Flashlight

"Come on!" Nolan confidently challenged.

Like an answered prayer, another infected swung its almost jagged bone-arm.

Nolan sidestepped, body tilting just enough for the blow to pass within inches of his ribs.

The sound of wind pressure brushing his jacket was audible.

Flash!

Another burst of light—this time straight into the eyes of a sprinting brute. It staggered mid-charge.

Nolan stepped in, rolled under its arm, leapt to its back, and with surgical precision, drove his knife into the back of its skull.

A sickening crunch followed.

He kicked off the collapsing body mid-fall and landed on both feet, crouched.

Another came.

Nolan ducked, then backflipped—yes, backflipped—over a leaping infected that snapped its yellow fangs inches from his throat.

As he landed, he spun, used the falling corpse of an earlier kill as a shield, and shoved it into a crawling infected charging on all fours. The collision caused both to tumble.

He advanced again, never stopping.

Flash. Kill. Flash. Evade. Duck. Parry. Slice.

The knife flicked and danced in his hand like it was alive. His arm moved like a whip, each stab a blur of momentum and deadly intent.

The flashlight, far from being a mere illumination tool, was now a weapon of disorientation—used with rhythm and timing so perfect, it almost looked like spellcasting.

The infected never touched him.

Not once.

They clawed the air he used to occupy, bit at shadows left behind by his movements.

Their roars, once loud and overwhelming, began to turn into confusion and disarray.

The students watched in stunned silence.

He wasn't just killing them. He was moving through them—like a wind through dry leaves. A sharp, bladed wind.

Kera's lips parted, unable to find words.

Selin held both hands over her mouth.

Erik said, "That… that was the most insane thing I've ever seen."

Ruvin, who had once claimed to be the strongest among them, whispered, "He… didn't even get hit."

Soon, only three were left. They rushed him together. One from the left. One from the right. One directly ahead.

Nolan exhaled.

Flash.

The left one stumbled, its arms flailing wildly as it growled in frustration.

Nolan leapt right, kicked off a crumbling wall, flipped above the center one, twisted mid-air, and stabbed downward with both hands.

The knife embedded straight through its skull like a spike through a melon.

He landed on one knee behind it, spinning.

The right one lunged. Nolan shoved the falling corpse forward—it slammed into the attacker.

As they collided, Nolan closed the distance in half a second and rammed his blade into the side of its head, twisting before yanking it free.

One left.

The blinded infected lunged wildly in rage.

Nolan didn't move. He stepped in, letting its own momentum overshoot.

Then, he pressed the flashlight against its temple.

Click.

The burst of light burned straight through its cracked skin, and in that brief dazed second—

Stab.

It dropped.

Nolan stood in the middle of the fallen.

Thirty bodies surrounded him, still twitching with the last fragments of corrupted mana.

His coat flapped in the stagnant air.

His hands were steady.

But his chest—

It heaved with silent effort.

He was panting.

Breathing like he'd run a marathon.

But he didn't show it.

Not to them.

"Alright," he said, standing straighter, though his legs were screaming. "Students."

Silence.

He cleared his throat, pretending to adjust his coat.

"I said—students. How's that?"

"THAT WAS CRAZY!"

"Sir! That was the coolest thing I've ever seen in my life!"

"You didn't use your throwing knife skill, teacher!"

"I thought you were going to get torn to shreds!"

"How did you—how did you not get touched?!"

Nolan smiled faintly, leaning on the wall behind him as subtly as possible to hide the fact that he could barely stand.

His stamina was zero. His limbs trembled. He could feel his muscles locking up. His arms were sore from repeated precise strikes. His heart thundered in his ears. If he moved now—just a step—he might fall.

But he wouldn't let them see that.

"Yeah," he said, chuckling coolly. "Just a little warm-up."

"A warm-up?!"

"That was the best thing I've ever seen! Sir! You're like—like some kind of hero!"

Nolan smirked. "All it takes is proper form, awareness… and a good flashlight."

Silence again.

Then—

"Wait. So the flashlight—how to master it?"

"You mean that little light? We thought it was a joke item!"

"Sir! Is that thing even listed as a combat tool in the simulation menu?!"

"Nope," Nolan replied casually, still breathing hard behind the scenes. "Sometimes, the best tools… are the ones no one else thinks to use."

"I want to try that move!"

"I'm going to practice the light and stab routine!"

"This changes everything…"

Nolan nodded along to their excited chatter, all while trying not to slide down the wall behind him.

Selin asked, "Sir, how long did it take to master that move?"

Nolan raised a finger. "Come to the assessment tomorrow… and maybe I'll show you."

They groaned.

He smirked. Still standing.

He could rest. Just a few more seconds, maybe.

But then—

Grrrhhhhh…

He froze.

The students heard it too. A low, rumbling growl.

It wasn't coming from the corridor ahead.

It was right beside him.

Suddenly, the low growl that vibrated beside Nolan's ear made his neck stiffen like a cranked lever. He didn't turn right away.

Instead, he smiled.

A grin, effortless and relaxed on the surface, but beneath it—pure, uncut panic.

His fingers, clammy with dried blood, clenched the flashlight tighter.

Click.

The light beamed into the infected's rotting face. Its glowing red eyes recoiled instinctively, its gurgling growl warping into a hiss.

"Class," Nolan said with a casual tone that hid the dread squeezing at his lungs, "let's talk strategy."

The infected twitched closer, but Nolan lazily circled the flashlight's beam around its face.

The creature staggered, confused, its corrupted brain unable to fully track the shifting light.

Nolan took a deliberate step backward, keeping his distance exactly measured.

"Now, if any of you are still watching," Nolan said, pacing in a slow arc, the light spiraling with subtle control, "this is what you do when you're too tired to lift your knife, but still too pretty to die."

He heard a few chuckles in the call.

But inside, Nolan was screaming.

His stamina hadn't recovered.

His legs were jelly. His arms? On fire.

The moment he lunged, he risked collapsing.

But the show had to go on.

"So, here's a question for you," he said, making the flashlight dance between the infected's eyes. "What do you think I should do next?"

There was a pause. Then, Nolan would hear his students voices.

"Uh—run?" Erik suggested.

"Flash it to death?" Selin said hopefully.

"Throw something again?" Kera offered.

Nolan smirked wider, circling slowly around the creature. "All interesting ideas. But here's the trick—sometimes, the best offense is making your opponent look real stupid."

He clicked the flashlight in a rhythmic pattern—on, off, on, on, off. The infected jerked its head each time, snorting like a broken animal trying to track a will-o'-wisp.

Seconds ticked.

His system screen blinked in the corner of his vision.

[ Stamina: 12%... 13%...]

Just a little more.

He kept talking. "See, students, your enemies can only hit what they can see clearly. And if all they're seeing is your light dancing like a drunken faerie, then you've already won."

[Stamina: 22%...]

He flipped the light to full brightness. The infected shrieked, clawing at its own eyes.

[Stamina: 30%.]

Now.

Nolan lunged.

One clean motion—his body flowed like a shadow, the knife slid upward—

Shlunk.

Straight through the eye socket.

The infected dropped like a sack of garbage.