rubbed at the stubble of his chin, eyes narrowing. “This… is not a good news.”

  Artin straightened, already preparing to leave. “I will go to Professor Wor-en next.”

  …..

  Yuri was baffled. Kana suddenly broke formation, leaving their backline wide open. Vulnerable. Rin’s shield and mace were solid, sure, but could Rin really hold against a sudden charge?

  Why not just rain arrows like always? Why gamble?

  Then Kana moved.

  Yuri’s breath caught. It wasn’t running—it was closer to vanishing. A blur of black hair cutting straight across the mud, faster than anything Yuri had ever seen. Maybe because of her buff [Enhance Speed], maybe something else entirely.

  The painted man met her halfway, blades flashing with frightening precision. For a heartbeat Yuri thought—finally, Kana overstepped. But then the truth snapped into place. Kana didn’t just fight him. She drowned him. Every strike from the man was met, redirected, undone. Her daggers flickered in and out, not frantic but almost playful. Toying with him.

  Yuri shivered.

  A minute—two at most—and the painted man broke. He bolted, sprinting towards Suri’s black wall of illusion while Kana hesitated but didn’t chase.

  Suri dropped the black wall, revealing the enemy’s [Mage]. Bloody. Still. A skeleton stood among the corpses, empty eyesockets tilted their way.

  The boys roared, victory spilling from their throats. They’d survived. They’d won.

  Kana walked back slowly, as if nothing had happened. She didn’t even glance after the fleeing man.

  “Most of them are still alive. We must shackle them.” She produced a coil of rope from… where?

  Yuri blinked.

  “Are you sure you don’t need to chase that guy?” Leo asked.

  “Ah… don’t worry. I have some special skills.” Kana drew a dagger, its blade glimmering with a faint purple dripping like a thick water. She smiled.

  Leo and Yuri took a step back.

  Kana grinned, amused at their reactions, “It’s only a sleeping type of poison.”

  Yuri wasn’t sure if that was really a good thing.. It seemed they were too used to this kind of situation.

  …….

  Wor-en lost count of how many times they hammered the wall, but every strike carried the same desperate prayer: let it not be too late.

  At last, the mud-and-stone gave way. It cracked, groaned, then collapsed in a coughing cloud of dust. No one cheered. No one dared. The atmosphere was too tense.

  Wor-en didn’t wait for the dust to clear. He leapt through the opening, dagger flashing free at his hip.

  On the other side—

  Adam froze mid-motion, rope still tight around the wrists of a captive. Wor-en’s eyes swept the scene, his gut tightening as he counted heads. Nine. Only nine. Who’s missing?

  His heartbeat hammered in his ears.

  “What happened here?” he demanded, sprinting toward Suri and the cluster of copper-class students. “Where is Kana?”

  “She chased one of the attackers,” Suri replied evenly.

  “What? Why?” His voice cracked sharper than he meant. She didn’t need to—this was their job. Chasing was reckless. Dangerous.

  “I’ll back her up—” Wor-en said, checking his equipment.

  “No need,” Suri cut in, calm as ever. “She already captured him. She’ll be here soon.”

  Wor-en dragged in a deep breath, forcing his shoulders to ease. Relief.

  Minimal casualties. Andel bore a shallow slice across his chest; Boris had a deeper gash on his forearm, but the bleeding had already slowed. Elle York hurried over, mending the wound with a soft glow, while Boris grinned wide and bragged about how he’d dropped three [Swordsmen] on his own to Elle York.

  Wor-en allowed himself half a smile. His gaze shifted to the prisoners. Faces he didn’t know. He scanned past one, then stopped. The man’s eyes were rolled wide, pupils vanished, his body trembling like a strung bow.

  “What happened to him?” Wor-en asked.

  Rin’s voice came quiet, almost ashamed. “It’s my [Guilty Torture] skill.”

  For a moment, silence stretched. The others shifted uneasily.

  “Our Rin is quite strong,” Suri said at last, breaking the tension with a gentle pat on Rin’s bare head.

  Wor-en nodded slowly, but his jaw tightened. Strong, yes… but—nevermind at least they were able to defend themselves because he could tell these men were strong. At least, stronger than most. Stronger than these students. How did they defeat them?