CHAPTER 50: FIGHT (2)

[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.]

To what Astrael knew, in Eldoria, beasts weren’t just ranked randomly. Just like talent roots were ranked based on the colour spectrum, magical and non-magical beasts were categorised according to Tiers. It was a universal system across the continent.

Tier-1 was considered beginner level; beasts at this level had physical strength and danger equivalent to a Novice cultivator. They were the kind you found near cities or wandering along mountain trails. They were weak alone but dangerous when they were in groups.

Tier-2 was the next step. These were equivalent to intermediate-level cultivators. Most adventurers below E-rank avoided them unless they were in teams. They were strong, fast, and often had minor enhancements—sharper claws, tougher hide, or enhanced instincts.

But there was a catch.

From Tier-5 onwards, everything changed.

They were called Titled Beasts.

Unlike the lower Tiers, which grew gradually in strength, Titled Beasts broke that pattern. The difference between Tier-4 and Tier-5 was not a small step; it was a chasm.

If a Tier-1 beast had a strength rating of 1, and Tier-2 had a strength of 2, then it doubled steadily. Tier-3? Around 4. Tier-4? Around 8.

But Tier-5? The moment a beast gained a Title, its power jumped exponentially—ten times stronger than Tier-4.

It wasn’t just raw power. Titled beasts gained intelligence, instincts, sometimes even unique skills and bloodline traits.

They could lead hordes, trick adventurers, build territory, and set traps. They became something closer to monsters with leadership than just beasts with claws.

Thankfully, they were rare.

Most Titled Beasts had a territorial nature; once they claimed an area, they stayed there. That was both a curse and a blessing. It meant they were hard to find unless you knew where to look... but also, if one ever wandered near a city, the consequences would be devastating.

Astrael looked back at the Ironfang in the arena.

This wasn’t one of those, of course. Just a low-tier Tier-2.

Still, for someone unprepared, that was more than enough to die.

The young man in red and gold was already dancing backwards, dodging the wolf’s first few swipes. His movements were quick and light, probably enhanced with some agility skill or potion. He was smiling again, but Astrael could see the stiffness in his footwork. He was panicking, even if he was trying to hide it.

But the wolf wasn’t fooled; it lunged again.

CLANG

A sword scraped along the beast’s shoulder, but the skin was too thick. The wolf twisted mid-air and smacked the young man with its paw. The impact sent him skidding across the ground.

Gauntaur stood on the sidelines, arms folded. He didn’t move a muscle. Not even when the youth staggered back to his feet, blood trailing from his lip.

Back to the arena..

The young man, dressed in red and gold, staggered to his feet. His hand trembled as he raised his thin sword.

A small stream of blood dripped from the corner of his mouth. Dust clung to his tunic, and his polished boots were scuffed from being dragged across the stone floor.

But his eyes—though wide—still burned with pride.

"Damn mutt..." he muttered, gritting his teeth. "You’re not going to humiliate me!"

The Ironfang Wolf growled, claws scraping against the ground as it circled him. Its yellow eyes locked on him, filled with feral hunger. Saliva dripped from its jaws.

The crowd in the observation area watched in tense silence.

Then the wolf lunged again, suddenly with incredible speed.

"RAHHH!" the youth roared, swinging his sword in a desperate arc.

CLANG

The blade struck the beast’s side, grazing the thick hide. A spark flew, but no blood.

The wolf twisted mid-air and landed behind him.

The young man turned quickly, thrusting his sword.

But too late.

The wolf slapped the blade aside with a flick of its paw, then drove its head forward into the young man’s stomach.

"UGH!"

He flew back, tumbling hard on the stone floor.

"D-Damn it!" he groaned, clutching his ribs. "I’m not... I’m not done yet!"

The wolf advanced slowly this time with a low snarling, sensing the weakness of the target.

The youth forced himself up again, dragging one foot backwards into a defensive stance.

"Come on, beast!" he shouted, raising his blade. "I’m not losing to a dog!"

The Ironfang responded with a howl and charged again.

