There was no time to rest. Another wave of mounted Ice Lizardmen burst from the storm—three times the number from before. Their howls echoed through the white haze as their Frost Wolves kicked up flurries of snow, sprinting straight for the students.

  Wor-en’s eyes narrowed. He had remained silent and still, a watchful guardian—but now, even he drew his blade. The steel whispered against its sheath, glowing faintly under his breath’s mist.

  Then—without warning—Boris leapt forward.

  “Boris now!” Kana shouted.

  He slammed his feet into the ground and roared,

  [GiantSpear]

  [Cleave]

  The air exploded.

  It was as if the frozen earth itself screamed—cracking and shaking under the force. A pillar of fire erupted from Boris’s spear, splitting the snowfield open like molten lightning.

  The Ice Lizardmen froze in shock, too late to react.

  Kana had spent a fortune on that weapon—a spear forged with a volatile metal that ignited when a skill was invoked. Now, that investment paid off. The weapon lengthened, its tip blazing, the heat so intense the air shimmered.

  The front line of Frost Wolves was consumed instantly, their icy hides hissing and melting under the inferno. The riders fell, some burning, some rolling helplessly in the snow. Nearly half of the horde vanished in the firestorm.

  “By the Ancients…” one of the northern soldiers breathed, eyes wide.

  The survivors—furious and terrified—turned their mounts toward Boris. Their rage burned colder than the blizzard.

  Boris, however, had already shifted stance. The giant spear spun in his hands like a blazing wheel, blocking every strike with precision. The air around him pulsed with fire and frost clashing, each movement calculated and heavy.

  Kana loosed arrow after arrow to cover him, each one exploding into a burst of kinetic force that toppled a rider or skewered a wolf.

  “Focus on the wounded!” Wor-en commanded. His voice carried over the chaos.

  The northern soldiers surged forward, their boots crunching over ice and ash. What followed wasn’t a battle—it was a slaughter. The wounded monsters were finished off cleanly, and those that tried to flee were hunted down by Roy’s reanimated shadow man, who slipped across the snow like death itself.

  Moments later, silence. Only the crackling of burning ice remained.

  Kana walked toward Boris, lowering her bow. She reached up and patted his head.

  “Good work. You’re a good source of exp.”

  Boris flushed. “H-hey, I’m not a kid.”

  Suri smirked beside Kana. “You’re still a kid to us.”

  “I can’t imagine someone like Boris being called a kid,” Yuri said, shaking her head.

  One of the northern soldiers approached, snow sticking to his beard.

  “You academy kids are really good,” he said, half in disbelief. His gaze lingered on Boris’s smoldering spear. “And the rumors are true… some of you really are crazy.”

  ….

  The group took a quick rest after the clash. The northern wind bit at their faces, so they built a low fire between the tents. Most of them drank water after heating it in small tin cups, steam rising like ghosts in the cold air.

  Kana sat near the edge of the firelight, her red eyes reflecting the orange glow. The smell of burnt fur and scorched ice still lingered. Around them, the soldiers moved with steady discipline—cleaning blades, checking armor, tending to the wounded, most were minor scratches.

  But all Kana could think about was the stolen kill from them. So much… waste of exp. It could have been theirs.

  The northern soldiers were too efficient. Every monster they felled was an experience lost to her group—strength they could’ve used for what was still to come.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  She looked up, hesitant but resolute.

  “Uhm… I have a suggestion.”

  Wor-en turned toward her, his face relaxed but curious. “You’re our temporary leader, Kana. Go ahead—just don’t make it something insane.”

  Kana hesitated for only a second before speaking. “We came here to gain real battle experience… not just to watch. For the next wave, I want my group to go in front and lead the battle. We’ll handle the monsters first—and I’d like Mister Jarl’s squad to back us up if it turns dangerous.”

  Jarl, the captain of the northern squad, lifted an eyebrow. His weathered face cracked into a grin.

  “You want to be on the front line?” he said. “Hah. I can respect that. You students are sharper than you look.”

  Kana and the others avoided his gaze, exchanging awkward glances.

  Jarl’s grin widened. “Don’t worry, we’ll be close enough to step in. And with one of your supports who can speed us up—well, I’m curious how long you can hold your ground.”

  “I am too,” Wor-en said, arms crossed. A hint of pride flickered in his tone. “After what I’ve seen at the F-R dungeon… this should be easy for you lot.”

  A flicker of movement caught Kana’s eye—Zia, standing near the fire, her ancient air unbothered by the cold. She walked toward Boris, her voice carrying the calm cadence of age.

  “When did you learn the Ancient Breathing, young one?”

  Boris, who was polishing the blade of his spear with a strip of cloth, froze mid-motion. “The what?”

