One Hell Of A Gamble
*BOOM!!!
*RUMBLE, BOOM!!
*THUD. THUD. SLASH!!
Black Storm Wolves—fierce carnivores that prey on anything weaker than themselves, including humans. Most of them are classified as 5th-class monsters, dangerous but manageable with the right training and weapons.
But this one…This was an Alpha.
A towering creature, easily six meters tall, cloaked in crackling black fur and storm-borne malice. Its immense aura and dense mana pool rivaled that of seasoned mages, elevating it to a deadly 3rd-class threat. Agile. Powerful. Highly resistant to both magic and physical damage. Its mere presence was enough to send trained guards into retreat.
Only the elite—Magic Chevaliers—could face such monsters without fear.
And now, with Ashfer gone… all Hervia had was Luke.
The worst possible opponent for a beast like this.
The farm was already half-torn. Broken fences, crushed carts, and trampled crops painted a chaotic scene. Thankfully, most of the farmers had escaped early, guided away by repellent lines that had kept low-class beasts at bay for months. But the Alpha's arrival shattered that fragile peace—this kind of monster hadn't been seen here in years.
Luke was left with two options: run to summon the city guard and a Chevalier—which could take far too long—or fight.
And where was Luke now, you may ask?
*BOOM!
*HOWL!! SLASH!!
He was already in the fight.
Dodging, tumbling, ducking low beneath arcs of claws that could split a man in half. The wolf snarled and slammed its paw into the earth, sending shockwaves that rattled the dirt and sent splinters of wood flying into the air. Luke panted, heart pounding in his chest like a war drum. He threw himself to the side again as claws narrowly missed his face, the breeze of it brushing past his ear.
There were still a few stragglers—old man Desmond among them—hobbling away from the fields as fast as their legs could carry them.
Luke twisted mid-sprint and yelled out over the thunderous chaos,
"Old man Desmond! Call the guards and a Chevalier if you arrive at—"
*SLASHH!!
The wolf lunged. Luke rolled, cutting his words off as dirt exploded behind him.
"—at the safe spot!" He finished, shouting one last time.
He wasn't going to win this. He knew that.
But if he could stall it… just long enough… Then maybe—just maybe—everyone else would make it out alive. And that was enough. He clenched his teeth as he took a few flips backward to distance himself from the raging beast. The Black Storm Wolf growled, its massive body tense, claws dragging furrows through the dirt as it crouched low—watching. Wary. A predator sensed something was off.
Luke's hands trembled, not from fear, but from the strain of what he was about to do. He clenched his fist tightly, focusing all the mana he had into one spot. His veins pulsed with heat, muscles twitching as sparks of fire ignited around his sweaty palm—small at first, then swirling into a tight, volatile spiral.
It burned.
Not just his skin, but deep in his bones. This was reckless. Dangerous to the body. But effective.
"Argh! FUCK IT—!"
With a shout, he dropped to one knee and slammed his flaming fist into the earth. Mana surged from his body into the ground, latching onto the residual particles hidden within the soil. Hervia was full of elemental mana—raw nature itself. Earth answered his call, merging with the fire in his hand.
(Let us recall the basic elements: Wind, Earth, Fire, and Water. All magic begins there. But through refinement and evolution, new forms emerge—Mutation Magic: Lightning, Mud, Ice… rare and powerful. And rarer still—Light and Dark, magic that few humans ever wield.)
And now, the fusion clicked.
The fire hissed, the ground trembled, and the spell stabilized—his fist now glowing with molten red-orange light. A crude, unstable, but real lava-type spell, compressed into one strike.
Luke stood tall, sweat dripping down his face, the heat radiating from his hand like a furnace.
"I may not have a large mana pool…" he growled through gritted teeth, "But that doesn't mean I'm dumb!"
With a yell, he lunged forward.
Fear still clung to him—but courage carried him faster.
He didn't charge in a straight line. That would've been suicide. Instead, he zig-zagged through the chaos, kicking up dust and ash with every step. His feet pounded the dirt—left, right, feint, dash—closing the distance with unpredictable rhythm.
The wolf snapped its jaws and swung a claw, but missed.
Luke slid under the strike, skimming inches from death.
And then—he saw it.
There. On its chest.
Barely visible under its thick black fur, shimmering faintly like a cracked gem—was a magic stone, lodged and pulsing with energy.
His heart leaped.
"That's it…"
That stone—its core, its weakness. All monsters of this class had one. But they were usually hidden, protected.
This one was exposed.
The gamble was on.
One shot. One strike. One chance.
