Harold was furious at the foolish boy standing before him, glaring at him intensely.
Why should Dane be forced to leave the group just so this boy could take his place? And it wasn't even Dane's fault—it was this boy who had shown up late!
Every time Harold looked at the red-haired boy, his anger only grew. The boy's clumsy actions grated on his nerves, and worse, he always skillfully avoided Harold's sharp glares.
"Tsk."
Harold clicked his tongue in irritation and headed toward the gate to enter the dungeon.
He swore to himself that when he returned home, the boy's name would top his blacklist!
"Team four, proceed to the gate," ordered the instructor.
Everyone moved toward the teleportation gate at the command.
"Haah," Harold sighed as he stepped onto the platform.
For him, this test was a waste of time. While some students were either thrilled or terrified at the prospect of entering a dungeon for the first time, Harold felt neither.
As the son of a noble family, this wasn't his first dungeon experience. Unlike commoners, Harold had already visited numerous dungeons ranging from Rank G to Rank E. Of course, he had no fond memories of these trips—many of them were filled with assassination attempts against him.
This was why he always preferred venturing into dungeons alone, despite it being forbidden. After all, dungeons were dangerous places, and entering them solo was strictly prohibited. But thanks to his noble privileges, Harold was an exception to this rule.
Something felt off.
Harold frowned, sensing something peculiar about the two mages stationed at the gate.
Perhaps others hadn't noticed, but Harold had.
Mages were rare—so rare that seeing one in person was a privilege few ever had. Unlike regular awakened individuals, who gained their abilities after the age of 14, mages were born with an innate affinity for mana and the elements of nature.
Sure, there were awakened individuals with elemental affinities, but such people were even rarer than mages.
Normal awakened individuals trained rigorously every day, wielding weapons to make up for their lack of mana. Meanwhile, mages relied on their vast mana reserves to cast spells and perform feats unattainable by others.
Which brought Harold to his current dilemma—why did these two mages have such muscular physiques?
Mages didn't need to exert themselves physically. Unlike regular awakened individuals who developed muscles through strenuous training, mages simply studied books and grew stronger effortlessly.
Perhaps they were simply fitness enthusiasts who enjoyed exercising?
Harold dismissed the thought as paranoia. After all, he had been the target of countless assassination attempts, often when least expected. Letting his guard down, even for a moment, could easily cost him his life.
His thoughts were interrupted by a bright white light enveloping his body, causing him to gradually lose all sensation.
"Not bad," Harold muttered as he took in the lush greenery of the dungeon around him.
That was his only reaction before he turned away and ventured into the dungeon alone.
Naturally, no one wanted to team up with him.
Honestly, who would want to go with a "monster" like him?
Harold didn't mind, though. Being alone meant he was safer. Trusting others was never an option for him. The only person he even remotely trusted was Dane.
It wasn't that he didn't want to trust others. After all, who would willingly choose loneliness? But trust came with risks. What if he trusted someone, only to be betrayed?
And when Harold said "betrayed," he meant it literally.
Many despised him. Some were scarred by the wars between humans and the Flynns and sought revenge. Others rejected peace and sought to restart the conflict.
For them, Harold was a convenient target—a "walking peace treaty," a "freak" born between a human and a Flynn, a "living reminder of the past."
To them, Harold was nothing but an abomination, a symbol of disgrace.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Harold's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps behind him.
He instinctively placed his hand on his sword and glanced back out of the corner of his eye.
It was the red-haired boy from earlier.
Of course. How could Harold not recognize him? He was the very reason Dane was no longer in the group—the fool who had caused the earlier commotion.
The boy looked deranged, mumbling to himself as he followed Harold.
"...from afar...kill...with the bow...safe..."
Harold suddenly stopped, his sharp ears catching snippets of the boy's muttering.
Kill? With a bow? What was he talking about?
"!AL"
Everything clicked into place.
This boy had been sent to assassinate him! Disguised as a regular student at Elias Academy, he had faked his test scores to appear as the weakest first-year student. That way, he wouldn't draw any suspicion.
His absence from class? That made sense now—he was never meant to attend. His mission was solely to kill Harold.
Showing up late wasn't an accident either. The boy had deliberately manipulated the team arrangements to separate Harold from Dane. With Dane out of the way, Harold's chances of survival had plummeted.
The academy—a supposed safe haven—had been compromised. Someone had helped the boy infiltrate the system. Harold clicked his tongue in frustration.
This was no random attack; it was an elaborate plot.
Even if these suspicions were just conjecture, the boy's behavior was odd enough to warrant suspicion.
Harold turned around abruptly, hand still on his sword.
"What do you want?" he demanded sharply.
The boy flinched at Harold's harsh tone but quickly composed himself.
His response, however, left Harold dumbfounded.
"Form a team with me?"
Was this boy serious?
Harold's eyes narrowed in skepticism.
Was this some kind of trick to lure him into a trap?
With a mocking laugh, Harold sneered, "Why would I team up with someone like you?"
The boy's face turned red, either from embarrassment or anger. Harold wasn't sure, but he could see the boy struggling to hold back curses.
How amusing.
A sly smile crept across Harold's face as he observed the boy's reaction.
Suddenly—whoosh!
