Time seemed to drag to an agonizing halt within the scorching confines of the arena. The Hero's bloodshot eyes were locked past the iron railings, glued to the dirt below where the razor-thin line between life and death was slowly dissolving. He watched as the Griffin refused to take its own life; its primal survival instinct had overridden its master's unnatural command, forcing the creature into a paralyzed, trembling standoff. But the danger had not passed. The girl in the crimson dress, the one they called the 'Angel,' was slowly advancing toward the beast.
The Hero's mind was spinning like a frantic gear assembly. Sweat poured from his body in such thick torrents that his shirt plastered itself to his back. Stinging drops blurred his vision, yet he didn't dare blink. A heavy, pungent stench of nervous sweat began to radiate from him, so intense that the elite-ranked aspirants sitting nearby wrinkled their noses in disgust, inching away from him as if he were a piece of rotting garbage. But the Hero was completely oblivious to their disdain. His absolute focus was anchored on the Angel with every deliberate step she took toward the Griffin.
He weighed every twisted possibility. Does her class only allow her to control humans? Since the Beastmaster was under her absolute mental control, the beast was rendered entirely helpless by proxy. As the girl closed the distance, the gentle breeze of the arena caught her hair, making it flutter and dance in the air with an eerie, deceptive grace. And there, standing just a few paces beside her, was the Hero's friend. His eyes were entirely vacant, stripped of a single human emotion. He looked like a hollow shell of flesh, his mouth moving mechanically as he continuously muttered the damning order, commanding his own beloved beast to slaughter itself over and over again.
When the Angel finally reached the Griffin, she raised her hand with an unsettling, serene calmness and placed it gently upon the beast's head. The Hero was stunned. The Griffin didn't even flinch or step back. How is this possible? he thought frantically. Even a common street dog can sense malice and knows when to back away from a threat. Is there absolutely no killing aura leaking from her? He strained his own senses, desperately trying to detect any murderous intent, but there was nothing. A fleeting, naive thought crossed his mind—maybe she was actually a decent person just trying to win the match without causing lethal harm. But then, a chilling memory struck him. He remembered the very first look she had given them before the match. It was a gaze filled with such fathomless arrogance and revulsion, looking at them as if they were such filthy insects that she wouldn't even want to soil her hands by touching them. Remembering that look sent violent tremors down the Hero's spine.
Suddenly, a scene of sheer, unadulterated savagery unfolded on the sands. The instant the Angel's palm rested fully on the Griffin's head, she struck. In the blink of an eye, she launched a vicious, targeted attack directly into the creature's eyes. In that split second, an oppressive, pitch-black killing aura erupted from her body, so dense it felt like physical pressure. The Griffin shrieked in blinding agony. Driven mad by the pain, it instantly took flight, soaring into the sky and flying in chaotic, desperate circles. The poor beast was completely blind, thrashing against an invisible nightmare. The Hero's heart hammered against his ribs so violently he thought his chest might split open. He had seen violence and gore on mobile screens before, but witnessing such raw, visceral cruelty in real life chilled him to the very marrow of his bones.
But within seconds, that icy terror melted away, replaced by a scorching, venomous hatred. His mind, fueled by sheer rage, suddenly clicked. I've been overthinking this entire time, but the anger just made it perfectly clear... If jumping in means I'm breaking the rules, then she broke a rule first! He remembered it vividly—this girl was not present during the first round of exams. No matter how monstrously talented she was, or that she would have undeniably passed the first test anyway, the academy rules were absolute. Slipping directly into the second round was a blatant violation.
Without another thought, the Hero vaulted over the high railings, plummeting toward the arena floor. When he hit the ground, he was a chaotic mess, completely drenched in sweat with the arena dust clinging to his soaked skin. Standing right in the middle of the battlefield, he screamed at the top of his lungs, demanding the fight be stopped immediately. The Academy Masters and the Grandmaster, watching from their high seats, were forced to halt the match instantly at the unprecedented sight of a student invading the active combat zone. The immense adrenaline dump and mental strain finally took their toll. The Hero's vision blurred into a dizzying vortex, and before he could witness the immediate aftermath, the world went completely black as he collapsed into unconsciousness.
