CHAPTER 49: FIGHT

"First."

A girl with twin daggers at her belt stepped forward.

She walked slowly, her body tense.

One step.

Two.

Three...

By the eighth step, her legs trembled.

At ten, she dropped to her knees.

"Tsk," the examiner waved. "Out."

She gritted her teeth, stood, and limped back without a word.

"Next."

A boy with a staff came forward. He had a calm look, but by the twelfth step, his face had gone pale. He managed fourteen before he stumbled and fell.

Another failure.

Then another.

And another.

And another.

This one gritted his teeth, face red, veins bulging at his neck as he pushed forward.

Fourteen.

Fifteen.

Sixteen.

He reached the seventeenth step, and then he staggered. A choked sound escaped his throat as he collapsed to his knees, coughing violently. Blood splattered across the stone floor.

"Disqualified," the examiner said flatly, not even sparing a second glance. One of the guild staff dragged the fallen boy off to the side.

No one laughed now.

The room had gone quiet, tense with the kind of silence that thickened the air. Each failed attempt piled more weight on the shoulders of those still waiting their turn.

The pressure wasn’t physical.

Not entirely.

It was mental.

The kind of suppression that dug into your very core and forced you to confront yourself. Doubt, fear, hesitation, every crack in your mind became a fault line. For those with a weak will, it was like trying to walk through a storm with weights on their chest.

But for those with a strong mind?

For those who could focus, breathe, and endure?

It was like walking through a strong wind. Hard, but not impossible.

"Next!"

"Astrael Ravenastra."

He stepped forward.

Some turned at the name.

"Ravenastra?"

"Isn’t that the baron’s family?"

"Hmph. Let’s see if he’s got anything."

Astrael stepped forward.

One.

The weight hit like a wave, but it didn’t crush him.

Two.

Three.

His breathing remained steady.

Four.

Five.

Each step was measured. His gaze locked onto the man ahead, calm, focused.

By the tenth step, others had begun whispering.

"He’s not even slowing down..."

"Is he faking it?"

Twelve.

Thirteen.

Fourteen.

No change in expression.

Fifteen.

Now even the examiner’s brows drew together slightly.

Sixteen.

Seventeen.

The pressure thickened suddenly, as if the man was testing him.

Eighteen.

His foot landed without hesitation.

Nineteen.

Some in the group had gone silent, watching.

Twenty.

Astrael stopped just a step before the examiner.

The man stared at him for a moment, eyes narrowed.

"Hmph. Good. You pass."

He turned to the rest. "That’s how it’s done.’"

Astrael turned and walked back. But now, the others weren’t whispering with disdain. Their mocking glances were gone. Instead, they moved aside slightly, clearing the way for him. A few nodded subtly. Some just stared, thoughtful. Others, though trying to hide it, were clearly impressed.

He didn’t care either way.

The next few candidates stepped forward.

Out of fifteen, only four passed.

Astrael now stood at the side of the arena, next to the three others.

The first was a girl. She wore a veil and hood, her face mostly hidden, but her movements were graceful, practised. She hadn’t struggled during the walk, and her steps had been smooth, silent.

The second was a bulky man, probably in his mid-thirties. Balding slightly, with a scar across his cheek and a large axe strapped to his back. His breathing was heavy, but his stance was solid. His walk had been forceful, each step loud but steady. A veteran, most likely.

The last was a flashy-looking boy around Astrael’s age. His clothes were bright red and gold, clearly custom-made. Two thin swords hung at his sides, and a half-smirk played on his lips.

The examiner looked at the four of them, eyes scanning slowly.

"Only four this time," he muttered. "Not bad."

"My name is Gauntaur, but everyone knows me as Scarface." For the first time, the man with a scarface announced his name.

He stepped forward, his boots clicking against the stone floor.

"You four passed the first stage. That means you’ve got enough will to survive."

"But will alone won’t keep you alive."

He crossed his arms with a hard gaze.

"Tomorrow morning, you’ll face a practical test. Real combat against monsters. without any safety nets. You’ll either kill... or die."

The flashy boy chuckled softly. "Finally."

The hooded girl gave no response. She simply nodded once.

