Chapter 32: Simulation Exam (3)
The ground under their feet let out a low hiss, like hot metal hitting water, as the illusions around them got thicker and meaner. The red fog rolled in slow from all sides, heavy and choking, sticking to their clothes and skin like bad smoke from a trash fire. It smelled sour and wrong—rotten eggs mixed with burnt hair—making every breath feel like pulling in something alive that didn't want to go down easy. The wasteland didn't look so empty anymore; it felt like it was waking up, the cracked dirt shifting in spots, those dead trees creaking like old doors in the wind that wasn't there.
From out of the crimson fog, the beasts came rushing—big, hulking shapes made from twisted mana that looked like they crawled out of a nightmare. Teeth sharp as broken black glass, eyes glowing with that fake-hungry red light that made your stomach flip. They moved in packs, some low and crawling on all fours like oversized wolves with too many legs and claws that scraped sparks off the dirt, others standing tall on hind legs with arms thick as tree trunks, swinging clubs of bone. Each one was uglier and bigger than the last, fur matted with fake blood, hides scarred like they'd fought real wars. You could feel their power right off—most stamped with Class A strength, the kind that could knock a regular kid flat; a few with that rare Class S kick, elites built to smash teams quick, like popping bugs under a boot.
Christopher spat hard on the ground, his eyes going wide with that mix of "no way" and pissed-off fire. "FUCKKKK!!! Why the motherfuckers appear here? I thought we just need to find the mana core to proceed to Part One, but it seems we're already in Part Two—fuck, I hate this Simulation Exam! I swear I'm gonna kill whoever programmed this!"
The beasts didn't give him time to finish—they answered with roars that shook the air deep in your chest, guttural and raw like rocks grinding in a storm. The pack hit all at once, dirt flying up under claws and paws, eyes locked on the three like they were the only meal in sight, jaws dropping wide with drool that steamed on the ground.
Lucian didn't waste time telling him to chill. He pulled in one deep breath, letting it drop low—past his ribs, down into that spot in his gut he'd trained to keep locked and safe. 'Fuck, I knew something would happen, but I didn't think it would be a disaster. Both Celestia and Christopher are only Sixth Class Level. Fuck—do I need to use it? Yes. No hesitation.'
He shut his eyes for half a second, feeling the steady thump of his innate core deep inside—the breathing loop he'd built keeping his blood even and cool, mana rolling in tight circles from his lower dantian out, like water spinning slow in a bowl without spilling over. It wasn't flashy; it was solid, the kind of calm you build from pushing through bad days one after another.
"Change of plans," he said, voice low and steady as a knife you know is coming. "Finish Part Two so we can proceed to Part One."
His hands moved quick but smooth—no rush, just right. Fingers wrapped the handle of the blade at his hip—a plain training saber at first look, wood and metal for practice swings, but in his grip it turned into something more, like an old friend ready to work. He called up the move that had kept him breathing across worlds, the name hitting his mind clear and sharp.
'Demonic Moon Formation, Hybrid Blade Demonic Art—First Form: The One That Cuts the Tides.'
The words stayed inside; they were carved deep in his head, a flash of will that pulled everything tight around him. The air squeezed as mana bent to his call, heavy and close like before a storm breaks. A pale crescent of black-silver light bloomed behind him slow—like a moon pushing up quiet in the dark—silent, sure, hanging there like it was waiting for the right beat.
Celestia's eyes went wide for a split second, surprise flashing quick. She planted her feet solid in the ash and the slim sword in her hand lit up soft, white-gold spilling out like morning breaking through clouds. "Lumina Divine Art—Pierce of Dawn," she said, her voice ringing clear through the sour air, strong but with that princess edge that made it carry. Her sword cut forward fast, leaving trails of light that hummed as they sliced the mana—cleaning the bad stuff it touched, burning holes straight through the beasts' middles like sunlight hitting mold on bread.
Christopher didn't wait for a plan—he yelled out loud and charged with his bare hands, fists wrapped quick in knotted cloth from his pockets, clenched tight with that fire you get when you're done waiting. He hit like a truck going full speed—shoulder slamming into ribs with a crack that echoed, elbow cracking throats like dry sticks. Where his gloved hands landed, the beasts spat out bits of fake meat and dropped hard, crumpling like they'd been hit with a sledgehammer. He was rough, no-frills; his way was all about using what your body's got, no fancy lights, just power from pushing limits day in, day out till it stuck.
The first clash hit like thunder you feel in your teeth.
THWACK! Christopher's arm drove into the side of a Class A brute hard enough to make it stumble bad, the thing spinning wild toward Lucian and Celestia with jaws wide for a bite that would've ended it. Lucian stepped aside smooth, no waste, the Demonic Moon crescent showing up mid-swing like it was always there. The edge shook once—like ice cracking under your boot—and cut out fast.
SHHHHK—SLASH! The crescent met the beast and the air smelled sharp, like lightning hitting wet dirt after rain. It didn't just cut skin or fake fur; it took apart what held the thing together, mana bits ripping sideways like torn cloth in a wind. The monster's yell came out wrong, like a machine glitching and dying, body folding in on itself till it was nothing but smoke curling up and gone.
Celestia didn't stop for a breath. She jumped up light, turning into a white streak against the red sky, and drove her Lumina sword through a smaller one sneaking up from the side. Light poured out like warm rain on dry ground, and the thing broke apart into specks that floated down slow, popping out of the air like soap bubbles in the sun.
