Obscurity

"Hehehe, I'm guessing you don't know what's going on here."

A slightly older male stepped forward, his fingers twisting in fluid motions as he formed intricate hand signs. The faint glow of runic magic pulsed from his fingertips before dissipating into the air. This was Helmdal, the fourth member of Victoria's team.

Unlike the others, Helmdal didn't talk much and often seemed detached, moving about as though he weren't really part of the group.

"They didn't really tell me much…" Guilliman replied, his voice tinged with a bitter smile. He already knew this mission was dangerous, but the lack of details only made him more uneasy.

"Figures," Helmdal said with a curt nod before continuing. "You're in a bit of a predicament here, kid. On one hand, you're lucky to have been noticed by Barthold. If you integrate well with the team, you could rise to the top of the entire shelter. But of course, you'll first have to survive."

Guilliman frowned slightly but said nothing.

"On the other hand," Helmdal went on, his tone indifferent, "you're more likely to die here than succeed. You're not the first new recruit to tag along, you know. Even the big guy over there is a relatively new addition."

As he spoke, Helmdal finished his hand signs, conjuring a glowing yellow rune in midair. It floated for a moment before descending and embedding itself in the ground, where it spread a faint, protective light around them.

"That's it," Helmdal concluded, his voice carrying a note of finality. "Fight and climb the ladder, or hold back and fade into obscurity like all the other 'talents' who never made it past this stage."

His words carried a dismissive tone, but deep down, Helmdal hoped Guilliman would stick around—at least for this fight.

Suddenly, Helmdal's sharp eyes caught movement from the corner of his vision. Something flew toward them at an incredible speed. Without missing a beat, he stepped forward, grabbed the incoming figure with his left hand, and gently lowered them to the ground.

It was Jemie, battered and gasping for breath.

"Replace me… quick!" Jemie wheezed, his face pale and drenched in sweat. Fighting a mutant as a level 2 Slayer was a feat beyond his limits, and exhaustion had finally caught up with him.

Guilliman didn't hesitate. "Okay," he said simply, his expression resolute.

The braces around Guilliman's ankles began to glow with bright light. With a single leap, he launched himself toward the beast.

—Clang!

Mid-air, Guilliman unsheathed the Rabbit Blade strapped to his back, its sleek edge glinting as he brought it down in a precise slash aimed at the Tortie's neck.

Victoria and Barthold, still locked in combat, glanced at each other and nodded. Guilliman's presence gave them the respite they needed to press their assault.

"The joints in the hands and neck! Those are its weak points. Keep striking until it goes down!" Barthold barked, his voice commanding. His black mace slammed into the Tortie's descending head, forcing the beast to recoil momentarily.

This was no ordinary Tortie—it was a mutant, its defense far superior to that of a typical beast. Against such an adversary, brute strength alone wasn't enough. They had to exploit its vulnerabilities strategically.

"Got it," Guilliman replied, focusing his efforts on the joint of the creature's front limb.

—Roar!

The mutant Tortie let out a deafening bellow as Guilliman's blade sliced through its barely healed flesh. Its glowing eyes locked onto him, and with an enraged growl, it extended its flexible neck in a lightning-fast attempt to devour him whole.

Guilliman, no stranger to fighting monsters several times his size, quickly dove to the ground, rolling beneath the beast's massive frame.

'Damn. It's just as hard down here.'

He had hoped to strike its underbelly, forgetting that this was a shelled creature. Its armored underside was as impenetrable as the rest of its body.

'The next best thing it is,' he thought, adjusting his plan.

Guilliman darted toward the rear of the Tortie, his eyes narrowing as he identified an overlooked vulnerability. Without hesitation, he thrust his blade upward with all his strength.

The beast's pained scream echoed through the battlefield. Its rear had been impaled, and it thrashed wildly in agony.

"Not so fast," Victoria muttered, her sword gleaming with electric energy as she lunged forward. In one swift motion, she pierced the side of the Tortie's neck, sending bolts of electricity surging through its body.

The creature let out another guttural roar, writhing in pain. The twin assaults—the electricity coursing through its neck and the searing pain from Guilliman's strike—drove it into a frenzy. It flung its head sideways, dislodging Victoria and sending her sprawling to the ground.

As she landed, the Tortie's eyes glowed with murderous intent. It lunged at her, jaws snapping in anticipation of an easy kill.

—Boom!

A brutish figure charged in from the side, his shield colliding with the Tortie's head and knocking it off course. Barthold positioned himself in front of Victoria, shielding her from the beast's wrath.

"Switch with Jemie!" Barthold shouted.

Victoria frowned, reluctant to retreat. She was stronger than both Barthold and Guilliman combined—why should she fall back?

Her thoughts were interrupted as she felt something warm trickle down her face. Wiping her nose, she glanced at her hand and froze.

Blood.

'Strange,' she thought, momentarily confused. But she knew better than to argue. Without another word, she stood and rushed toward Helmdal, replacing Jemie in the healing circle.

The grueling fight dragged on, the team taking turns assaulting the Tortie and retreating to recover. Whether injured, exhausted, or frustrated, they rotated positions seamlessly, chipping away at the beast's defenses.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the massive creature let out one final, agonized roar before collapsing. Its body twitched for a moment, then went still.

"It's dead," Barthold announced, his voice heavy with relief.

"Did you get an Echo?" Jemie asked, panting as he downed a bottle of water. Two weeks of these battles, and it still left him drained every time.

"No Echo," Victoria replied, pulling out a black Soul Crystal and holding it up for the others to see. The disappointment in their eyes was evident. Not all mutants dropped Echoes—if they did, everyone would own a powerful one.

"Figures," Jemie muttered, capping his bottle with a sigh.

"Let me guess," he said, glancing at Victoria's face. Her expression betrayed her intentions. "You want to hunt another one, don't you?"

"Of course," she replied, her tone almost gleeful. "It's barely noon. One or two more, then we can call it a day. Unless you don't want a powerful Echo?"

Her words hung in the air as her gaze shifted toward the forest's depths, where more mutants no doubt lurked.

Jemie sighed, shaking his head bitterly. "Haaa, I see."

Ever since Victoria had reached level 3, she'd become insufferable. Oh, how he missed the days when one mutant was enough.