He poured everything he had into the final lunge—all his strength, all his will, his body screaming in protest as he hurled himself forward like a human cannonball. His fist, now blazing like the molten heart of a volcano, was aimed straight for the pulsing magic stone lodged in the beast's chest.
But the Beast saw it.
At the very last second, the creature snarled and twisted its massive body, shifting just enough to turn its core out of reach. Its massive paw, glowing with static and rage, came swinging toward Luke's face—a death blow.
Time seemed to slow.
Instinct took over.
Luke's body twisted mid-air, every muscle screaming as he rotated, rebalancing in a fraction of a second. His light brown hair blows following his force of twist. His red—magenta eyes were shining for the last chance.
His fist aligned—perfectly.
"I told you, doggy…" He growled, eyes blazing as the beast's claws closed in—
"I AM—"
*CRACK!!
His fist connected with the core, a direct hit.
The swirling lava spell compressed tight as a drill at the moment of impact. The heat exploded outward. The core cracked—then shattered with a thunderous shockwave, molten energy bursting in every direction.
"—NOT FUCKING DUMB!"
The beast let out a final, gurgling howl, limbs twitching violently as the light faded from its yellow eyes. Its body quaked, the immense mana inside destabilizing, pulsing outward in waves before finally—collapsing with a ground-shaking thud.
But its last attack hits.
Sending Luke flying and crashing into the forest. A few trees snapped and fell. His bones cracked, and some shattered.
Luke lay in the dirt, his chest heaving. His clothes were torn to shreds, scorched and bloodied from the impact of both his reckless strike and the beast's brutal counter. Splinters of fallen trees pinned his legs, the weight of them crushing him inch by inch.
"UGH—!" he gritted his teeth, barely holding back a scream as pain rippled through his body like fire.
He couldn't move.
Every limb screamed in protest, every breath burned like knives in his lungs. But despite it all, despite the agony, a twisted smirk crept onto his face. He'd done it. He took down a 3rd-class monster.
Even Ashfer would be proud.
Or so he thought. His blood ran cold.
From the edge of his blurry vision, the beast moved.
The broken body of the Black Storm Wolf trembled. A low whimper echoed from its throat as it forced itself upright, limbs shaking—but standing. Blood dripped from its mouth, and one of its eyes was clouded over. But it lived.
The magic stone in its chest—fractured, but not destroyed—still pulsed dimly.
Luke's eyes widened in horror. His smirk vanished.
"No…"
His breath turned shallow. Panicked. His legs wouldn't move. He couldn't escape. Not like this. Not now.
The wolf let out a slow, growling snarl as its mouth opened wide. Mana surged between its fangs—crackling, twisting, forming into a massive, blinding sphere of lightning.
Its signature attack.
The air itself vibrated with power. Loose debris began to lift off the ground as the charged energy gathered and condensed into a ball the size of a boulder. It pulsed violently, growing larger and brighter with each second—aimed directly at Luke.
This was it.
Its final strike before death.
Luke's hands trembled against the earth, trying to push himself up.
"I… I can't…"
He looked to the sky, barely visible through the shattered canopy above, the clouds swirling unnaturally from the beast's magic.
Is this really it?
Is this all I could do? This is how I die? Without ever catching up to Ashfer?
The ball of lightning hissed, the final mana coil clicking into place.
And still… Luke was trapped. The massive sphere of lightning crackled and surged, fully formed now—unstable, blinding, and seconds away from being unleashed.
Luke braced himself.
Eyes wide. Heart racing. This was it.
But then—
*SWOOSH, BANG BANG!!
A sharp, thunderous gunshot rang out across the battlefield.
The mana sphere sparked violently, then detonated midair with a deafening blast. A shockwave of force and energy rippled across the fields, flattening grass, shaking trees, and kicking up a thick cloud of dust. The explosion blinded Luke momentarily, his ears ringing as the light faded.
When he opened his eyes again, the Black Storm Wolf was motionless.
Finally, truly, dead.
Its own magic had consumed it.
Luke blinked slowly, trying to make sense of what had just happened.
And then—through the smoke—a figure emerged, walking calmly down the ruined trail between crushed crops and shattered fences. An old coat flapping in the wind. A worn rifle slung in his arms, still smoking from the barrel.
The man stopped a few steps from Luke.
And with a deep sigh, he muttered in a voice both gruff and familiar.
"Stupid son… never knows when to ask for help."
...
Luke smiled weakly when he heard his dad's voice. He forced a faint chuckle.
"I... wanna go home..."
...
Arthur clenched his body and, teeth gritted from what he was about to say.
"Luke... Your chest... it's—"
...
"It's torn open..." That's all he managed to say.