  Zia’s silver eyes gleamed. “What you did before you struck. You hid your presence entirely—like the human warriors of old who mastered their breath until even beasts could not sense them.”

  Boris blinked, clearly unaware. “I just… focused before the attack. Maybe I did hold my breath? I don’t know. I always do that when I go for surprise hits.”

  Zia’s lips curled into a faint smile. “So even by accident—Amusing.”

  Suri leaned forward, smirking. “Wait. Does that mean we just won the bet?”

  Wor-en groaned. “Don’t tell me you’re still running that ridiculous wager.”

  Suri shrugged, grinning wider. “A promise is a promise. But I didn’t know Boris would do something weird enough to count as ancient technique.”

  Even Zia laughed quietly—a strange, echoing sound that made the flames waver.

  “He’s not aware so that shouldn’t count.”

  ……

  Mikael, the silver-class first-year president, barked, “[Fire Ball]”

  The sphere of flame streaked through the snowstorm, trailing steam in the freezing air—but the enemy was faster. The Ice Lizardman twisted aside, the firelight reflecting off its pale, scaled hide. The blast hit nothing but snow, melting a shallow crater.

  “Damn it!” Mikael cursed, his breath coming in white clouds.

  Their frontline tank stumbled forward, panting. His mana diminished. He tried to raise his weapon again, but it felt like lifting a mountain.

  They had been cheering minutes ago—laughing, even—after repelling the first ambush of Frost Wolves and Ice Lizardmen. What was supposed to be a simple Ice Goblin sweep had turned into a full skirmish. Still, with the northern soldiers and their silver-ranked adventurer’s aid, they had survived.

  But this new sound—the rumbling—cut their relief short.

  It began faintly, like the low growl of thunder. Then it grew—a tremor running through the snow-packed earth. The wind carried with it a dull roar, rolling like an avalanche down the slope.

  The northern soldiers froze mid-step. Even the seasoned adventurer’s expression hardened.

  From the swirling mist came the shapes—bigger than normal wolves, larger than lizardmen—charging in formation, snow spraying behind them like surf.

  “This is not going to end well,” the silver-ranked adventurer muttered under his breath, tightening his grip on his sword.

  Professor Enry didn’t wait for discussion. His old eyes widened, and he reached into his coat, pulling out a small brown stone—the Crying Stone.

  He slammed it to the ground.

  A piercing wail tore through the field, echoing across the frozen plains. The sound cut through the wind, sharp enough to make the air itself vibrate.

  The charging monsters faltered for half a heartbeat—then screamed, furious, and redoubled their pace.

  Snow erupted beneath their feet as they surged forward.

  Professor Enry clenched his teeth. “Everyone! Defensive formation! Hold the line until help arrives!”

  But even as he spoke, the ground trembled harder. The storm howled.

  And from the white fog, the next wave descended.

  ……

  The backup was too fast.

  Before the Frost Wolves could reach the students, the snow to their flank exploded. Figures burst from the mist—Boris at the front, Adam beside him—charging down the slope like an avalanche given form.

  For a heartbeat, the battlefield froze. Then Boris’ spear ignited.

  [Giant Spear]—[Cleave]

  The ground shuddered. A wave of fire ripped through the snow, carving a molten trail across the field. The explosion of heat and light turned the pale world crimson. When the smoke cleared, half of the monsters lay dead, the others screeching as the flames ate at their frozen hides.

  The Frost Wolves and Ice Lizardmen turned their fury toward this new threat.

  Leo and Adam braced, shields up. The impact sounded like thunder. Frost and steel collided, scattering shards of ice and embers through the air.

  Then the arrows came.

  Dozens—fast, precise, relentless. Kana’s bow sang with every pull, each shot dropping another beast mid-leap.

  A skeletal arm swept through the chaos, a dagger flashing in its grasp. Roy’s shadow summon danced between the monsters like a phantom, stabbing, twisting, and vanishing before retaliation could land.

  Andel’s lance moved differently—less like a weapon, more like a living thing, its strange rhythm skewering one enemy after another with uncanny precision.

  From the northern flank, the soldiers stared for a second—then one laughed.

  “What are you doing?” he barked to his comrades. “You don’t want the kids taking all the glory, do you?!”

  That was all it took. The soldiers roared and charged, steel meeting flesh and ice in a storm of fury.

  The once-hopeless battle flipped in an instant. The monsters had still advantage in terms of numbers but clearly outmatched, fell like frost under the scorching sun.

  Mikael stood there, his hand still glowing faintly from his unfinished spell, staring at the whirlwind of fire and arrows and skeletal blades tearing through the enemy ranks.

  He muttered, almost to himself, voice thin with disbelief—

  “We’re both first years… right?”