Great professor
Nolan moved through the hallways of the second floor like a shadow cast by death itself.
He didn't stop.
He didn't hurry. And with every new infected that stumbled into his path—he dispatched them with surgical, almost insulting ease.
They were coming in twos now.
Not just the scattered singles from first floor.
Pairs of infected, heads twitching violently, bodies contorting with that jerky madness, skin peeling and eyes void of reason. But it didn't matter.
He dealt with them like he was bored.
Knife—throw—right into the skull of the first.
He would step forward as the body fell, tug the blade free, and without a break in motion, block the momentum of the second infected with the first's corpse—what Earth players called a "momentum blockage."
It was a classic trick from the players of Earth: using physics against the horde.
It had become famous in survival games and combat VR simulations, but few ever pulled it off with this kind of smooth, slow-motion grace.
Nolan wasn't doing it like a desperate player pulling off a clutch moment—he was doing it like he was tying his shoes.
And the students watched.
Silently.
In disbelief.
Again and again, Nolan let them witness the technique.
The timing.
The impossibly perfect positioning.
The way he killed with one move, one motion, and never once lost composure.
They were seeing something they had never seen before.
Nolan would comment, "not enough."
He would have explained it.
The whole method. How to throw. How to catch. How to time the corpse's fall to offset the next infected's forward charge. He could've, and then they'd try it themselves.
Over and over.
Failing, retrying, eventually getting good enough to survive.
But Nolan didn't do that?
He wasn't going to let them.
They had already gained too much by playing through the internet system he used to allow them access to the simulation.
Yes, they have become stronger just by playing inside the simulation, absorbing experiences and benefits that should belong only to him!
This is not part of the plan!
Suddenly, Nolan's guilt would whisper to him.
But tomorrow… was assessment day? Are you not going to let them benefit so they could pass the assessment?
He would scoff!
No fucking way!
He wasn't here to help them pass.
He was here to just invite them to attend
And in his twisted logic, letting them pass was not his problem or obligation.
So by not explaining his technique inside the simulation, he forced himself into a corner—he'd have to explain it in the real world. And as someone who bluffed everything from grades to entire training methods, he already had a plan.
He'd just make something up.
Give them weird "practical" exercises.
Maybe balancing eggs on sticks or chasing pigeons around the courtyard.
Something that looked philosophical enough for a "teacher" to assign.
In this way, they won't be able to access his internet ability and be strengthened from it again!
And in that chaos of weird, irrelevant training, they'd never learn what he actually did here.
They'd never reproduce it.
Perfect.
A perfect plan!
Meanwhile, the students were still locked in awe, voices barely audible from how stunned they were.
"Did he just—"
"That move again… and again…"
"Is that… is that real? How is he making the infected look like practice dummies?"
"I swear his knife movement… why didn't I learn something like that?"
"No! There are no teachers who focus on knife skills that much—maybe in other cities, but not us here in Silver Blade City…"
"Is he our first?"
As if in response, the screen changed.
They saw it.
Three.
Three infected.
Together.
Their nightmare.
The moment every student had been secretly dreading and hoping for.
The three-infected pack.
The nightmare group on the second floor. The one they all remembered. The one that tore through them so easily, where separating them was nearly impossible, and death came as fast as a blink.
And Nolan?
He was walking toward them.
Calmly.
Relaxed.
Opposite directions.
No signs of slowing down.
The students were in chaos.
"No—NO—he's going to engage them directly?!"
"What?! Why?! You can't do that!"
"You have to lure them!"
"There's no exit path! There's no cover!"
"Is he insane?!"
Then, Nolan smiled.
And he said it, in that casual, smug tone that cut through the simulation's audio.
"I think it's time to get serious."
He reached into his coat. Pulled out something.
A flashlight.
Not a weapon. Not a blade. Not a spell enhancer. Just… a flashlight.
"What's he—"
Before they could finish the thought, Nolan's knife flew.
Thunk!
Straight into the first infected's skull.
As its body slumped, Nolan was already moving.
He caught the knife mid-fall, just like before, and dragged the corpse forward slightly, angling it to block the second one's sprint.
The students couldn't look away.
"OH MY GOD HE'S—"
The third infected lunged, fangs wide, jaws stretched—
Nolan clicked the flashlight. Flash!
The light blasted into the infected's eyes.
It shrieked, recoiling just for a heartbeat.
And in that breath of time, Nolan's knife embedded into its throat. Then, twisted. Pulled free.
The second infected, just recovering, snarled and tried to attack—
Flash! Again. Right in the eyes.
And as it staggered, confused—
Shhlick.
The knife ended its life.
Clean. Cold. Effortless.
And Nolan walked past their bodies like they were mannequins.
The screen slowly followed as he walked toward the stairs and ascended.
To the third floor.
But back in the classroom—there was nothing but stunned silence.
They stared.
No one moved.
No one breathed.
No one spoke.
Until…
"…he just…" someone whispered.
"…killed the nightmare pack…"
"With a flashlight," another said hollowly.
"…that was our wipe point…"
"It took our whole team two hours to split those three…"
"...and even then we lost half the squad!"
"That was impossible. That was supposed to be a wall! A checkpoint!"
"We tried everything! Sound traps! Dummies! Smoke!"
"But he… used a corpse… and a flashlight."
Slowly, as the realization hit, the shock gave way to something deeper.
A new voice, clear and loud:
"So…" Calien said, wide-eyed, "we just needed to use a thing called… flashlight?"
They turned to him.
"…In the game world," Calien continued slowly, "it's probably the same as using a simple spell…"
The classroom was silent.
He glanced at his hand. As if holding something. Remembering.
"…We have… Tier 0 spells."
The rest of them gasped.
Tier 0. The most basic. The most boring. Utility spells. Magic so simple even non-conjurers could do it. Meant for lighting camps, scaring off rats, or guiding children in the dark.
And suddenly, it all made sense.
Nolan's words.
"Use everything you've got."
He hadn't said it directly. He hadn't shown them clearly. But the message was there. Hidden in motion. In precision. In how he treated every tool—flashlight or knife—with the same respect.
The "flashlight" was just a light.
A Tier 0 spell.
They'd always looked down on it.
But he used it like a weapon.
And it worked.
"Fucking awesome…" someone muttered.
"I'm gonna cry…"
"I wasted so much time trying to be fancy…"
"We all did…"
"And he just…"
"Used light."
Back in the simulation, Nolan reached the third floor.
And there, waiting for him—dozens of infected.
A sea of twisted, twitching, mangled forms. Their groans filled the hall. The floor was drenched in old, dried blood. Some of them began to turn toward him. Others already sniffed the air.
Surrounded.
A whole horde.
Nolan stood still.
Then, slowly, he exhaled through his nose.
And smirked again.