The bulky man cracked his knuckles. "Good. Been needing a proper warm-up."

Astrael said nothing.

"Now, go," Gauntaur said bluntly, turning on his heel and walking toward the other side of the arena without looking back.

The moment the examiner was out of earshot, the boy in red and gold stepped forward, his boots clinking lightly on the stone floor. His smirk widened as he approached the hooded girl.

"Hey, it was impressive," he said, voice casual but clearly trying to charm. "You didn’t even flinch under that pressure. I like that."

The girl didn’t respond immediately. She turned her head slightly toward him, her face still hidden under the dark veil.

Then a flat voice, cool and quiet.

"Don’t follow me."

The boy blinked, his smirk faltering for a half-second.

"Tch, cold," he muttered under his breath, stepping back with a lazy shrug. "Suit yourself."

The bulky man gave a quiet chuckle from behind them. "She shut you down quick, lad."

"I wasn’t even trying," the flashy boy replied, brushing dust off his sleeve with a flick of his wrist. "Just being friendly."

Astrael moved toward the exit.

Their voices faded behind him as he stepped out into the evening light.

The sky had turned orange again, casting long shadows across the cobbled street. The city was still busy, shouts of merchants, clangs of metal, the rhythmic beat of life continuing.

But in Astrael’s mind, everything had quieted.

The next morning, all four, Astrael, the veiled girl, the bulky man, and the flashy young man, stood inside the training arena once again. The stone floor gleamed with dew, and the faint chill of morning clung to the air.

Gauntaur entered from the side door, the weight of his heavy axe clunking dully against his back with each step. His sharp eyes scanned them once, then nodded with approval.

"Looks like all are present." His voice was rough, blunt as ever.

He didn’t waste time.

"Listen up," he said, walking to the centre. "One by one, you’ll be facing an E-rank monster. Your task is simple—survive."

He paused, letting the words sink in.

"You have to fight it for fifteen minutes. Just last it for fifteen minutes, that’s the requirement."

His tone turned serious now.

"If at any point your life is in danger, I’ll interfere and pull you out. But remember this—if I have to step in, you automatically fail."

He looked at each of them, one by one.

"Out there, monsters don’t care about pride. Neither do I. I only care if you can keep your head in a fight and hold your ground."

A cold breeze passed through the arena as the steel gate at the far side groaned and lifted a few inches, the faint sound of a growl echoing from the dark beyond.

"Without further ado..." Gauntaur smirked faintly. "First one up. You."

His finger pointed straight at the red-gold-dressed young man.

The young man raised an eyebrow, then gave a small chuckle. "About time," he said with a grin, brushing back his sleek, gelled hair. He strolled toward the centre of the arena like he was walking onto a stage, not a battleground.

The rest, including Astrael, moved to the viewing area, an elevated platform overlooking the ring. No one said anything, but all eyes followed the flashy youth.

He reached the centre, twirled his thin sword once for flair, then turned to Gauntaur. "Try not to send in something too ugly. I’ve got good taste in opponents."

Gauntaur didn’t even blink. "We’ll see if your fashion sense can block claws."

The steel gate across the arena groaned open.

From the shadows, a large beast emerged.

Thick, grey fur, red eyes, and claws the length of daggers. The beast looked lean, fast and aggressive.

The flashy young man’s grin twitched. "Oh."

The wolf let out a low growl, teeth bared.

Gauntaur raised his arm, then dropped it.

"Begin."

The beast lunged.

The young man sidestepped quickly, barely avoiding the wolf’s claws. A few strands of his fine cloak tore in the wind of the swipe.

"Tch! This thing’s faster than I thought!" he muttered, rolling backwards.

He regained his stance, spinning the sword in his hand. "Alright, mangy mutt. Let’s dance."

From the viewing area, Astrael watched silently. His eyes narrowed slightly as he muttered, Appraise.

[Ironfand Wolf]

[Rank: Low Tier-2]

[Description: A fierce, pack-hunting beast with fangs as hard as iron. Though not highly intelligent, its bite can pierce weak armour, and it becomes especially dangerous when in groups or defending its alpha.]

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