The battle unsurprisingly wasn't over.
Arden stood over the fallen Alpha, his blade still dripping with dark blood.
His shadow form was fully active—black hair, void eyes, darkness clinging to him like smoke.
But something was wrong.
His breathing was too fast.
His heart was racing in a way that had nothing to do with physical exertion.
This feeling...
He'd fought Ironhide Berserkers in VR.
Written about them extensively.
Knew their weaknesses, their patterns, their behaviors.
But being here—blade in hand, blood on his skin, the metallic scent in his nose—
This was different.
This was real.
And some part of him, some deep primal part, was responding to it.
Enjoying it.
He jumped down from the pile of corpses near the Alpha and drew his sword as he came out of his combat roll.
In this single movement, he cut into the waist of another Berserker—one he'd thought was dead.
Blood gushed from the wound.
The creature attempted to grapple him with its massive arm.
But Arden had already moved past it toward the remaining enemies.
The blow had been true, and its timing well-judged.
Had he cut too deeply, his sword would have stuck fast, and the beast's hand would have crushed his skull.
Elara watched from her position, twin swords in hand.
"Impressive," she muttered as Arden's blade danced into another Berserker's armpit, pulled back, and slashed at its exposed throat.
The beast threw its hands over the wounds as its lifeblood spurted out.
His display of swordsmanship had no wasted movement.
The style itself was beautiful and terrifying all at once.
Where did he learn to fight like that?
That's not academy training. That's not ranger training.
That's something else entirely.
Another show of his skill—Arden blocked an axe that had been thrown at his exposed back without even looking.
The weapon clattered to the ground.
How did he know it was coming?
At that moment, the rest of the team engaged fully.
Rykard's swords flew through the air like missiles.
Serra's ice magic created zones of frozen death.
Brick and Thrain absorbed the heavy engagements.
The Berserkers divided their force—some charging at the team, others thirsting for Arden's blood specifically.
They recognize him as the biggest threat, Elara realized.
They're targeting him deliberately.
She moved to support him, but something stopped her.
The look in his void-black eyes.
Empty.
Focused.
Almost... hollow.
Like he was somewhere else entirely.
----
I watched as many of the Berserkers chose to fight me and me alone.
Good.
Better me than the others.
I knew how to handle them.
"I know much of their ways," I thought absently, "yet my experience at actually fighting them is far less than my experience of writing about them."
I guessed that facing so many foes was a good thing.
It would force me to give my utter best.
How wrong I was.
The first Berserker reached me.
I Shadow Stepped past its swing.
My blade found the joint behind its knee.
Cut.
It fell.
The second one was smarter—feinted left, attacked right.
I read the movement.
Countered.
Found the gap in its neck plating.
Thrust.
Down.
But there were more.
Always more.
And with each kill, something inside me was... responding.
Not fear.
Not exhaustion.
Something else.
A hunger.
A longing that I'd been suppressing since entering this world.
The longing for this.
For combat.
For the pure clarity of life-or-death stakes.
No.
This isn't about enjoyment. This is about survival. About protecting the team.
About completing the mission.
But even as I thought it, my body was moving with a fluidity that came from somewhere deeper than conscious thought.
Muscle memory from a life I'd never lived.
How was that possible?
----
This was AMAZING.
Every hit Brick took made him stronger.
Every wound fueled his Accumulated Destruction technique.
A Berserker slammed its fist into his ribs—crack—
He absorbed it.
Redirected it.
His next swing hit like a siege weapon.
The Berserker's skull caved in.
"YEAH!" he roared, grinning like a maniac.
Another one charged.
He let it hit him.
Took the damage deliberately.
Then returned it threefold.
This is what I'm made for.
Taking hits. Dealing them back harder.
Being the wall everyone else can stand behind.
But even in his battle-joy, he noticed.
Arden was different.
I want to fight like him
----
He was going to die.
Garret was absolutely, positively going to die.
A Berserker had noticed him.
Was charging his position.
Eight feet of iron-plated muscle bearing down on him.
"NOPE!" Garrett activated Wind Strider.
The world blurred.
He was suddenly fifty feet away.
The Berserker crashed into the rocks where he'd been standing.
"I'M TOO YOUNG FOR THIS!"
He saw Arden glance his way—those void-black eyes assessing in a microsecond.
Then Arden was moving.
Shadow Step.
The Berserker that had charged Garrett suddenly had a sword through its eye socket.
Arden was already gone before it hit the ground.
He's protecting me, Garrett realized.
Even in the middle of his own fights, he's tracking where I am. Making sure I'm safe.
It should have been reassuring.
Instead, it was terrifying.
