"Ugh, we might lose this battle. When that happens, thousands of the Carian Army will storm in to see the Queen of the Full Moon."
"And so what?"
The professor's mouth twitched. He felt like he was talking to a brick wall.
'And so what? Of course it means they'll swarm you and hack you to pieces!'
No matter how strong you Crucible Knights are, you can't take on thousands of Carian soldiers. Not a chance. Honestly, that wouldn't be so bad, but this bastard won't even let me in. Which means I'll die first.
He didn't know if it was confidence or sheer stupidity, but his head was pounding.
Trying to trick her into action was futile. One thing was clear—take one more step forward, and he'd be executed on the spot. A powerful warrior stood right in front of him, yet he couldn't use her.
As he racked his brain for a way out, a beam of light illuminated his profile.
He turned his head. A red signal flare exploded in the sky. His pupils shrank violently.
It was Leon's signal. The message was simple: situation critical, requesting support.
Oritis stood frozen in the gale. How could so many be in critical condition because of two intruders? The choice left to him was straightforward.
"Lady Premia, I leave this side to you. I'm going to provide support."
The Crucible Knight nodded slightly. No more words were needed. Staying here was a waste of time.
Oritis walked back to the stairs and waved at the anxious mages.
"Everyone, follow me!"
......
Leon, the director of the Haima Classroom, leaned against the wall. Vilhelm and Hoarah flanked him.
In front of them, dismembered puppet soldiers formed a defensive line. Beyond that, a scene from hell unfolded.
Some mages had been cut in two. Others were shoved into the walls like grotesque art. Some were pinned by their own staves.
The Carian Knight had shattered the ceiling, landing in the middle of their group. Magic erupted at point-blank range. His blade flashed, cutting through bodies.
The narrow corridor offered no room to dodge. Panicked spells hit their own people. By the time Hoarah rushed over, the bastard had already vanished into the spray of blood.
In seconds, the corridor was littered with severed limbs. The Mimic's Veil and Starlight movement created an impossibly shameless tactic.
The massive academy had become a cage. Splitting up to search was suicide. Grouping together made them easy targets.
Throne seemed to have transformed into a killing machine. Appear. Slash. Leave. Transform. Sip crimson tears for mana.
Monotonous. Terrifying.
"We can't stay here. He'll toy with us, kill us one by one!"
Hoarah scanned his surroundings. The enemy could pop out from anywhere.
This assassin was worse than trouble. His ability to hide his presence wasn't quite Round Table level, but it far surpassed the clumsy knights.
To make matters worse, this assassin possessed immense strength and multiple ways to move. A crafty coward isn't scary; what's scary is a crafty coward who uses brute force and has tons of skills.
"Hmm, retreat in stages. He's harder to deal with than I imagined."
Leon made his decision. They needed open ground to fight properly.
"Retreat!"
Without wasting words, he turned around and blasted the entire wall apart with a Cannon of Haima. Dust filled the air in the moonlight, and his heart immediately tightened.
He would definitely come!
"All units, be on guard!"
Bang! As soon as the words left his mouth, a side wall exploded. Leon had been prepared; he turned and flung a cyan cone, which happened to drill right into the hole.
The world went silent for a moment, and then a dull explosion echoed through the night.
Boom—rumble—the side of the dormitory bulged like a balloon, then exploded into a small mushroom cloud, tossing a large amount of rubble and wood chips into the night sky.
Huff, huff. The professor caught his breath, but before he could show any joy, Hoarah had already jumped in front of him, raising his hands clad in cyan scale gauntlets.
Bang, bang, bang... Pale rings of air exploded one after another, and his fists blasted a sky full of stone fragments, which were actually glintstones being flung over.
Throne was at the other end of the corridor, using Gravity Magic to make the glintstones piled in the storage room float. Then, with his eyes turning gold, he used both hands and feet to strike them all out, forming a strange kind of hidden weapon. The puppets blocking the way sprayed parts; pure physical force was not something their small frames could withstand.
"Interesting."
Throne saw the burly man who had been going "Ora Ora". Without him, these people would have been dead long ago.
But without my permission—
Gravity Magic lifted a piece of raw glintstone over three meters long and a meter thick. Then, he pressed his hands onto it and stomped down with his leg, putting in his full strength.
You dare to leave!?
Bang, bang, bang...
Heavy footsteps echoed down the corridor, and a glistening glintstone, like a battering ram, pushed forward. Several fluid puppets on the road that were repairing their bodies were directly smashed into a pulp of mud.
Hoarah's pupils constricted violently; he felt the opponent had changed tactics. Originally, it should have been a hit-and-run attack, but seeing them about to leave, he actually dared to...
He turned his head and roared to the two behind him: "You guys retreat quickly!"
There was no melodramatic scene; Leon and Vilhelm immediately ran out through the hole. As mages, engaging in close combat with him in the corridor would easily cause friendly fire.
The Tarnished nicknamed "Rock-Crushing Fist" couldn't leave. He tensed his massive muscles and struck straight at the "battering ram" with both fists.
Rock-Crushing!
Bang!!!
A distinct pale ring of air exploded, sweeping away the murals and sculptures hanging in the corridor, and the incredibly hard raw glintstone began to crack.
Throne was, after all, charging, and the vigorous power brought by the Dragon Heart was no less than this man's, yet he pushed against him and continued forward. Hoarah's legs sank into the floor, carving two shallow furrows several inches deep.
The man lifted his leg and let out a battle roar to the sky.
"Rise!!"
Boom—Force rose from his feet, actually stomping out a circular pit several meters wide, and he gripped the "battering ram" with both hands, pushing upward.
Thud! The ceiling was smashed through directly, and the raw glintstone spun into the night sky.
