Seeing the aftermath of his attack, the Archbishop shot a glare, and in that instant, Karl’s mind was overwhelmed by an unbearable ringing—so loud and intense it felt like his skull was about to split. He clutched his head, crouching as the sound rang within him like a thousand voices, each one more piercing than the last. He could feel his thoughts being drowned out by its force. Even gritting his teeth did little to remove the sensation.

Suddenly, Karl’s legs gave way, and he lost his footing on the branch, tumbling backward. His body plummeted toward the ground, the tree branches and the mist swirling around him as the red-stained earth rushed up to meet him.

Damn it! Karl cursed inwardly, but he couldn’t even hear his own thoughts. His mind was engulfed by the annoying noise. He wasn’t afraid of the fall, but of being spotted by the intruders below. As he fell, he glanced upward and saw Fredrick watching him, making no attempt to help. This person! Karl realized then—Fredrick had no intention of saving him, only of pushing him to the brink in order to "train" him.

Determined not to be outdone, Karl clenched his fists and twisted his body midair, positioning himself to face the ground. Just before impact, he extended his legs. The ground hit with a bone-jarring Bam! The force of the landing sent shockwaves through his body. His legs trembled under the strain, and he dropped to one knee, panting. He wasn’t sure if it was his heightened strength or pure luck that had saved him from breaking his bones.

The maddening ringing sound faded, leaving his mind in a peaceful silence.

"You know you shouldn't stretch your legs when falling," Fredrick’s voice came from the side.

Karl turned his head and saw the feminine man standing casually, a smile on his face. "When falling, you either tumble at the last moment or crouch to absorb the impact. Stretching your legs like a stick will only hurt you more." He chuckled softly.

And I suppose letting me fall was your way of teaching that? Karl thought bitterly, struggling to his feet.

Fredrick’s smile widened. "Now we get to watch the battle from a closer point," he said nonchalantly. "Oh, and yes, you need to kill one of them."

"What?" Karl froze, his mind reeling as the sound returned. He wants me to kill one of those people? But they’re advanced-class fighters! How am I supposed to face them?

His hand instinctively went to the sickle strapped to his back. He felt the cool metal through his fingers. Am I supposed to use this?

Fredrick’s voice broke through his thoughts. "One down," he said with an almost casual indifference.

Boom!

Karl spun around just in time to see a figure flying past him, crashing violently into a tree. The person had a gaping wound in their stomach, from which a darkish pus-like liquid oozed, sizzling as black smoke rose from their body. The smell was acrid and foul.

What is that?

Fredrick pointed. "That reduces your options. That one was weak. Now you’re left with two ordinary-class fighters and two advanced-class ones." He smiled. "And just so you know, the white light from that Arch-bishop will do the same to you—or worse—unless you’ve achieved the pure physical advancement of the special class."

Karl grimaced. But I’m not even in the special class. I just have the strength of one. He was uncertain. He expects me to fight someone at that level? There’s a monster, a bishop, and two advanced fighters there. If I attack, I’ll be caught in the crossfire and end up fighting both sides!

He exhaled slowly, drawing the sickle from his back. Its blade gleamed faintly, still stained with dried blood. Why haven’t I been cut carrying this? He shook his head. Maybe luck.

Fredrick said nothing as Karl prepared himself, but his expression conveyed that same confidence.

"I hope I don’t die," Karl whispered, his voice barely audible.

With a determined sigh, he sprinted past Fredrick, moving toward the tree line. He crouched low, then leaped onto a branch, positioning himself to observe the battle in the village.

The pawn was swinging furiously at one of the intruders, his sword repeatedly deflected by blasts of wind. The robed intruder’s power manifested as a soft collection of sound that wasn’t as severe as the bow-wielding attackers. Meanwhile, another sword-wielding intruder clashed with the Archbishop, but the bishop’s effortless dodging made the attacker’s strikes seem futile.

I can’t go for the one fighting the Archbishop. That would put me right in his crossfire, Karl thought, analyzing the situation. The one fighting the pawn is more manageable and I think he should be entering cool-down soon.

He crouched on the branch, the sickle held tightly in his hand. His eyes shifted to the strange, unmoving figure of the feathered angel in the distance. Why hasn’t that creature moved at all? A sense of unease gnawed at him, but he forced himself to focus.

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Taking a deep breath, Karl’s legs coiled, and with a swift leap, he descended from the tree. He crouched upon landing to reduce the shock to his legs, then dashed forward with his enhanced strength, swiftly approaching the intruder fighting the pawn.

Startled by the sudden appearance of a young boy, the pawn hesitated for a moment, stepping back defensively, preparing for a potential two-on-one fight. But Karl had no intention of joining forces with the pawn. He had to prove himself.

Karl rushed toward the robed intruder, his sickle raised. The enemy reacted just in time, stepping back, causing Karl’s strike to slice through the air harmlessly. Calm down, Karl reminded himself, crouching low just as the enemy’s blade whooshed overhead.

With strong focus, Karl swung again—this time more controlled and precise. His attack caught the intruder off guard, forcing him to parry with his sword. The pawn watched in confusion, unsure whether Karl was friend or foe, but that didn’t stop Karl from continuing his attack. Though he would prefer for the pawn to help in some way.

