028. Field Test 3

By the time Kael finally arrived at the fourth segment—his body rested, his stomach full, and his mana replenished—he could immediately sense the shift in atmosphere.

The field ahead was marked by exhaustion. The others looked completely worn down, their movements sluggish, their mana signatures dim and unstable from prolonged combat.

Just as he'd predicted.

'As I expected… but they never listen to anything I say.'

He let out a quiet sigh through his nose and stepped forward, setting his bag gently on the ground near theirs, close to the entrance of the segment.

For a brief moment, he just stood there, staring down at the heap of bags beside his—dust-smeared, scuffed from hurried movement, tossed down in haste.

Then he raised his head, eyes slowly scanning the field ahead where the others were still engaged or recovering between waves.

'Looks like they jumped into battle the moment they entered,' he thought, lips pressed into a neutral line.

Before moving forward, Kael crouched and unzipped his bag. He rifled through its contents with calm deliberation, fingers brushing past potions, cloth wraps, and miscellaneous tools until they closed around the hilt of a dagger. It was simple, balanced, not ideal—but it would do.

'Should work,' he murmured inwardly.

He zipped the bag shut and stood, sliding the dagger into a reverse grip out of habit. As he turned to head into the battlefield, his gaze flicked up—just in time to catch Dren glaring at him from across the segment.

Their eyes locked for a single, bristling second before Kael calmly looked away, shifting his attention to the others instead. Without a word, he began making his way forward, footsteps light and precise.

The fights weren't over yet. But unlike the rest, he was just getting started.

He jogged onto the battlefield, light on his feet, the tips of his toes brushing the ground with each step as he weaved forward through patches of bloodied soil and scattered debris. His movements were controlled, almost cautious—not out of fear, but calculation.

Then he halted.

His eyes swept the field, scanning quickly. The sounds of labored breathing, the clash of steel, and the distant screech of a beast still echoed across the space. He silently counted, 'one, two, three… six left'.

A quick head tally confirmed it. Six monsters, and most of his group were already too drained to handle even one more round.

Satisfied with the count, Kael lifted a hand and summoned the system screen with a silent mental command.

A soft flicker, a flash of blue light, and the familiar interface materialized before him—clean, semi-transparent, hovering steadily in front of his gaze.

His fingers moved across it with practiced ease, eyes darting between tabs and skill trees.

'I remember seeing something I could use here… but what was it? And where?'

The moment Kael's eyes landed on the skill, he recognized it instantly—he had skimmed past it earlier in his haste, almost overlooking it.

☆ Gloombound — +25% speed and precision in shadow; weakened by bright light.

〔45 NP / 30 CP〕

Without a word, he issued the mental command.

'Activate Gloombound.'

«System Notification»

[Sub-Skill Tree: Shadowborne Affinity successfully activated.]

[Skill: Gloombound successfully active — +25% speed and precision in shadow; weakened by bright light.]

〔45 NP / 30 CP〕

A shiver of dark energy surged through his veins, coiling around his limbs like smoke. It wasn't obvious—at least not under the dim lighting of the dungeon segment—but to anyone with heightened perception, or a skill tuned to aura detection, the fine veil of shadow trailing his skin might've been visible.

Kael stared at his hand, watching the faint shimmer of power curl along his knuckles like living ink. His lips curled into a subtle smirk, the first flicker of emotion since stepping onto the field.

'I can finally use it.'

He looked up and his gaze swept across the field—at the stumbling, exhausted forms of his teammates, and the beasts still closing in on them.

Then he vanished. One heartbeat he was standing there—then in the next, he was behind the first beast, the dagger never leaving its sheath.

His hand extended forward, and with a single, precise tap just behind its ribcage—where the heart pulsed beneath fur and bone—he struck. Not with strength, but with intent. The shadow energy infused the point of contact like poison.

Before the creature could register pain, he was gone again—appearing behind the second, then the third, each time only tapping the pressure point with eerie precision. The beasts flinched but didn't fall.

By the time he finished, he was back where he started—his breath heavy, a smirk tugging faintly at the edge of his mouth. But then his knees buckled beneath him. He hit the ground hard, coughing violently as blood spilled into his palm.

'Guess my body's not ready for that kind of speed…'

He wiped the blood off with the back of his hand, forcing himself upright. His head throbbed, but his eyes flicked up, watching the battlefield.

The creatures staggered now. Their movements had dulled, strength visibly drained.

'That should work.'

Within moments, the tide turned. The others, confused at first, quickly took the opportunity—overwhelming the weakened monsters and finishing them off in quick succession. The battles ended one by one, like a row of dominoes falling.

None of them knew why the monsters had suddenly grown sluggish.

None of them knew Kael had already done the hardest part.

As the last beast dropped, Dren stormed across the field. His face was flushed with fury, his boots kicking up dust as he stomped toward Kael and seized him by the collar.

"You just stood there and coughed up blood?!" he yelled, yanking Kael off the ground.

"We were literally in danger! You didn't even try to help! How weak are you?"

His voice echoed through the now-quiet dungeon, every word a dagger aimed at Kael's pride.

The others stood around, some still catching their breath, others watching with narrowed eyes—but none spoke.

Kael looked him dead in the eye, still calm, the smirk gone now—replaced with a soft, unreadable smile.

He gently pried Dren's hands off his clothes and dusted the front of his shirt, his tone flat and devoid of heat.

"I'm still recovering, alright? Just because the bandages are off doesn't mean I'm healed. The accident at school didn't leave me unscathed. So maybe…" he tilted his head slightly, "don't expect too much."

Dren's fists clenched, but when he looked around at the others, their expressions offered no support.

With a frustrated huff, Dren turned and stomped away, heading for the pile of bags. He sat down roughly, clearly holding back more words than he said.

Kael watched him go, a faint gleam in his eyes. Almost amused.

The others lingered for a beat, still staring at Kael—uncertain, perhaps… suspicious. But one by one, they turned away, following Dren to regroup and rest.

Kael exhaled slowly and the smirk returned.

'You can't blame me,' he thought, stretching his sore limbs and gazing at the faint blood still smeared on his fingers. 'I did my best.'