True Power

Noah's breath came in ragged gasps, but he had no time to stop.

The last five minutes had been a blur of fighting, gathering survivors, and holding formation. What had started as just him, Mark, and Ricky had grown into an actual squad.

Amanda and Ava had been the first real reinforcements—Amanda picking off goblins with deadly precision, Ava bulldozing through them like a one-woman wrecking crew. The two had arrived in perfect sync, cutting down a goblin that had nearly blindsided Noah.

Devon was already fighting separately. Unlike the rest, he hadn't joined—he had been moving through the battlefield on his own terms, cutting through goblins like a ghost. Noah hadn't even noticed him until he saw the bodies left in his wake.

Now, they had an actual front line.

Mark took point, shield raised like a moving wall. Ricky fought beside him, still sloppy but improving, hacking at anything that got too close. Ava fought just behind them, her fists a blur of movement, while Amanda covered their backs, arrows flying with pinpoint accuracy.

Devon moved through the chaos like a shadow, always appearing exactly where he needed to be—silent, efficient, lethal.

The rest of the students still lingered in the back, holding weapons but barely using them. They weren't ready. Maybe they never would be.

And right now, they didn't matter.

Because something was wrong.

Noah's grip on his spear tightened.

The goblins weren't breaking. They should've panicked by now. But they weren't running. They were still fighting—like they had a plan.

Then—he saw why.

Ahead of them, James and Sophia were locked in combat.

But they weren't fighting just any goblin.

This one was bigger. Stronger. Smarter.

Its armor wasn't random scraps—it was fitted, covering vital areas. Its blade was sharp, not rusted like the others. And it wasn't just swinging wildly.

It was fighting with actual tactics.

Noah watched as it baited James into overextending, then punished him with a brutal counterstrike. James barely twisted out of the way, his Clockwork Magic adjusting at the last second, but even then, the goblin was keeping pace.

Sophia tried to strike its blind spot—but it wasn't a blind spot.

The goblin anticipated her attack.

It caught her staff, yanked her forward, and nearly caved in her ribs with a knee.

Noah's stomach dropped. This wasn't a brute. This was a leader.

And James and Sophia were seconds away from losing.

Noah didn't hesitate.

"Mark! Ricky! With me!" he barked. "Devon, Ava—flank it from the sides! Amanda, give us cover!"

No time to think. They had to stop this thing before it killed their classmates.

As they moved, the stench of battle clung to them—thick, acrid, suffocating. The air reeked of sweat, blood, and something fouler, something that came from split-open goblin corpses. It was a mix of iron and rot, of flesh left too long in the sun. The scent curled in Noah's nostrils, making his stomach lurch.

Pushing the stench of battle out of his mind, Noah and the squad surged forward to help James and Sophia.

Mark made contact first, charging into the side of a goblin mid-slash, his sheer force overpowering the creature. Ava followed up immediately, unleashing a flurry of devastating blows with her gauntlets.

An arrow whistled through the air, striking true—burying itself deep into a goblin farther ahead. Ricky seized the opening, drawing the attention of another goblin. This time, he fought properly, no longer striking with the flat of his blade but cutting with intent.

Then, Devon emerged from the chaos, moving like a shadow. With precise efficiency, he flanked the distracted goblin and drove his dagger deep into its throat, silencing it instantly.

Noah, the most injured among them, held back, scanning the battlefield for an opportunity to strike. He forced himself to breathe through the pain, his fingers tightening around his spear as he assessed the fight unfolding before him.

It was like a chessboard.

In his mind, each classmate became a piece.

Amanda, striking from a distance with lethal precision—his bishop.

Mark, an unmovable force, cutting down enemies through sheer power—his rook.

Devon, unpredictable and cunning, slipping through openings with deadly grace—his knight.

Ricky, still rough around the edges but useful nonetheless—a pawn, taking risks and learning with every move.

And Ava… not quite a rook, not quite a knight. Something in between. She had power, but also adaptability.

Sadly, while beautiful, she wasn't a queen.

That thought lingered for a moment before Noah questioned himself—what did that make him?

The king? The strategist? The one moving the pieces?

His mind sharpened. The battlefield no longer felt like chaos. It was a system, an intricate network of motion and reaction.

It was like the runes.

His thoughts drifted back to the ritual platform, to the symbols that had glowed beneath him. There had been structure, a logic behind their patterns. The flow of battle wasn't so different—every movement had a purpose, a reason for being.

And then—it clicked.

His vision traced an arc across the battlefield. A perfect line, like an invisible thread, connected his spear to the massive goblin—the hobgoblin—that James was still locked in combat with.

Noah inhaled sharply.

He lifted his spear, gripping it like a javelin.

With a sharp twist of his torso, he drew back his arm—and then, with explosive force, he hurled the weapon forward.

Something happened.

Whether intentional or not, a burst of mana surged from his palm, amplifying the throw. The spear cut through the air, faster than it should have.

James and Sophia, locked in a dangerous struggle against the hobgoblin, barely had time to react.

The moment Noah's spear struck home, everything seemed to slow. The sickening crack of metal meeting flesh and bone rang in his ears. The hobgoblin howled—a deep, guttural sound that sent a ripple of unease through the battlefield. Its massive form stumbled back, dark blood spilling from the wound in its shoulder.

Noah's breath hitched.

'It worked.'

The weight of the throw, the force behind it, the way the he used mana to increase the power—it had all lined up perfectly. And now, this monster—this, thing that had nearly overpowered James and Sophia—was faltering.

