CHAPTER 131: STILL A CHIEF

As they pressed onward up the spiraling tower, its narrow halls slick with the ichor of their foes, Calien and Erik moved like practiced dancers.

The humanoid twin-tentacle octopuses—despite their grotesque strength and slippery grace—never stood a chance against the two students.

Every attack was measured, every counterstrike perfectly timed.

And Varros could do nothing but admire them, hands clasped behind his back as he followed at a deliberate pace.

His dark gaze tracked every movement, the way Calien pivoted at the perfect moment so the lashing tentacles would brush harmlessly past him before his knives flew in a gleaming silver arc.

Erik was just as efficient.

With every thrust of his arm, his blades buried into a target’s most vulnerable spots with a precision that would make even veteran warriors proud.

Chief Varros had witnessed the skill of many knights and adventurers in his long years commanding the Mana Knights of Black Vale.

Some of them had been talented beyond reason, born for battle as if the gods themselves had shaped them for it. And yet, as he studied these two, he felt something stirring inside him—a grudging admiration mixed with a strategist’s sharp curiosity.

He thought to himself, Look at them. They’re careful but aggressive in all the right places. No panic. No wasted energy. Even their breaths are measured.

As they advanced up the winding staircase, Calien raised one hand just long enough to catch a descending tentacle, twisting aside and driving a knife up through the monster’s slick chin.

Erik followed up instantly, his own blade slashing across the beast’s remaining arms to finish the job.

"Smooth," Varros murmured aloud before catching himself.

And still, as the tower continued to stretch upward into deeper gloom, the octopus-like beasts appeared faster, angrier. Yet these two never wavered.

Even the very terrain they fought upon, an uneven staircase spiraling into nowhere, failed to slow them.

Varros’s lips twitched into a satisfied smile. The way they pivot together is remarkable—almost as if they can sense each other’s intent before a word is spoken. Nothing wasted, nothing overly flashy. Just the right move at the right time.

He watched as Erik moved like a predator closing in on prey, and as Calien’s eyes tracked three different angles of attack at once. Every slash was clean, every block resolute.

And those knives... he thought, brow furrowing. Each one gleams with a fine edge. No doubt they have a hundred tucked away somewhere.

He considered, briefly, how long they could keep up this pace. Though the monsters they faced were slow and easily read, any other cadet their age would have been bleeding or broken long ago. These two fought as though they were born to hunt such foes.

And then another thought slid into place. It would be a waste for them to go to a two- or three-star academy.

Even a four-star one would hardly challenge them at this rate.

They deserve to be tested properly—in my territory, under the harsh light of a Fifth Star Baron’s tutelage. Let them truly discover their limits there.

He was still pondering that when, up ahead, Calien’s voice broke the silence, light and respectful as he tossed a creature’s limp form aside. "Chief, may I ask you something?"

Varros glanced up, hands clasped neatly behind his back. "Of course."

Erik nodded, matching his partner’s pace as they pressed forward. "We’re wondering—how come you’re just watching? Do you want to give it a try too?"

Varros raised a brow, his mouth curling faintly at the corner. "Interesting question," he replied smoothly. "But I’ve been enjoying the view so far."

That was when Calien nodded.

Suddenly, Varros gestured at the glinting weapons in their hands. "Can I ask you something? I am curious. Why do we have so many knives?"

Erik didn’t know what to say.

Varros inclined his head toward them with a faint chuckle. "Maybe that’s one of your teacher Nolan’s habits, I presume? Never a shortage of tools when it comes to him."

"Yes," Erik answered, and remembered, "he told us to make sure we never lack steel. He said that many small knives can do more than one big one."

The chief thought for a moment, hands still clasped. "And he’s not wrong," Varros acknowledged thoughtfully. "A versatile weapon can make all the difference in a fight like this. But—"

He paused there, eyes narrowing slightly as a peculiar gleam took hold. "—may I?"

Both boys hesitated. They looked at one another, surprise flashing across their features.

"Chief," Calien began carefully, "you sure you want to jump in? These creatures are tricky up close. They can regenerate endlessly unless you hit them right on the crown of their head."

"Yes," Erik added quickly, stepping up beside him. "And their tentacles—they’ll try to ensnare you. Once they touch you, it’s difficult to fight free."

Varros listened calmly, the ghost of a smile never leaving his lips as they spoke. Every bit of advice they offered was sound, measured, and sensible. He liked that they took their training seriously enough to brief him like a proper ally.

And then one of Calien’s attendants, stepping carefully behind them, spoke up with utmost respect. "Please, sir, do not worry too much. Chief Varros is chief of the Mana Knights of the Black Vale. Even if weakened, I am sure he is quite experienced."

The other attendant bowed his head in agreement. "He is no mere apprentice, my lords. Do not concern yourselves too greatly."

Calien paused at that, exchanging another glance with Erik before they both nodded and held a knife out toward him hilt-first.

Varros accepted it without hesitation, spinning it easily between his fingers, feeling the balance of its weight. "That’s right," he agreed calmly. "I appreciate your concern, truly. But remember, my hands have wielded blades in wars and campaigns long before either of you held one."

He tucked one arm behind his back, stepping gracefully to the fore. "And you’re correct—I already know these creatures need to be hit directly on their heads to stop their regeneration. That was one of the first things I learned."

His voice was smooth as silk, devoid of boasting. "Besides," he continued, "I may look like a simple human right now, drained of my mana and strength because of the enemy’s formation. My knights outside are in the same state. But my skill has not dulled."

He paused just long enough to let those words settle. "Never underestimate a knight of the Fifth Star Baron Territories."

And as if summoned by his very resolve, a deep growl rumbled up ahead, echoing through the damp halls. The air went heavy with the familiar scent of brine and ink, the slick scrape of monstrous limbs dragging along the stone.

A lone humanoid twin-tentacle octopus emerged from the gloom at the edge of their lantern light, its grotesque shape outlined in jagged shadow as it loomed over them. Its voice was guttural and harsh, its countless eyes shimmering like dull stones as it fixed its terrible gaze upon Varros.

He caught the knife smoothly as it spun into his other hand, shifting it again with a practiced ease before his lips curved into the faintest of grins.

"Alright," Chief Varros murmured, stepping calmly past Calien and Erik, voice low with quiet certainty. "Looks like it’s my turn now."