The Hero's eyes fluttered open, greeted first by the cold, sterile whiteness of the ceiling. He was no longer in the scorching, dust-choked arena; he had been moved to a temporary medical wing infused with a biting, medicinal scent that stung his nostrils. There were no machines here—only the soft, rhythmic hum of glowing mana-crystals placed around the room to stabilize the wounded. Nurses moved like shadows, carrying enchanted bandages and vials of shimmering blue liquids, tending to the broken participants of the exam.
When the Hero turned his head, his heart sank into a hollow pit. His friend was collapsed on a small wooden stool beside a massive infirmary bed. Resting on that bed was the Griffin, its majestic head now wrapped in thick, white linen that covered its ruined eyes. The Hero's friend was hunched over, his forehead resting against the creature's blood-stained feathers. Tears, as clear and heavy as pristine pearls, broke from his lashes and splashed silently onto the Griffin's hide. He made no sound, but the sheer weight of his silent grief was more deafening than the roar of the arena crowd.
The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly. The air grew heavy, thick with a sudden, suffocating pressure as the Grandmaster stepped through the doorway. His footsteps were slow, deliberate, and echoed with an authority that seemed to freeze time itself. The nurses and assistants became like statues, bowing their heads, not daring to breathe. Outside the tall windows of the wing, dozens of students were pressed against the glass, their faces filled with curiosity and awe, watching the high-stakes confrontation unfolding within.
The Grandmaster stood at the foot of the Hero's bed, his gaze piercing through the Hero like a physical blade. Internally, the Grandmaster felt a rare flicker of irritation. 'If this were any other brat, I would have had him stripped of his status and thrown out of the gates by now,' he thought. But he knew the truth that the rest of the world didn't—he knew the Hero's hidden XXX Rank potential. A talent of that magnitude wasn't just rare; it was a pillar for the future. He couldn't afford to throw it away over a mere breach of protocol.
"You realize the madness of your actions?" the Grandmaster's voice boomed, low and dangerous. "To invade the arena during a live combat trial is to invite death itself."
The Hero gripped the coarse bedsheets, his knuckles turning white. He didn't flinch. "I did it because the trial was a farce, Grandmaster! That girl... that 'Angel'... she never sat for the first exam. No matter how monstrous her talent is, no matter how easily she would have passed, the rules of this academy are supposed to be absolute. If the law doesn't apply to the strong, then what is the point of this institution?"
A ripple of hushed whispers broke out among the students watching from outside. They were stunned by the Hero's audacity to talk back to the most powerful man in the academy. The Grandmaster remained silent for a long moment, his presence looming over the room like a storm cloud. Finally, he spoke, his voice resonating with a finality that brooked no argument: "She will be taken to the testing halls immediately. She must pass the first trial before this duel is allowed to continue."
After the Grandmaster and his retinue swept out of the room, the oppressive pressure lifted, leaving the Hero gasping for air. He turned to his friend, who was still trembling.
"I can't even surrender, brother," his friend whispered, his voice cracked and broken. "The moment I enter the arena, she seizes my voice. She won't let me yield. She wants to tear us apart, piece by piece, while the whole world watches."
The Hero closed his eyes, his mind instantly 'rewinding' every frame of the battle. instead, he visualized the arena
A chilling, predatory smile—one that didn't belong on the face of a student—spread across the Hero's lips. He reached out and gripped his friend's shaking shoulder, his touch firm and grounding.
"Do not worry anymore, brother," the Hero said, his voice dropping to a low, confident hum. "Just listen to me. Do exactly as I say. The next time you step onto those sands, you won't need to say a word. She will be the one who surrenders.