Just as the moonlight shone in through the hole, the cold gleam of a long blade magnified in his eyes.
Throne slid over and thrust his sword, seeing the burly man turn his head aside, the blade leaving a line of blood on his neck. The man revealed a ferocious smile, leaned down to get closer, and his hanging left hand suddenly slashed upward.
Carian Greatsword.
Clang!
The blade of light slammed against crossed gauntlets, sparks flaring bright enough to etch Throne's face in sharp relief. His opponent surged forward—head snapping up, then hammering down with skull-crushing force. The headbutt cracked the air like a whip.
Throne ducked rather than test his Carian helmet's craftsmanship. As he coiled for a Bloodhound's Step retreat, steel bit into his palm—his sword wrenched sideways in an iron grip.
"Running's not an option!"
Hoarah snarled, fingers locked around the blade near his throat. Even as his arms spread wide, the raised light-sword sheared through his own breastplate. Guts spilled over his belt in glistening coils.
Didn't matter. This opening wouldn't come twice—let the tiger escape now, and the mountain would bleed for it.
No time for Throne to release the hilt. Hoarah heaved backward, muscles bunching like coiled springs, and hurled man and sword together like a shot put. The throw flowed seamless as a river current.
Throne hit dirt skidding, boots carving furrows before he wrenched sideways into Bloodhound's Step—just as comet-blue magic seared past where his ribs had been.
The Comet Azur tore into the cliffside night, its beam lingering like a scar across the sky.
Throne rose slowly, gaze flicking sideways. Three figures stood triangulated across the plaza—Leon, Vilhelm, Oritis—hero-tier mages with a dozen more backing them.
"No more holes to scurry into, rat!"
Hoarah's laugh boomed from the rubble-choked pit. He was stuffing intestines back inside with one hand, chugging crimson tears with the other.
"Tarnished do breed strong ones," Throne observed, tone flat as slate. His boot came down hard enough to crack stone.
"But you're wrong about one thing. From the start—"
The air trembled as his aura flared, wild and unshackled.
"—I never planned to let you leave breathing."
No rat, this. Throne could move silent as a shadow or roar louder than any barbarian.
Leon barked a disbelieving laugh. "That force field's—"
"Enough talk."
Oritis cut him off, hand clamping the battlemage's shoulder. The professor's nape prickled. Something was missing. Someone.
Then the wall exploded.
Familiar energy spiked through the plaza. Every head snapped toward the dust cloud as crimson fur parted the debris—a wolf's muzzle, broad as a buckler, emerged first. The howl that followed shook moonlight from the clouds.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
The Red Wolf of Radagon paced into view, seven meters of muscle and murderous intent. Moonlight painted its pelt the color of freshly spilled arterial blood. Throne had seen these beasts in Liurnia's wars—always smaller, always lesser. This was the alpha. The one they called Mage Killer.
Wind-swift. Hyperactive. Spellwork died in its presence. Before incantations could form, it'd be at your throat. Standard magic missed. Grand rituals took too long. Even tenured professors broke sweat facing it.
"Impossible." Oritis's scalp crawled. He wheeled on Leon. "That thing never leaves the Debate Parlor!"
The Haima battlemage spread stained hands. Decades of experiments proved it—bludgeon the wolf, stab it, set it aflame, and it'd only maul the attacker before lumbering back to its post. Radagon's ancient command held fast as iron, even if the wolf's execution had grown... creatively literal over the years.
"Mission complete."
Melina's voice ghosted through Throne's mind, thin with exhaustion. Her form couldn't stray far from him without draining her essence.
A faint smile. "Well done."
He knew the Debate Parlor could be leveled to dust and the Red Wolf would still sprawl across its ruins, unbothered. Beasts could outwait and outlast any human.
Melina frowned. "One thing I don't get. Why didn't it attack me? We couldn't communicate, but it reacted when I showed up. Why?"
Confusion etched her voice.
She'd followed Throne's orders, slipping into the Debate Parlor while the mages scrambled in chaos. The Red Wolf's fury hit her like a wall, but her trust in Throne pushed her forward. She smacked its head, her voice sharp.
"Sleeping? Get up and kill the mages!"
The Red Wolf jerked awake, lifting its massive head just in time to see Melina sprinting away. Without hesitation, it lunged after her, bursting out of the Debate Parlor for the first time in years. Its howl echoed—lonely, joyous, then furious. Its master was nowhere to be seen.
Throne smiled. "Your bond with Marika is stronger than any demigod's. And Marika is Radagon. Indirectly, that makes you its master."
He hadn't gone to Caria Manor on a whim. This had been part of the plan all along. Psychic beasts like this didn't rely on sight or smell—they felt the aura.
Direct confrontation would've tipped it off, but in that brief, hazy moment of waking, instinct took over. Imagine a beast guarding for centuries, hearing its master's voice. What else would it do?
Thud.
The Red Wolf stepped forward, lips curling back to reveal rows of pale, sharp teeth. Its murderous intent crackled in the air.
Oritis frowned. "This can't be right. If Caria controlled it, they would've used it already. So why's it furious? We've fed it well, treated it with care."
Beasts don't reason. They don't negotiate.
Silence hung for a split second before the Red Wolf lunged.
"Damn it! Beat it back!" Oritis roared.
No one wanted to debate philosophy from inside a wolf's stomach. Chaos erupted instantly.
The puppet soldiers that could act as meat shields had all been cleared out by Throne, leaving the mages to face the Mage Killer head-on.
As the Red Wolf tore through their ranks, Throne turned his focus to Hoarah Loux, the Rock-Crushing Fist.
This Tarnished was the biggest threat, and he had to die first.