The pack came back harder, three big ones dropping low for the kill—jaws open wide with teeth like knives, claws scraping sparks off the dirt as they lunged. One of them opened up and threw a stream of bad mana—purple-black ropes twisting in the air that would've burned lungs bad for a Sixth-Class kid if it landed, filling the air with that sour stink of corruption.
Lucian's eyes went narrow, black as a night with no stars to guide you. He planted his feet deep in the ash, spreading his stance wide, and pushed the Demonic Moon Formation bigger. The hybrid art wasn't just swinging wild; it was a beat you could feel—blade matching your breath, breath folding into the blade, blade pulling mana like a river grabbing sticks in the current. His saber hummed low against the beasts' push, and an unseen pull yanked the ropes apart, like the moon dragging the sea back from the shore, breaking them into harmless wisps that fizzled out.
'Cut the tide, don't drown in it,' he thought, each word lining up with a move, keeping the rhythm. The formation took from him every time: for every crescent he made, a bit of his mana got smeared out into the air, spent on the cut like fuel in a fire. It pressed on his lower dantian, a tight squeeze that made his gut clench, but his built core held cool and solid—no break, no give, just steady hold.
THWACK. THWACK. CRACK. Hits and breaks stitched the mess of the fight together; Christopher smashed close with fists like hammers, Celestia cleaned from farther out with light that burned clean, and Lucian set the pace with black moons cutting the sky in arcs that left nothing behind. Where their ways crossed—Chris's raw power meeting Celestia's glow, Lucian's dark cuts tying it all—the beasts fell apart into pale ash, popping out of the air like bad dreams you wake from sweating.
One big brute broke from the pack, lunging straight at Celestia—maw wide for the kill, claws out like hooks. It looked like she'd be too slow this time, her sword flashing bright but not quite fast enough to dodge the full swipe.
Lucian moved in less than a breath, body shifting like water finding a crack. He didn't block or shove; he looped his crescent behind the thing's jaw quick and pulled once, calm and sure, snapping the ties that held its head on like cutting rope. The head rolled slow through the air, eyes flickering out like bad lights going dim, the body jerking once hard before going still—no blood, just a quiet end that left the ground empty.
Christopher let out a breath sharp, grinning through the sweat running down his face like rivers. "Holy—Lucian! That was—damn! You just took down a Class S like it was a practice dummy! How'd you even—?"
Lucian's answer was a small tip of his head, no big deal. His breathing stayed even, deep pulls that kept him steady; his hands shook just a hair from the effort, but he hid it quick by wiping his blade on the dry soil. The edge came away clean, the black-silver light fading slow like a fire banked for later.
Celestia wiped a splatter of the bad mana from her cheek with the back of her hand, her chest heaving as she caught her breath, silver hair sticking to her neck in damp strands. "That was… perfect timing, Lucian." Her voice had a small shake in it—not scared, but that raw relief you feel after dodging something close, like your body's still catching up.
The pack thinned out fast after that. The rest of the beasts staggered around—most just Class A now, cut and broke, dropping to whines and then nothing, bodies folding in on themselves till they popped into puffs of pale ash that drifted on the wind. The ground looked like a mess: fake guts and dirt kicked up, spots scorched black from Celestia's light, the air shimmering with leftover mana that smelled like burnt wires.
Quiet dropped over the three of them like a blanket, broken only by their breaths coming rough and the soft whisper of the fog cooling off. Farther out, other teams shouted—some cheering when they got a beast down, some yelling for help when they didn't—the field full of that wild mix of win and lose. But here, it felt close: sweat dripping, names called in the fight, the slow drop of adrenaline making your legs feel heavy all at once.
Christopher put his hands on his knees and laughed half-wild, like he couldn't believe it. "Forty-three was nothing! That was the best cardio of my life! Hell, fuck this simulation—I want another round! Did you see that last one go down? Boom—like popping a balloon!"
Celestia sank to one knee slow, one hand pressing to the scorched dirt like she needed to feel it was real, her silver hair clinging damp to her temples and neck. She looked up at Lucian, and for a second the princess part of her dropped away—just a girl who'd been scared and come through, her face open and raw. "Thank you," she whispered, voice thick but steady. "You saved us. If you hadn't—"
Lucian just wiped his blade clean on the dry soil one more time, letting the Demonic Moon Formation pull back slow, like a wave going out after crashing. 'Relief is not mine to claim,' he thought, the line clear in his head. 'But I can let them breathe for now. Part Two is cleared. Part One waits. And the exam's twisted rhythm continues.'
They took a minute to pull themselves together, checking quick for hurts—small bruises blooming purple on arms, singed spots on sleeves from close calls, a shallow cut across Christopher's knuckle that he waved off like "it's nothing." The simulation's tricks made it feel real—the sting, the burn—but it faded fast, mana knitting things back without scars. The field hummed low in the distance, like it was taking a breath, getting ready for the next push.
"Move," Lucian said simple, sheathing his saber with a click. "We find the mana core before the next wave resets."
Christopher snapped up straight, grin back full force, slapping dirt off his pants. "Lead the way, boss. I follow—let's grab that thing and get out."
Celestia stood too, sword still in hand, her face settling back to that steady look but with a new light in her eyes. "Yes. Together."
The three headed into the fog—marked up and breathing hard, but a team now, stuck under the pressure—and behind them, the Forbidden Lands pulled its tricks tighter, waiting for the next round of hurt.