James didn't hesitate. His blade flashed downward in a perfect arc, cutting through the creature's chest. The hobgoblin gurgled, its massive frame shuddering, collapsing like a broken statue. Its weapon slipped from its grasp, clattering against the stone floor.

Silence.

Then—

"IT'S DEAD!" someone shouted.

A roar of renewed energy surged through Noah's group.

The remaining goblins faltered at the sight of their fallen leader. Some screeched in defiance, others hesitated, their beady eyes darting between the humans and the crumpled body of their hobgoblin commander.

Then, like a tide breaking against jagged cliffs, the hesitation turned to panic.

Noah's voice cut through the battlefield.

"PUSH FORWARD! DON'T LET THEM ESCAPE!"

Ava let out a wild grin, already dashing ahead before the words had even left his mouth.

Mark lifted his shield, barreling through a retreating goblin and cleaving through its neck. Ricky followed behind, his blade hacking at anything that moved.

Amanda let loosed another arrow, her shot piercing the back of a goblin scrambling toward the treeline. It collapsed with a sharp shriek.

The students—those who could still fight—followed his order without hesitation.

The goblins fell like dominoes.

One by one.

Screeches of agony filled the air. Their desperate cries cut short.

Then—silence.

No more enemies stood.

Noah lifted his head, surveying the aftermath.

The battlefield was theirs.

Well all but one.

Turning to look over the wall Noah sees the instructor lock in a deadly fight.

The Bloodhound landed with an earth-shaking THUD, its hulking frame crouched low, a snarl ripping through its chest. Its deep red eyes burned with hatred, its body cloaked in thick, blackened fur that crackled with cursed energy.

The instructor didn't hesitate. He charged.

The beast lunged, jaws snapping, but the instructor ducked low, sliding beneath its massive bulk. With a savage grin, he slashed upward as he passed, his sword carving a burning arc across its flank.

The Bloodhound howled, twisting in rage, but the instructor was already on its blind side. He moved like a man who had danced with death before—every motion efficient, every swing of his blade designed to kill.

The creature spun, its massive claw raking through the air, but the instructor barely shifted his head—just enough for the attack to miss by a hair.

He laughed. "Too slow."

The Bloodhound snarled, then vanished, blurring into a streak of shadow. It reappeared behind him, claws descending in a lethal strike.

But the instructor was faster.

His foot dug into the dirt. With an explosion of strength, he backflipped over the creature's attack, flipping through the air like a war dancer. His sword ignited, flames licking up the steel as he twisted mid-air.

By the time he landed, his sword had already torn through the Bloodhound's hind leg, severing it at the joint.

The beast screamed, staggering to one side. The instructor rolled his shoulders, completely unbothered.

"You think I'm scared of a mutt?" he sneered.

Then—

A pulse of dark violet energy shot across the battlefield, slamming into the ground beside him.

The earth exploded.

The instructor was knocked back a step, boots skidding in the dirt.

He turned—eyes narrowing.

Atop a jagged rock outcropping, the shaman stood, its grotesque form silhouetted by an eerie purple glow. Its staff thrummed with foul energy, bones clattering along the wood. Its eyes burned with malicious glee as it raised its arms again.

"Figures," the instructor muttered. "Should've killed you first."

Before he could move, the Bloodhound roared and lunged—its limb already half-regrown, flesh bubbling, sinew snapping back into place. The instructor raised his sword to parry, but—

BOOM.

Another curse detonated under his feet, forcing him to leap back or be swallowed in the blast.

The momentary hesitation was enough.

The Bloodhound's claw raked across his chest, shredding his tunic and cutting shallow lines into flesh. Not deep—but enough to draw blood.

The instructor staggered, more annoyed than hurt.

"Oh, you're working together now? That's cute."

The shaman screeched something in its foul tongue—chanting faster now, its voice rising in pitch. Black wisps poured from its staff, coiling like snakes, reaching toward the Bloodhound.

Enhancing it.

The beast twitched, then grew larger—its muscles bulging, claws extending, eyes glowing brighter.

The air thickened with cursed mana.

The instructor exhaled. "Fine."

He flared his own mana—flames roaring to life around his sword, dancing up his arm, wreathing his body in a crimson aura. Heat rolled off him in waves.

"Round two."

The Bloodhound lunged again, but this time it wasn't alone. As it struck from the front, blades of cursed ice erupted from the ground behind the instructor—summoned by the shaman to skewer him mid-dodge.

He didn't dodge.

He charged forward, diving directly into the Bloodhound's strike—catching its claw with his left arm. Flesh tore. Blood sprayed.

But his right arm? It didn't stop.

He drove his flaming blade straight into the beast's gut, twisting it as fire surged outward.

The Bloodhound howled in pain—then went flying as a fiery explosion detonated from the blade's core, blasting the monster off its feet.

The shaman shrieked in fury, raising its staff to fire again—

Too late.

The instructor vanished in a flash of flame.

He reappeared right in front of the shaman, still mid-chant.

Its yellow eyes widened.

"You picked the wrong dog."

And then—SLASH.

The instructor's sword cleaved through the shaman's staff and chest in one clean motion. The upper half of the creature slid sideways, toppling to the ground in a heap of blood and bones.

The battlefield shook.

Behind him, the Bloodhound stumbled upright—limping, barely standing. Its body charred, its magic faltering.

No more support.

The instructor didn't speak.

He strode over and, without ceremony, drove his blade through its skull.

The beast twitched, then stilled.

He yanked the sword free, fire licking at the blood coating the blade. With a slow exhale, he rolled his neck.

"Next time, send an army."

Then—he turned back toward his students, flames still crackling along his arms.