Hector's condition was nothing short of disastrous. He was soaked in blood, barely recognizable, but it wasn't his wounds that caused the most concern. It was his sheer exhaustion. Wolf carcasses lay strewn around him, grim evidence of the relentless battle he had fought. Clearly, he had been swinging his sword nearly all day.
I punched the charging wolf, my fist wrapped in flames slamming into its lower jaw. The sensation of its jawbone and teeth shattering was vivid and visceral.
Without hesitation, I grabbed its oversized mane with both hands, feeling the coarse fur beneath my fingers, and hurled the wolf backward. The wolf struck two others that had just started to charge, causing them to stumble and turn on their fallen kin, their jaws tearing into their kind's carcasses.
As the remaining wolves faltered, I unleashed my next move—White Sun Style's 2nd Move, Fire Wheel.
Perhaps it was due to my occasional practice with the Spirit Jade, but this time, the Fire Wheel expanded to twice its previous size before exploding into the wolves.
The rest of them...
I estimated four or five wolves remained, but I didn't need to finish them off. The rest of the group had already handled their share.
Charles swung her mace with precision, crushing the spine of a struggling wolf.
I smiled as I watched her sigh deeply, her shoulders relaxing.
"You did well listening to me," I teased. "It's good to let loose and relax, isn't it? Plus, it's a decent workout."
"Is now really the time for that?" Charles snapped, rushing to support Hector, who looked on the verge of collapse. "Hector, are you okay? Oh gods, look at this wound..."
She reached for a potion, but I stopped her.
"Charles," I said firmly.
"What now?" she shot back, her voice sharp.
"We bought that potion with our points. You can't use it recklessly."
She glared at me. "Are you joking right now?"
"Does it look like I'm joking?" I replied coolly.
The potion was a shared resource, earned through our collective efforts. It was one thing to use it on one of our four, but entirely another to waste it on someone from another group.
Charles bit her lip, clearly understanding my point. She wasn't stupid.
"But... at this rate, Hector will..." her voice trailed off, heavy with concern.
"It isn't a serious injury," I said dismissively.
Charles blinked. "What?"
"Sure, he's covered in blood, but most of it isn't his. A good rest should be enough for him to recover. Don't you think?" I added.
This was no ordinary body. Hector had been raised on elixirs since childhood, forging muscles far superior to those of typical hero disciples.
"Luan is right. I'm fine," Hector said, gently pushing Charles aside.
He sighed and turned to me. "I owe you one, Luan. This debt—"
"You'll repay it when the time comes, right?" I interrupted with a grin.
"Right," Hector replied.
I chuckled, then glanced at Charon perched on the tree. "We'll talk about that later. For now, I need to have a word with him."
Charon unexpectedly came down from the tree and glared at me.
"Why were you just watching from up there?" I asked.
"Was I supposed to swoop in and save him or something?" he retorted.
"If you weren't going to help, you could've at least left. Why just sit there and watch?" I pressed.
"I offered a deal," Charon said casually.
Although I hadn't been there from the start, Hector's demeanor and Charon's words painted a clear enough picture.
"You really tried to exploit this situation for points, huh?" I said, incredulous.
"Hector's crisis was an opportunity for me. I don't pass up chances that fall into my lap," Charon replied smugly.
"Do you know what is happening in this forest?" I asked.
"Demons have appeared," Charon replied nonchalantly.
I was dumbfounded. He tried to blackmail Hector for points even though he knew about the situation?
"Luan Badniker, I've known for a long time that you've been hiding your strength. You pretended to be weak, acted abominably, and half-heartedly attended every class."
"That's a misunderstanding," I said flatly.
I hadn't hidden my strength, nor had I attended classes half-heartedly. I'd simply struggled because I refused to use my internal energy. However, this fellow seemed to think I was training casually.
"But you aren't the only one who's hidden their strength," Charon continued. "This training camp must be a painful place for you. On the other hand, I have never been more comfortable in my life."
I stared at him, unimpressed.
"The Great Families' descendants are like greenhouse plants, coddled and trained under your families' protection. You and I aren't the same," Charon declared with an air of superiority.
He carried a strange sense of pride—the kind of thinking you'd expect from someone much older.
"I had it much worse than you. This is nothing compared to what I went through..." People who spoke like that usually had rotten personalities.
"Should I bring myself down to your level, then?" I asked.
Charon frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Points," I said simply.
Charon's eyes lit up. "Are you proposing a wager? Or a spar?"
