CHAPTER 142: DOWN

Nolan grinned like a madman in front of the projection, eyes glued to the flickering scene of chaos and brilliance unfolding within the upper floors of the tower. "Yes! That’s it! That’s it! Good job, you lunatic brats!"

His hand shot up as if to high-five someone beside him, only to remember that no one around could share the moment quite like he wanted. His voice was loud, raw with joy and disbelief, "Unbelievable! That really was the bloater!"

Lirazel stood at his side, her crimson eyes narrowing slightly, wings gently shifting as she tilted her head. "Bloater?" she asked. "That word again. You keep saying it. Is that some... kind of human curse word?"

"No," Nolan chuckled breathlessly, hands still half-raised in suspense. "It’s from a game. An old human digital mystic game. A kind of imaginary battle simulation where you kill undead things with very specific weak points."

Lirazel blinked slowly, unimpressed. "So... they’re treating this real monster like an imaginary one from a human toy?"

"It wasn’t a toy," Nolan said, half laughing, half exasperated. "It was training. It was genius! We went over the bloater just yesterday as a joke! I didn’t think—hell, I never thought they’d apply it like this! It was really shocking seeing it in real life! Hahahahaha! These brats’ guts made me admire them for real! Hahaha!"

Lirazel raised one elegant brow. "But that creature isn’t undead. It’s not cursed. It’s some mutated spawn. This logic makes no sense. You told me they are different but now you are so happy that they are the same."

"You’re thinking too rigidly," Nolan muttered, "it doesn’t really matter to me. I’m just worried about them earlier... you know... just being cautious," waving a hand in her direction without looking away from the projection. "Games, real life, dreams, illusions—what matters is pattern recognition, instinct, timing. Strategy. They adapted the mechanics of the bloater to this twisted abomination, and it’s actually working."

She frowned. "Strange creatures, your students."

"Damn right," Nolan muttered proudly, "and they’re mine."

...

Back in the tower, blood, steam, and the heavy stench of sweat and rot mingled in the air like a suffocating haze. The creature’s roars had turned into groans—low, pained, animalistic. It was no longer the towering terror that had appeared just minutes before. It was wounded. Confused. Desperate.

Erik and Calien were still moving, sliding between the wreckage like shadows, each maneuver sharper than the last. Their knives flashed only when needed. Precision, not power, was winning this fight.

"Left flank!" one of the attendants barked, his face pale but eyes focused. A knife arced through the air—clean, controlled—and landed on the creature’s swollen left calf, opening a deep gash along a tumor-strained seam.

Another attendant mirrored the move on the right. "There! Behind the back fold!"

The monster shrieked, staggering as its knees buckled momentarily.

They weren’t just watching anymore. The attendants, trained Mana Knights in their own right, were now contributing fully—dodging in and out, hurling knives at weak points when they saw Calien and Erik create them. They moved in harmony, not to kill, but to assist. They drew attention, forced missteps, created small yet vital distractions that allowed the two students to stay alive and aggressive.

Varros stood a few meters behind them, his breathing heavy but his eyes alight with something fiery. Pride, astonishment... and something else. A quiet, growing respect.

"Move left!" he barked, stepping forward just slightly. "Keep the rhythm tight, don’t let it reset its stance! Erik, stagger your baiting—Calien, force the right twist again!"

The boys didn’t respond verbally. They didn’t need to. Their movements changed in sync with his orders, tightening their dance, pressing the beast even further toward exhaustion.

The creature spun, trying desperately to swing a tentacle down on Calien, who rolled forward, stabbing deep into a joint as the swing passed over him like a wave. A gout of putrid black-red blood shot into the air, splattering against the ceiling.

Erik slid beneath the beast’s elbow and drove his blade upward, right into a wrinkled tumor pocket exposed by the previous twist. It burst like an overripe fruit, and the creature let out a howl so guttural it shook dust loose from the cracked ceiling beams above.

Varros narrowed his eyes.

"They’re actually doing it..." he whispered.

He turned to the attendants again, now fully integrated into the battle strategy. "Fan out to the rear! Use the broken columns as cover. Throw on my mark—don’t just toss wildly. Be the hands they don’t have."

The attendants obeyed instantly, their blades flying with intent. One knife nicked the monster’s eye. Another embedded deep in a red sack at the side of its shoulder. The beast wailed, tentacles flailing, but that only worsened its wounds. Its own erratic movement tore its damaged flesh further.

"Again!" Varros barked. "Now! Go wide and curve inward—pressure the core!"

Calien and Erik answered by launching themselves forward, not directly, but from oblique angles. Their knives struck simultaneously—one into the upper thigh seam, the other just beneath a sagging rib-like membrane under the chest.

The creature’s body jerked.

Its knees gave way.

Blood, thick as syrup and darker than night, oozed from dozens of wounds. Its breath rattled. Its body swayed.

And then... it knelt.

Massive limbs trembling. Tentacles twitching. Its enormous head drooped forward, one milky eye still half-open, but dimming.

The floor beneath it was soaked in blood and pus. It looked less like a monster and more like a dying titan—one that had spent all its fury and strength on children it couldn’t comprehend. Children it had underestimated.

A long silence hung in the air.

Erik stepped back, panting, chest heaving.

Calien’s arms were trembling as he held his blade, covered in filth and ichor.

The attendants stood frozen, blades still drawn, unsure if it was truly over.

Even Varros, despite everything he’d seen in his long years as a knight, could only mutter one word under his breath.

"Incredible, very much so!"