An arrow whizzed past the boy's head, missing him by mere inches.
"Oh no, I missed!" a voice called out mockingly.
---
"Tsk."
Harold clicked his tongue before turning his gaze toward the assassin. The assassin had been distracted for a few seconds by Casper's clumsy arrow, but those few seconds were enough for Harold to shift the battle's momentum.
Gripping his sword tightly, Harold dashed toward the masked man. The assassin snapped out of his daze as he felt a cold breeze rushing toward him. Shocked, he noticed Harold rapidly closing the 50-meter gap between them, using the tree branches as footholds. In just a few seconds, Harold had already covered a quarter of the distance.
For the first time, the assassin felt genuine danger. After all, he was merely an archer, not a close-combat specialist. If Harold got close, his chances of survival would plummet to zero.
Desperate, the masked man drew his bow and fired three red energy arrows at Harold.
Harold's silver hair fluttered, and his cold eyes gleamed as he stared down the incoming arrows. With remarkable agility, he dodged the first two by leaping from tree to tree. Just as he thought he'd avoided the third, another volley of four arrows came hurtling toward him.
Gritting his teeth, Harold unsheathed his sword. He dodged as many arrows as he could, using his blade to deflect those targeting his vital spots. However, he couldn't avoid them all—some arrows grazed or pierced his body.
Breathing heavily and bleeding from multiple wounds, Harold continued advancing toward the assassin, his movements agile despite his injuries.
In that moment—
Bang!
The sound of an explosion echoed behind him. Harold didn't need to turn around to know its source.
The corners of his lips curled slightly.
Unbeknownst to the boy, Harold had sensed another assassin hiding further away, watching the fight to ensure no one intervened—or escaped. The explosion meant the boy had likely tried to flee and encountered the hidden assassin.
Harold couldn't explain why he felt a twinge of satisfaction. Was it because the boy had tried to run, leaving him to fight alone? But why should that matter? He'd always fought alone. Why was he pleased now?
"Haah…"
Taking a deep breath, Harold dismissed the pointless thoughts. The real fight was about to begin.
Fighting was difficult for Harold—not because he lacked skill, but because he was a swordsman specialized in close-range combat. His opponent, on the other hand, excelled at long-range attacks. However, unlike the assassin, who would be completely helpless if Harold closed the distance, Harold could still dodge or deflect attacks, even with great effort.
With this in mind, he focused on avoiding or cutting down the arrows flying his way.
Just a few meters! Only a few more meters separated him from the assassin!
The assassin seemed to realize the danger as well, frequently glancing toward his partner, who was still fighting the boy, as if hoping for rescue.
Noticing this, Harold smirked and spoke.
"Don't bother waiting. No one's coming to save you."
They were bold words from someone whose body resembled a sponge, riddled with wounds. But Harold was confident—once he reached the assassin, he'd slice him in half like butter.
For Harold, victory was inevitable.
"Damn it," cursed the assassin as Harold closed in. He turned and tried to flee.
But Harold wasn't about to let him escape. With a swift motion, he hurled his sword at the fleeing man.
"Argh!"
A sharp cry echoed as Harold's sword struck the assassin squarely in the chest, sending him crashing to the ground.
"Haah…"
Taking a deep breath, Harold approached the fallen man and pulled his sword from his chest.
"It's over," Harold muttered.
Examining the body, Harold confirmed it was the same fake mage who had activated the portal earlier. This raised questions—how had the man operated the portal? Sure, mana stones could be used, but they were incredibly expensive. Whoever was behind this attack was not only wealthy but also resourceful enough to infiltrate the academy unnoticed.
"Haah… Forget it," Harold sighed. Assassination attempts were nothing new to him. What was one more?
He hesitated, debating whether to check on the boy. Not that he intended to rescue him—after all, the boy had abandoned him mid-fight. Besides, Harold doubted the boy had survived; with his lackluster archery skills, escape was improbable.
Still, despite all these reasons to leave, Harold's feet carried him toward the boy's location.
"!!"
Harold's eyes widened in disbelief.
There stood the boy, towering over the corpse of a massive man. His long red hair swayed, and he held a blood-soaked sword in his trembling hands, staring at the body in shock.
Wait… How had he killed him? Wasn't he supposed to be weak?
Harold couldn't hide his astonishment.
Seconds passed, and the boy remained frozen in place.
Hmm… Is this his first kill? Harold wondered as he observed the pale-faced boy, whose bloodshot eyes and trembling body suggested he was on the verge of tears.
Harold stared silently, an absurd thought crossing his mind.
Was I like that?
He questioned himself.
Was this how he'd looked the first time he killed someone?
Chuckling softly, Harold dismissed the notion as ridiculous.
He couldn't even remember his first kill—too many years had passed, and he'd long since drowned in a sea of blood. Perhaps he did remember, but chose to bury the memory, pretending it didn't exist.
With a sigh, Harold realized he needed to snap the boy out of his daze before he went mad.
Looking around for a rock to throw at the boy, Harold found none.
So, he removed his boot and hurled it at him instead.
"…"
The shoe unintentionally hit the boy square in the head, causing him to tumble to the ground in a comical fashion.
"Pfft…"
Harold burst into laughter at the boy's awkward fall.