From within the smoke, Rosalind's voice hissed, venomous and enraged.
"This… this damn peasant…!"
The smoke began to clear.
Rosalind Miley pushed herself up, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth, her once-pristine armor dented. Beside her, Cyrus staggered, his massive spiked body cracked and groaning like fractured stone.
Matsu forced himself to his feet, every breath a struggle, but his shovel never wavered. He raised it, pointing straight at them.
"Give up."
Rosalind let out a bitter laugh, her face twisting with disdain.
"Give up? How funny. A peasant thinks he can command a noble. How disgraceful."
Then her expression darkened, cruel eyes flicking toward Lin.
"Let's see how much you care for the girl."
"W-what?!"
Before Matsu could react, Rosalind seized the chain and swung with all her strength. Cyrus's spiked, massive body hurtled straight toward Lin, spinning like a monstrous iron comet.
"STOP IT!" Matsu shouted, his heart slamming against his ribs. His legs moved before his mind could catch up. He sprinted, lungs burning, the world narrowing to that one small figure standing frozen in terror.
Lin squeezed her eyes shut, trembling, too paralyzed to scream.
"NO!"
Matsu dove, wrapping his arms around her tiny frame, pulling her close. He pressed her head against his chest, shielding her with his body. He clenched his eyes shut, bracing himself for the inevitable.
Grandpa wouldn't let her die. Grandpa would protect her..
The roaring of the spiked mass filled his ears.
This was it—
But nothing came.
No impact. No pain.
Matsu's eyes snapped open.
A shadow loomed above him.
"You look as pathetic as ever, farm boy," a familiar voice drawled, calm and cocky despite the blood dripping down his chin.
Matsu blinked in disbelief.
"Knife…?!"
Knife stood in front of him, one hand gripping the wrecking ball mid-swing. A spike had pierced clean through his palm, blood running down his arm. Yet his grin was as sharp and feral as ever.
He tightened his grip—then kicked.
THOOM!
Cyrus was launched backward, crashing through the dirt like a fallen boulder.
Knife turned his head slightly, eyes still fixed on the enemy, his voice dripping with irritation.
"Knife, you came!" Lin cried out, tears streaming down her face.
Knife glanced at her briefly, his crimson-stained grin never fading. He gave a short, dismissive snort.
"Don't get the wrong idea, brat. I didn't come for you."
Lin froze, her hope wavering.
Knife tilted his head toward the horizon, eyes narrowing with a dangerous hunger.
"I came for payback with that Captain. But since he's not here…" He flexed his impaled hand, blood dripping freely, "…I guess these two clowns will do."
Rosalind's eyes widened for a moment, then narrowed with a cruel smile.
"Well, well. Knife the Sharp. The Captain will be thrilled to hear we've flushed you out."
Cyrus's booming laugh echoed from inside his cracked armor.
"Finally, the infamous bounty rat shows himself. This will be easier than chasing shadows."
Knife's grin sharpened, wild and hungry.
"Come try, tin can."
Matsu staggered closer, shovel in hand, then suddenly snatched Knife by the collar, yanking him down to eye level. His breath came heavy, his green eyes blazing with anger.
"Hey, you! I didn't ask for any help!"
Knife's grin faltered into a cold glare. His bleeding hand dripped between them, staining the dirt.
"Are you deaf? I didn't do it for you. I just took advantage of the situation."
Matsu's eyes flicked to the wound on Knife's palm, jaw tightening.
"Then you're an idiot," he snapped. "Why block with your hand? You should've just attacked her directly," Matsu pointed towards Rosalind.
Knife's lips curled back into a snarl.
"Huh?! Who the hell do you think you're talking to?!"
Their foreheads slammed together, eyes locked, glares clashing like sparks on steel.
"Tch—stubborn farmer."
"Psycho bounty hunter."
Lin squeezed between them, arms spread wide, her voice trembling.
"P-please—calm down, calm down!"
But her plea was drowned out by the metallic howl of chains cutting through the air.
The ground shook as Cyrus came hurtling down like a living meteor, his armored body swinging from the chain like a spiked wrecking ball.