"No. Hand over all the points you've got," I said, flicking my wrist dismissively. "Or get the beating of your life."
***
Charon looked at me momentarily before the corners of his mouth twisted into a grin. "I'll take that as a challenge to fight."
"W-wait. Is this really the time for a spar?" Even interjected, his tone dripping with common sense.
Before anyone could stop him, Charon drew a dagger from the sheath on his forearm and charged at me.
Close combat? That's not his specialty, I thought.
Still, this turn of events wasn't unfavorable to me.
The moment Charon swung his dagger, he was still more than ten steps away—a distance even a spear couldn't reach, let alone a dagger. Then, something erupted from the weapon.
I frowned slightly. It wasn't Sword Qi—only a master swordsman could unleash such a technique. At his level, it was impossible. In other words, it had to be a blessing.
The attack was hard to see in the darkness, but the loud sound made it easy to dodge. As I sidestepped, I glanced ahead and realized Charon had vanished.
Almost instantly, the sound of tearing air echoed behind me. Even without looking, I recognized it as an arrow.
I snatched it midair with my bare hands.
I sensed Charon flinch from somewhere in the grass. When I hurled the arrow back at him, he vanished once more—not through stealth, but by teleporting a short distance.
It must be another blessing, I concluded.
Short-range teleportation was surprisingly common among blessings. The Iron-Blooded Lord possessed a similar ability, as did Seren. I was certain Charon had something akin to it.
This fellow probably has three or four blessings.
If he'd received more than five, it would have been the talk of the land—enough for even me to have heard about it.
Blessings came in countless varieties. It was unlikely all four of his were combat-oriented, so I focused on two key threats: his dagger attack and his short-range movement.
Charon's presence flickered around me, appearing and disappearing on all sides. He was attempting to disorient me, but it was futile.
I slammed my right foot into the ground. The wolf carcasses scattered in all directions, disturbing the terrain around us. After making a short leap, Charon paused for a moment.
This was a trick I'd learned as a mercenary. The drawback of teleportation techniques was their reliance on pre-existing knowledge of the terrain. Since the user didn't physically move and observe their surroundings, any sudden change in the environment caused a delay in their reaction—a delay of less than a second, but enough to decide a battle.
Charon staggered as I struck him in the face. Yet, even as he reeled, the dagger in his right hand shot toward my vital point.
His combat experience was undoubtedly beyond that of a typical hero disciple. Still, he was just a child. While he surpassed first-rate mercenaries and even the church assassins I'd fought in the Jewel Mountains, he was no match for me.
I blocked the dagger aimed at my neck and drove my foot into Charon's stomach. He gritted his teeth and swung his left hand again, but I deflected most of his attacks with ease.
"What's wrong? Is this all you've got?" I taunted.
Charon's expression changed abruptly. His eyes burned with killing intent, and he lunged at me, disregarding his safety. It was an unexpected move, the sharpest and most desperate attack yet from an assassin. I could read his thoughts clearly.
An inexperienced person would flinch under such an assault. Even those with hands-on experience would struggle to withstand the direct pressure of death bearing down on them. But I remained calm, blocking the dagger with my bare palm.
Charon's eyes went wide, stretched to the verge of tearing. This was evidently the most shocking thing he had ever witnessed.
Then, I slapped his face with my pierced left hand.
" Ugh... " he groaned, staggering back.
"Who taught you that attack?" I asked. "It's not a hero disciple's technique. Did you learn it from your father?"
"Shut... up!" Charon snarled through gritted teeth.
"I don't want to," I replied, slapping his cheek again. "I don't want to, I don't want to, I don't want to."
Each slap jerked his head to the side.
To be honest, it wasn't particularly satisfying—his face lacked much flesh to make an impact. Nonetheless, I kept going deliberately.
There were two reasons. First, people like Charon, who lived and died for their pride, often had a lower tolerance for humiliation than pain. Second, focusing my attacks on one spot was my specialty.
"I will kill you!" Charon shouted, his eyes blazing with defiance.
However, his bravado cracked after two more slaps. "S-stop... let go..."
Of course, aside from his swollen face, his strength remained intact, so I didn't stop.
Charon could barely resist by the thirtieth and fortieth slaps, his protests reduced to incoherent mumbles.
At this point, I stopped attacking and leaned closer to listen.
"...ry..." he muttered.
"What?" I asked.
"So, ry... sor... y..." he slurred.
"Ah," I said, understanding.
I released Charon and suddenly recalled a similar scene. I turned and glanced over at Hector, who had his eyes tightly shut.