“Get your hands off!” the loser barked, swinging his arm free of Larna’s grip.

  As he did, a message popped in front of Larna, and by the other’s reaction, in front of them too. Opposite to the common blue notifications, this was red with black letters.

  [Violence isn't allowed]

  [In case this continues, all the implicated will be temporarily banned]

  Larna’s blood cooled. Banned? A cold ran down his spine just imagining it. The bald guy seemed to think like him as he stomped away.

  But he was stopped by the man who accompanied him. He was of the bald’s same height, but much more slender. His pale skin, eyeglasses, and the horrible mohawk on his head made him look like an amorphous combination of a nerd and a thug.

  He fixed his eyeglasses on his long nose. “This guy doesn't look familiar to you?” He inquired, staring at Larna.

  Larna’s nose wrinkled. The mohawk-guy seemed unpleasantly familiar to him, too.

  The thug snapped his fingers.”How could I forget him! He's the guy the boss told us to break his window!” He pressed his eyeglasses into his eye sockets. “And, he was the bastard who caused our boss’s expulsion.”

  Veins bulged on the bald’s face as he threw a long glare at them. “We need to make them pay.”

  “You are right, brother. Leave it to me. I’ll show this shortie a lesson.”

  He's the one who broke my house's window… That thought sank into Larna's head. His jaw hurt as his teeth pressed against each other.

  He clenched his fists, glaring up at the mohawk-guy when he felt a pat on his back, accompanied by a laugh. “Man, what stereotype of an asshole are you supposed to be? You confuse me!”

  Larna glanced up at the wrinkles on the thug's face and couldn't help but chuckle. His shoulders relaxed. How could I feel scared with Vale laughing at my side?

  Vale had that blazing look in his eyes. “Show them what you have been working for.”

  “I will,” Larna stated with a nod.

  He walked to face the slender thug, who scolded him. “I don’t know why the boss fixed on a shit like you.”

  Larna scoffed. He had been called so many things that weak insults like that didn’t affect him. Instead of answering, he took a long breath.

  The thug's face bulged with veins. “You’ll lament having been born.”

  Reality unwove and reconstructed. Both battlers found themselves in a warzone. The sky and ground were tainted with the blood of thousands of corpses. Empty pieces of armor and ragged standards were scattered around, below a blood moon that shone above them as the lights on a stage.

  Larna jerked as the Battle Scenario had let them face-to-face. He forgot to unsheathe his weapons before the Battle started. He ignored his lance. I need to block!

  The clang of metal echoed. A screeching noise tore at his eardrums. A scythe the size of a dagger pressed down on Larna’s shield. Its curved blade hooks into his shoulder.

  Larna tackled forward with his shield. But the thug stepped away and put distance between them.

  Larna narrowed his eyes, looking at the bastard. He wielded two dual-blade-sized scythes, joined by a black chain that grazed the floor.

  “Weren't you going to show me a lesson?!” The thug mocked.

  Larna frowned at the red mark on his shoulder. He could still move his arm, but this wasn't a good way to start.

  Anyway, what was that weapon? They seemed as agile as dual blades, but that chain made them more dangerous. Larna was definitely at a disadvantage using a heavy weapon.

  He inhaled, trying to steady himself, but the prickling on his stomach just grew worse with each breath.

  “Oh, are you nervous, little rat?!”

  Larna's face stiffened even more. Indeed, he was nervous. He didn't want to lose to that jerk.

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  He took a breath. He just needed to apply what he had been learning. He narrowed his eyes at the thug. What can you tell me?

  Only bad things came to his mind. The thug was a disrespectful, overconfident piece of trash.

  But there had to be much more that he wasn't seeing. The thug couldn't just be pure trash, right?

  "What are you looking at, twerp?!"

  Larna's right eye twitched.

  Anyway, there was a limit to things that Larna could identify right now. To go deeper, he needed to see him battle.

  He took the lance from his back and tensed his feet.

  “Oh, are you finally coming?”

  Larna dashed forward. He needed to close distances. His lance was large, but not enough to reach him from there.

  "Oh, you got some courage?!" The thug smirked and threw one of his scythes.

  What?! Larna brought his shield. The scythe bounced off it with a metallic clang. Can he throw them? Then came the next.

  The thug was as far away from him as before he started running in his direction. The bastard was stepping back to keep the distance while throwing his scythes.

  The assault of flying scythes continued, each ringing against the surface of the great silver shield.

  Larna surrendered with a growl. Chasing after him wasn't working. He breathed heavily, fighting against the need to lean on his knees.

  Then he glimpsed a blurry motion at his right.

  He stumbled away. A whoosh sounded over his head.

  He quickly glanced at the thug to see one of his scythes flying, tracing a wide arc in a sweeping attack. Larna rolled. The other scythe cut inches away from his eyes.

  Back on his feet, he parried the next attack. His hands trembled. The recoil of the attacks had numbed them. He wouldn’t resist much longer. He stepped back, but the thug stepped closer, always keeping him at the perfect range.

  “Is shielding all you know how to do?!” The thug complained.

  Larna gritted his teeth. He had lost the tact of the shield and his fingers. What can I do?!

  Being a spectator is easier. Outside, things were clearer. On the battlefield, the chaotic flow of emotions made remaining calm impossible.

  Still, he had to do it somehow.

  This bastard will use anything in his power to win. He was the kind of person who exploited his advantages to the extreme.

  Another scythe impacted against the shield. Sending a trembling up Larna's hands.

  I need to do something!

  “Take this!” Another scythe slammed the shield. Larna stepped back, out of ideas. Then the shield slipped from his left arm.

  He cursed. This couldn't continue. He needed to rush forward.

  The thug had long legs. Will I be fast enough? There wasn’t time for an answer.

  He glanced at the shield. It was obvious that with its added weight, he wouldn’t make it. But running against flying scythes without protection was suicide…

  Ahh, whatever. Here I go!

  “Good, run to your death!” the thug bellowed.

  He threw a scythe straight, but Larna ran by it.

  The other scythe followed, cutting on his ribs.

  Larna growled. He forced his legs to the limit. The growing agitation of the thug pleased him.

  "Go away, twerp!"

  Larna glared at the blade sweeping in a wide arc. At that speed, even the chain could split him in half. And it would at this rate. He threw the lance at the incoming scythe. At least I'll punch his face!

  He spread his feet, his punch charged back. The memory of when his punch didn't damage Garuma flashed through his mind. But this time. This time, he felt different.

  This punch was going to really hurt.

  The thug tried to use his remaining dagger, but the taut chain restrained his movement.

  Larna’s eyes reflected a close view of the thug’s contorted face. Take this! His fist rocketed forward, charged with his entire body’s weight and all the inertia of the race.

  The punch smashed into the thug's long nose. It slammed him away. He crashed into the floor and rolled over himself on the blood-tainted floor of the Battle Scenario.

  Larna tripped forward due to the inertia. He fell on his knees and hands and gazed at his red-marked knuckles. He brought his head up to see the thug lying face up meters away from him.

  Did I really do that?

  But he awoke, hearing the thug's faint moans. This isn't over yet.

  He ran for his lance. His heart raced. He took it and came back.

  He gasped, looking at the thug, still lying on the floor. He had an intense red mark at the center of his face and bruises across his body. He was shaking his head, trying to recover from the impact.

  Larna’s lance hung over the thug's chest.

  Looking at him so exposed made his grip soften.

  But it grew stronger when he remembered that the thug’s laughter was the one he had heard that night when his window was broken. What would have happened if mom, dad, or Lia were passing by there at that moment?

  Larna put the lance over the thug's head. And using both hands, he thrust it down.