Both Matsu and Knife shoved away from each other at the last second, springing in opposite directions. The wrecking ball slammed into the ground, shattering dirt and stone into a thunderous explosion.
Matsu tucked Lin into his arms mid-leap, twisting his body so he took the brunt of the fall, his shovel scraping the dirt to slow them down. Knife hit the ground in a roll, springing to his feet with blood still dripping from his palm, his wild grin returning.
Knife's hand snapped out of Matsu's grip—too quick for the farmer to hold—and with a snarl shoved the wounded boy hard to the dirt.
"Just stay down," Knife growled, then vanished into motion.
He crouched low, muscles tightening, cords standing out across his calves and thighs. The ground beneath him groaned, then cracked, pebbles dancing from the vibration. His body coiled tighter, tighter—like a spring on the edge of breaking.
Then—
BOOM!
The earth split as Knife launched, tearing through the air with a shockwave that rattled the trees. A silver blur streaked forward, faster than sight, faster than thought—
Silver Missile!
His fist shot straight for Rosalind's gut.
Cyrus intercepted it, hulking up like a living wall, and the missile slammed into the armored behemoth. Knife didn't stop. With a slick backflip over Cyrus's plated shoulder, he landed on the chain tethered to the giant knight and began to sprint along it like a mad acrobat, using the swinging momentum to launch himself straight at Rosalind.
"Wh—what?!" Rosalind barely had time to twist as Knife crashed into her gut; the hit folded her in half and sent her stumbling. She spat blood and saliva, but her eyes were flames — she lunged.
Knife parried her first punch, countered, and his fists became a blur: quick, precise, each strike using Rosalind's own momentum against her until she was stumbling back, breath knocked out of her. For a moment, it looked like the hunter might shred the lieutenant by sheer speed.
Then a deep, crushing sound rolled across the clearing.
Cyrus — freed from the chain's slack, or perhaps fueled by rage — turned and charged like an avalanche. The ground trembled under that enormous weight. Every head snapped toward him.
Rosalind's expression snapped from fury to steel. She wrapped her huge arms around Knife just as he pivoted, squeezing with brutal force.
"Do it, Cyrus!" she barked.
Cyrus's one good eye fixed on the pair. He planted his feet, drew back, then hurled himself forward like a living boulder.
Knife's grin snapped into a look of real alarm. "You'll get hit too!" he spat.
"I know," Rosalind rumbled, voice like grinding rocks. "Let's see who cracks first."
"Wait—" Knife started, and the world exploded.
BOOOOM!
Cyrus slammed into them with the force of a falling mountain. The impact punched a shockwave through the clearing: dirt exploded outward, trunks shuddered, and a ring of dust and splinters rose in a choking wall. The sound was a physical thing — a crack that seemed to split the morning.
Knife and Rosalind both groaned, coughing up blood as they staggered apart from the wreckage of the impact. Cyrus loomed behind Rosalind like a living wall, his cracked armor still groaning under the strain.
"You weigh a ton, Cyrus," Rosalind spat, clutching her ribs as she forced herself upright.
"Thanks," Cyrus rumbled, completely sincere.
Knife struggled to his feet, but his body was betraying him. The bandages that had barely held his wounds together were now soaked through with fresh blood. New cuts opened across his chest and arms; every breath came jagged and raw.
"Damn it…" Knife thought, wiping blood from his mouth. "If I slow down even a little, it's over."
He lunged forward anyway. Fists blurred. Rosalind met him with brutal strength while Cyrus swung his chain like a battering ram. Each clash shook the air, each blow threatening to end it—but neither side gave ground.
Knife dodged another wrecking ball swing, countered with lightning jabs, but for the first time, his speed wasn't enough. His knuckles grazed armor, flesh, but no decisive blow landed. His breathing grew heavier. His footing slipped. He was being driven back.
"Knife, come on!" Lin screamed, her little voice trembling against the chaos.
Knife looked back, parrying another strike as sweat and blood poured down his face. "Why haven't you run yet?!"
He was shoved back by Rosalind's fist, skidding to a stop right in front of Lin and Matsu.
"Your mission was the girl!" Knife roared between blows, looking back at Matsu, desperation flickering in his eyes. "So go! You're just in the way!"