Because it meant Arden was fighting multiple opponents while simultaneously maintaining complete awareness of the entire battlefield.
That wasn't possible.
Yet he was doing it.
-----
Rykards three swords moved with perfect precision.
Telekinetic control at its finest.
Each blade an extension of his will.
One sword blocked an incoming axe.
The second struck a joint.
The third finished the kill.
Efficient.
Methodical.
Optimal.
But Arden...
Arden was something else.
Rykard's analytical mind cataloged every movement.
Shadow Step usage: 127 times in twelve minutes.
Average interval between teleports: 5.6 seconds.
Strikes thrown: 342.
Lethal strikes: 89.
Kill efficiency: 76%.
Those numbers are impossible.
Shadow Step requires mana. He should be exhausted by now.
But his movements aren't slowing. If anything, they're getting faster.
How much mana capacity does he have?
Rykard's third sword intercepted an axe meant for Kari.
She gave him a grateful nod.
He didn't respond—too focused on the data.
On understanding what Arden was.
----
His arms hurt.
Thrains Stone Bear Integration made him nearly indestructible, but even stone could crack under enough pressure.
He'd thrown five Berserkers off cliffs.
Stopped seven charges.
Broke four skulls.
And he was tired.
But Arden?
Arden wasn't tired.
He was... accelerating.
Moving faster.
Hitting harder.
Like the battle was fueling him somehow.
That's not normal.
Even for Integration users.
What is he?
Thrain blocked another charge.
Absorbed the impact.
His feet slid back three inches—first time that had happened.
This Berserker was stronger.
Bigger.
Problem.
But before he could adjust—
Arden was there.
Appearing from shadow.
His blade found the Berserker's neck joint.
Slash.
Blood sprayed.
The creature fell.
Arden's void-eyes met Thrain's briefly.
"You okay?"
"Yeah. Thanks."
Then Arden was gone again.
Always moving.
Always fighting.
Never stopping.
He's ,like a ghost Thrain thought.
Nobody can maintain that pace.
He has to slow down eventually.
But Arden didn't slow down.
-----
The battle was winding down.
Eighteen extra Berserkers dead.
Two fled.
The team was regrouping—
When the Alpha moved.
It wasn't dead.
Arden had cut its tendons.
Severed its hamstrings.
Slashed its throat.
But the Alpha was still alive.
Because Ironhide Berserkers were exactly that tough.
It lunged from the ground.
One final desperate attack.
Aimed directly at Elara's exposed back.
Time seemed to slow.
Arden saw it.
Shadow Step wouldn't be fast enough—not from his current position.
The Alpha's claws would reach Elara in 1.2 seconds.
He'd arrive in 1.5 seconds.
Not fast enough.
So he did something reckless.
Something desperate.
He threw his sword.
The blade spun through the air—
And Arden Shadow Stepped to it mid-flight.
Appeared beside the spinning weapon.
Caught it.
Redirected the momentum.
All in less than a second.
The sword plunged into the Alpha's eye socket.
Drove deep into its brain.
The Alpha's lunge became a collapse.
It crashed to the ground at Elara's feet.
Dead.
Finally dead.
Arden landed in a crouch, breathing hard.
His shadow form flickering.
That last move had cost him.
A lot.
He'd burned through nearly his entire mana reserve.
The transformation was fading—black hair returning to white, void-eyes returning to ice-blue.
Elara turned slowly.
Stared at the second dead Alpha.
Then at Arden.
"You just... threw your sword. And teleported to it."
"Seemed like a good idea at the time," Arden managed, trying to sound casual despite his exhaustion.
"That's not a technique. That's insanity."
"Insanity that worked."
The rest of the team was staring too.
Serra's expression was complicated.
Rykard's analytical mask had cracked—genuine surprise showing through.
Brick was grinning.
"THAT WAS THE COOLEST THING I'VE EVER SEEN!"
Thrain just shook his head slowly.
"You're going to get yourself killed doing stuff like that."
"But I didn't. And neither did anyone else." Arden stood slowly.
"Mission accomplished. Zero casualties."
-----
They sat among the corpses, catching their breath.
Arden's mana reserves were dangerously low.
His body ached in ways it hadn't since his first days of training.
But they'd won.
Everyone was alive.
That was what mattered.
"Okay," Brick said, breaking the silence.
"We need to talk about what just happened."
"We won," Arden said simply.
"No. Not that. About you." Brick gestured with his mace.
"You fought like... I don't even know what. Like a ghost."
"I studied extensively—"
"Don't give the boring academy answer," Serra interrupted.
"I've studied extensively too. So has everyone here. None of us fight like that."
Elara was watching Arden carefully.