This time, the youth side-stepped, narrowly avoiding a bite to the neck. He slashed, this time landing a cut along the creature’s flank. A shallow wound appeared with a flicker of blood.

The wolf growled and spun with its tail, smashing the youth’s legs.

He crashed down hard, flat on his back. The sword slipped from his fingers and clattered across the floor.

The wolf pounced.

But just before its fangs reached his throat—

CRACK

Gauntaur’s massive axe slammed down between them, forcing the beast back with a loud growl.

"That’s enough," Gauntaur said calmly, his voice echoing. "You lasted the time."

The wolf stepped away with a snort, backing into its cage.

The young man lay on the cold stone floor, breathing hard, his limbs heavy and trembling. Sweat clung to his brow, mixing with dust and streaks of blood. His face had gone pale, and his chest rose and fell in ragged, shallow breaths.

He had never been so close to death.

One second, just one second later, and that beast’s fangs would’ve torn into his throat. He would’ve been gone. Snuffed out like a candle in the wind.

Though some part of him knew Gauntaur would step in, knew there was no real death allowed in this test... but for a second, he truly believed this was an end.

What if Gauntaur had hesitated?

What if the wolf had moved faster?

His fingers clenched slowly into fists, nails digging into the dusty floor.

He had laughed at the others earlier. Called this test easy. Bragged about his family name and his swordsmanship.

But out there, none of that mattered.

His pride hadn’t protected him. His blade had barely scratched the beast.

And now, as he lay on the stone floor, heart pounding and vision still spinning, that truth settled heavy in his chest.

He stood up and went to the exit area.

"Next you." Gauntaur pointed to the bulky man.

The bulky man stepped forward with heavy strides, cracking his knuckles and rolling his shoulders with exaggerated confidence. He was nearly twice the size of Astrael, muscles packed thick under a sleeveless vest. A massive hammer was strapped to his back, the metal head nearly as wide as his chest.

"Tch. A mutt like that? Should’ve sent two," he muttered as he passed Gauntaur, flashing a grin filled with bravado.

Gauntaur didn’t reply. He just crossed his arms and gave a nod to the beast handler.

The gate on the far side of the arena opened with a mechanical creak.

The Wolf stepped out, low to the ground, its fangs glinting under the torchlight. Its growl echoed faintly through the enclosed stone walls. Its yellow eyes locked onto the bulky man immediately, sharp and hungry.

The man yanked the hammer off his back and slammed it into the ground once. Boom.

"Come on, then! Let’s see how tough you really—"

WHOOSH!

The wolf was already on him before he could finish.

The man raised his hammer in panic and tried to swing, but the beast was fast, faster than he expected. The hammer missed entirely, striking the ground with a loud crack.

The wolf pivoted mid-air, claws raking across his shoulder and chest as it landed behind him. Blood spattered the stone.

"Argh! You little—!"

He turned and swung wildly again. Another miss.

The wolf darted sideways, circling like a blur. Every move it made was calculated, precise and quick.

The bulky man started panting, swinging with less control. His big muscles weren’t helping him now. He lacked footwork and, more importantly, timing.

The wolf charged again.

He tried to block this time, putting his arm up—

CRUNCH.

Fangs sank deep into his forearm.

He screamed.

Gauntaur narrowed his eyes, then moved.

SHHHK—THUMP!

In one clean motion, Gauntaur’s axe flew down, slicing between the wolf and man, driving the beast backwards with a startled snarl.

The bulky man dropped to one knee, clutching his bloody arm, breathing hard.

"You’re done," Gauntaur said flatly.

"What? I-I can still—"

"You can’t," Gauntaur cut him off, voice like iron. "Strength without control is wasted weight. You had no rhythm. No instinct. You would’ve died."

The man didn’t argue. He just looked down, shame burning behind clenched teeth.

"Exit that way." Gauntaur jerked his thumb.

Slowly, the bulky man picked up his hammer and limped off toward the exit, eyes low.

"Next," Gauntaur said, his voice steady as stone, pointing toward him.

Astrael stepped forward, his hand brushing the hilt of his sword.