The clashing blades screeched as they collided. Karl was stronger, but the intruder’s experience showed in his movements, deflecting Karl’s strikes with ease. For a moment, Karl wondered if this man had once been a swordsman—perhaps even a freeblade who had joined a rogue faction. Fortunately, he was no longer using any sanguine powers—likely they were on cool-down.

Iron screeched as their weapons clashed again. The intruder angled his sword, bringing it down toward Karl’s thigh. Instinctively, Karl dodged, but the attack knocked him off balance. The enemy seized the moment, stepping to the side and swinging his blade downward. Karl reacted quickly, but not quickly enough. The intruder’s sword grazed his leg, drawing a line of blood.

Karl groaned in pain, almost losing his grip on the sickle.

The man swung his sword down toward Karl’s face. Gasping, Karl’s mind raced, and Fredrick’s earlier words echoed sharply: "Using resources!" Instinct took over, and Karl managed to sidestep, opening his mouth to yell, “Aren’t you going to do something? Will you just stand there and watch, heretic?!” His words were aimed at the dazed pawn.

The intruder froze for a brief moment, turning toward the pawn, anticipating an attack. Now! Seizing the opportunity, Karl moved to strike. Just as he swung, everything went silent—eerily so, as though the air itself had vanished. He glanced over at one of the Sanguines who had been firing sound arrows. One was now aimed at him, not at the Arch-bishop as it had been before. Shouldn’t you be focused on him?! Karl’s heart pounded, and before he could process further, the arrow was loosed.

It sped toward him, far too fast for any real reaction. Desperation drove Karl to swing his sickle at the oncoming projectile, a mere act of defiance. Boom! The iron met the ethereal arrow, and the impact sent a shockwave through the air. Karl was thrown backward, his body slamming hard against the ground.

His vision blurred from the force of the collision, and his head rang. But to his surprise, there was no severe pain. His body felt intact. This is... amazing! Karl marveled at his unexpected resilience, standing up and shaking off the disorientation.

Then, his gaze froze. The feathered angel had grown. Its wide, white wings stretched out, expanding rapidly, blotting out the moonlight and threatening to engulf the entire forest. Was it feeding this whole time? Karl scanned the area for Fredrick, searching with his enhanced vision, but the man was nowhere to be found. Did he leave me here alone? The thought echoed grimly in his mind.

Just then, Karl’s eyes landed on the hooded man. His blade was now deeply embedded in the pawn, blood gushing from the wound as the pawn’s face contorted in horror. Karl felt a wave of frustration. I couldn’t use him well!

The man withdrew his sword, blood splattering across the dust-covered ground. Something shifted within Karl, a sensation he hadn’t felt in years—rage. This man had taken what was his, the pawn he had planned to use as a resource. The rare emotion surged through his body, sweeping away any lingering pain or mental exhaustion.

His mind was consumed by a single, burning desire: to kill the man who had stolen from him. Not out of justice, but pure anger. Without thinking, Karl dashed forward.

The hooded man, startled by Karl’s sudden rush, turned to strike, but Karl sidestepped effortlessly, causing the man’s blade to miss its mark. Staggering slightly, the hooded man’s eyes locked with Karl’s. But Karl was already moving, his gaze fixed on the hand holding the sword—the hand that had taken his pawn.

With a furious snarl, Karl swung his sickle down with great force.

The man barely had time to react before his hand was severed, falling to the ground with a muffled thud. The sword on it clattered. Karl didn’t stop. His sickle came around in a swift arc, slicing deep into the man’s side.

Blood sprayed from the wound as the man stumbled back, his chest soaked in crimson. Yet still, he didn’t scream. He reached into his robes, fumbling for a vial of red liquid.

Healing potion! Karl’s eyes narrowed. No way!

His legs tensed, and in a blur of motion, Karl swung his sickle again. This time, he sliced the vial in half, spilling its contents onto the dirt. The man’s eyes widened in shock, but Karl wasn’t done. He spun around, building momentum, and with a final, vicious slash, he cut through the man’s throat.

It’s done! Karl thought, a cold satisfaction washing over him.

The hooded man stood motionless for a moment, blood pouring from the gash across his neck. Then, slowly, his legs buckled, and he collapsed to his knees. His arms hung limply by his sides, dripping with blood, and his head lolled forward. Finally, his body slumped to the ground with a dull thud, the life drained from his eyes.

Karl stood over the corpse, his breathing steady but heavy. This was the first time he had killed someone who had truly fought back—who had tried to kill him. And yet, he had survived. Only I survived.

His gaze grew colder, his emotions fading back into the passive, solemn demeanor he was accustomed to. He walked toward the fallen man, crouching beside the body. "Another warm-up," he whispered softly, almost to himself. Then, with a light push of his finger, he tipped the man’s body onto the ground.

Standing up, Karl stared at the lifeless form for a long moment, his mind swirling with a strange unease. Why did I feel rage just now? It had been two years since he had experienced any real emotion, but this—this was something he couldn’t quite grasp. He glanced at the dead pawn. Was it because of him?

The thought unsettled him. The death of someone as inconsequential as a nameless pawn shouldn’t have triggered such a reaction. I don’t like this. It’s... unpredictable.

He sighed, trying to steady himself. I need to stay in control.

Just as he regained his composure, a deafening ringing sound filled the air, drowning out everything around him.