Matsu said nothing at first. He leaned on Lin's shoulder, his entire body trembling from exhaustion and wounds. He forced himself to straighten, each step agonizing. His bangs shadowed his eyes, but the air around him carried a quiet, heavy resolve.
"That's right…" His thoughts burned as his fists blurred against Cyrus's iron bulk. "I've always been fighting alone."
But something had changed. His speed—it wasn't the same. Each step was heavier, each strike easier to predict. Rosalind's eyes tracked him sharply, her defenses fluid. Cyrus moved with unnerving calm, raising his armored bulk at every angle, intercepting each of Knife's blows like a living wall.
CLANG!
CRASH!
Sparks danced uselessly off Cyrus's armor as Knife hammered against him, but no mark remained. Each impact felt hollower, weaker than the last.
"Damn it… Why can't I break through…" Knife growled, teeth bared.
Then—BOOM! Rosalind's fist smashed into his side, sending him crashing across the dirt, his body folding in pain. He spat blood, coughing as he dragged himself back up.
"Knife!" Lin screamed, her voice cracking, her hands trembling as she clutched Matsu's sleeve.
Cyrus's booming voice echoed across the battlefield, smug and cruel.
"Pathetic… for someone from the Core-people."
Knife froze, his eye twitching.
Cyrus chuckled, raising his voice so it carried. "Yeah, that's right. Word is Knife the Sharp was born in Level 1, one of the last of the Core-people. That cursed race of killers. Feared, hated, hunted. You're all the same—it's in your damn genes."
Lin's breath hitched, her eyes wide as she turned toward Knife in disbelief.
"Level… 1?" she whispered.
Matsu's grip tightened on his shovel, eyes shadowed as he glanced at Knife's trembling hands.
Knife didn't answer. His jaw clenched, eyes burning, blood dripping from his lip as he snarled low in his throat. His silence said more than words ever could.
Cyrus slammed a gauntlet fist into his chest plate with a laugh.
"No wonder Captain Iron wants you so badly. A Core rat on the loose? It's a cleanup job."
Knife's body shook. Not from fear. From rage. His nails dug into his palms until blood ran down his fists.
Lin whispered again, softer, almost afraid of the answer.
"Knife… is that true…?"
Knife finally lifted his head, flashing a feral grin through the blood.
"...Shut up."
Knife raised his head. His vision blurred red, sweat and blood dripping from his chin, his body hunched and shaking.
And suddenly—
The battlefield dissolved.
He was small again. Weak. The rattling sound of iron echoed in his ears. A chain clinked with every step, heavy, dragging against the dirt, biting at his thin neck.
The city around him was nothing but shadows and rot—buildings collapsing in silence, people collapsed in the streets, half-dead, not even raising their heads as he passed.
Knife trudged forward, his feet bare, his clothes torn and blackened with filth. His face was blank—expressionless, hollow.
Then, his weak body stumbled.
He tripped.
He fell, his face slamming into the dirt, into a puddle of grime.
Slowly, his trembling eyes rose.
Three knights stood above him, their armor gleaming even in this forgotten gutter. Their lips curled with disgust, smug smiles pulling at their faces.
"Filthy Level 1 brat," one sneered, raising his sword.
"You should've never been born," another spat.
The third chuckled coldly. "Don't worry. I'll do you a favor and put you out of your misery."
The blade came down, gleaming.
Knife froze. His body was too weak to move. His throat burned as the chain tugged against him, cutting off even his breath.
The sword descended—
And suddenly—
He was back in the fight.
His body bent low, hunched forward, his fists trembling at his sides. Blood trickled from his split lips as his chest heaved, the roar of the battlefield hammering in his ears.
Knife's vision swam. The battlefield tilted, and the only thing clear in his eyes was Cyrus barreling toward him—arms tucked, body curled into a perfect boulder, tearing up the earth with every spin.
The sound was deafening, the ground shaking with each rotation.
Knife's breath caught in his throat. His battered muscles wouldn't move fast enough this time. His fists hung limp at his sides, his body refusing to answer to his will.
"…This is it, huh?" he muttered, almost calm. The world slowed, the crushing weight of the boulder filling his vision like an inescapable truth.
Then—