She could see the exhaustion in his eyes.
The way his hands trembled slightly.
He'd pushed himself to the absolute limit protecting them.
"Let him rest," she said firmly.
"We can discuss this later."
"But—"
"Later, Brick."
Her tone brooked no argument.
Brick subsided, though he still looked curious.
Rykard was cataloging weapon damage.
Thrain was checking everyone for injuries.
Kari was bouncing around, still high on adrenaline.
Garrett was just grateful to be alive.
Serra approached Arden quietly.
"You saved my life. Multiple times."
"I saved everyone's lives. Multiple times."
"Yes. But why?" Her ice-blue eyes studied him.
"Why bring us at all if you could handle this alone?"
Arden was quiet for a long moment.
"Because when the real crisis comes, I can't be everywhere at once. I need people I can trust. People who can handle themselves." He met her gaze.
"This was practice. For something worse."
"Worse than twenty plus Ironhide Berserkers?"
"Much worse."
Serra absorbed that.
"The coordinated howling. The unusual monster behavior. The fortress being understaffed." Her voice was barely a whisper.
"You know what's coming, don't you?"
"Yes."
"How?"
"I can't tell you that. Not yet."
"But you will?"
"When the time is right."
She nodded slowly.
"Then I'll trust you. Until then."
"Thank you."
As Serra walked away, Elara approached.
"That was reckless. The sword throw."
"It worked."
"This time. What about next time?"
"Next time, I'll think of something else reckless that works."
She smiled despite herself.
"You're impossible."
"I'm effective."
"You're exhausting."
"Also effective."
She sat beside him, their shoulders almost touching.
"You can't protect everyone all the time, Arden."
"Watch me."
"I'm serious. You're going to burn yourself out."
"Then I burn out protecting people. That's better than watching them die because I held back."
"I won't let them die," he finally said.
"Any of them. Not if I can help it."
"Even if it kills you?"
"Especially then."
Elara studied his profile.
"You know, most people would call that a hero complex."
"Most people haven't seen what I've seen."
"And what have you seen?"
He turned to meet her eyes.
"The alternative."
They sat in silence for a moment.
Then Elara stood.
"Come on. We need to collect proof of kills and head back. The commander will want our report."
"And he'll have questions."
"Many questions."
"Let him question. We completed the mission. That's what matters."
As the team gathered the evidence—teeth, claws, pieces of hide—Arden stared at the carnage.
Twenty Ironhide Berserkers.
Dead by their hands.
Proof that the students could handle real threats.
But also proof that he'd have to be more careful.
The team was starting to notice.
Starting to question.
And he couldn't afford to reveal too much.
Not yet.
He picked up his sword, cleaning the blood from the blade.
The weapon felt heavier than before.
Or maybe he was just tired.
Either way, the countdown continued.
And there was still so much to do.
-----
In the forest beyond the mountain pass, something watched.
Something intelligent.
Something that had sent the Ironhide Berserkers as scouts.
As tests.
And now they were dead.
All of them.
Killed by children.
Interesting.
The watcher studied the group through enhanced senses.
Eight students.
Young.
But capable.
Especially the one with the shadows.
The one who fought like he'd done this before.
He's different.
He knows things he shouldn't.
He'll be a problem.
But problems could be dealt with.
Eliminated.
The real attack was coming soon.
Very soon.
These students had proven their capability—
Which meant the attack would need to be stronger.
Larger.
More coordinated.
The watcher withdrew deeper into the forest.
There were preparations to make.
And a fortress to destroy.
-----
The team returned as the sun was setting.
Covered in blood.
Exhausted.
Victorious.
Other students stopped to stare.
"Is that..."
"They're back already?"
"Look at all that blood."
"Did they actually do it?"
Arden led his team through the fortress gates.
Commander Thorne was waiting in the courtyard.
His expression carefully neutral.
"Report."
Arden stepped forward.
"Mission accomplished, sir. Twenty Ironhide Berserkers eliminated. Zero casualties. Minimal injuries."
He dropped a bag on the ground.
It clanked heavily.
Davrin opened it.
Inside: teeth, claws, pieces of iron-like hide.
Proof.
Undeniable proof.
Davrin studied the eight students.
They looked like they'd been through hell.
But they were all standing.
All alive.
All relatively intact.
"Dismissed. Clean up and report to medical for evaluation." He paused.
"Except you, Valekrest. My office. Now."
"Yes, sir."
As the others filed away, Elara glanced back at Arden.
Be careful, her expression said.
He's going to dig.
Arden nodded slightly.
I know.
Then followed Commander Thorne into his office.
Where the real interrogation would begin.