"A maniac, a weirdo… or just someone who’s truly different?"

  What was it?

  A figure stood high above the cliff, hidden in mist. Crimson eyes gleamed, as though they had once burned with a light thought long gone.

  Stepping forward, her silver hair flowed behind her like a streak of moonlight, her mind turning over what she’d just witnessed.

  She had seen it all. Beasts and warriors at the peak of their power, the kind that stirred something primal in others. Lust, greed, envy, whatever it was.

  Strength had a way of peeling back the fa?ade, exposing the raw truth beneath. And she didn’t blame them. As you grew stronger, so too did your view of the world.

  But this kid… this Raventor, he was different. An anomaly.

  Born of a bloodline so fierce and feared, even she tread carefully around it. And yet, the moment he fell short of expectations, they cast him aside like a stain, sending him to Glaivemire Academy.

  Some pitied him. Most ignored him. Why form any connection with someone who couldn't summon a beast? In a world ruled by might, weakness was a death sentence.

  Lena had been curious once. That curiosity had long faded, until she felt something that stirred her instincts. A surge of power. Peak Iron Rank strength… from him, something that should have been impossible.

  But it wasn’t the aura of a beast tamer. She hadn't sensed the aura of a contracted beast resonating within him.

  It felt… beast-like.

  And when he had slipped away from his group and into the wilderness, Lena’s curiosity reignited.

  She could feel his presence. As a Gold-Rank powerhouse, her senses could pierce through the layers of the Wastelands. She could feel every student, literally every life-or-death moment as if it were happening right before her cause it were. So, naturally, the anomalies caught her attention.

  That’s what she assumed, anyway. A martial artist, maybe? It made sense, at least in theory. Even peak Iron Rank martial artists were rare, though. Most considered their path outdated, desperate. The world of beasts and bloodlines had long overshadowed their ancient ways.

  But she didn’t share that mindset. Martial strength was still strength, and those who dismissed it were fools.

  Still, walking headfirst into a pack of Armoured Quadrupeds? That was suicide.

  She'd watched him fight earlier. His “stone skin” technique, a defensive art, no doubt. Likely a gift from his bloodline, maybe a last-ditch effort to redeem him in the eyes of others.

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  But if he thought that was enough to survive, he was fooling himself.

  She had sensed it then. The aura of a beast beyond Iron Rank. Bronze, at the very least.

  Although the advancement felt recent, even peak Iron-Rank beast tamers would struggle...no... be lucky to survive an encounter before they could dream of matching that kind of strength. Especially without the benefit of a strong bloodline.

  The frown deepened on Lena’s jade-like face. "Where is this confidence coming from?" she muttered. "He’s not expecting me to save him, is he?" A small, amused smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "He’s in for a surprise."

  Half-dead or not, Raventor or not, he would learn the hard way. There were power dynamics at play here. Using a Gold Rank powerhouse as a babysitter...

  Before she could dive deeper into her thoughts, something unexpected caught her eye.

  His strange, stone-based “martial art” flared to life, and the battle began.

  And he started dismantling the Iron-ranked Armoured Quadrupeds ?

  How was his skill so refined that their razor-sharp chitin blades couldn’t even scratch his skin?

  But that… that was impossible. He was smashing through their jaws, their skulls… Was he punching through to their brains?

  Such force required real strength.

  Could it be? Had he really mastered a martial art that elevated him to peak Iron Rank?

  It had been a theory before, but now, it was a reality.

  But his style—rash, uncoordinated, crude—was proof that he hadn’t fully adapted to his newfound strength. He was still growing into it.

  Still, there was something undeniably appealing about him. He wasn’t just another weakling seeking attention. But if he thought this power alone could take down a Bronze-ranked beast, he was gravely mistaken.

  Should she step in? He had shown massive potential, but first, Lena continued to watch. Every forge needed its fire, after all.

  “Fine, when he can’t take it anymore…”

  Yet, her eyes widened again as she watched him fight.

  He was letting the beasts strike him… on purpose?

  No way—he wouldn’t use that style against a Bronze-ranked beast, would he? Hadn’t he learned anything at Glaivemire Academy?

  But the longer she watched, the more she began to realize something. His movements, once clumsy, began to shift. There was a change, something subtle, but real. He was calculating now.

  Had he come up with a plan?

  The beast swapped its claws and sent him flying like a ragdoll. But he didn’t give up. Wiping the blood from his lips, his voice echoed across the Wastelands:

  “Round two, then…”

  She blinked in disbelief.

  Was he actually serious? Did he think he could win?

  The fight dragged on. He continued to tank hits. But this time, the damage seemed to lessen.

  That’s when a wild thought crept into Lena’s mind.

  Was he… using the beast to train himself?

  Her train of thought broke again as he dashed toward a broken rock shard and jammed it into the beast’s leg, wounding it. The frenzy continued. Could this really be happening? A non-beast tamer fighting a Bronze-ranked beast without a summon? It was… surreal.

  And then, reality came crashing back.

  He didn’t finish the beast off. Why? Was he feeling pity for it? She didn’t believe that for a second.

  But as she looked closer, her jaw dropped. His skill was advancing in real-time.

  Had he found an inspiration? A spark of something?

  A smirk danced on her lips. If she had seen Auron as a curious anomaly before, she now saw a monster in the making.

  A legend.

  She couldn’t help it. She laughed, her voice rare, melodic, and disbelieving.

  She couldn’t wait to see where his spark of inspiration would take him. Would this martial art evolve into something unimaginable?

  But before she could finish her thoughts, her breath caught in her throat.

  He raised his hand.

  The shard of rock, which had previously pinned the beast, floated to his outstretched palm.

  This martial art... was it an advanced form? His basic technique had evolved, instantly. Wasn’t this cheating? The ability to control earthen projections?

  Now, Lena was fully intrigued.

  But with the beast immobilized, there was no way for him to continue the fight, right? Still, why stop now?

  A golden rune flickered on her hand. Her cherry lips parted.

  “Berserk.”

  With a surge of energy, she filled the Bronze beast with fury. Its eyes turned bloodshot, and it roared.

  Time to see his so-called advanced martial art.

  But what unfolded next… she wasn’t ready for.

  He closed his eyes?

  What the hell did that mean? Had he hit his limit?

  Yet, the smile tugging at his lips betrayed none of the usual signs of defeat. And when the beast closed in, he dodged, how was he doing this?

  Perception… No. There was no way.

  His hand shot out and with it, the shard of rock. With an unrefined motion, it lodged deep into the beast's leg, and as he ran forward, the shard returned to his grasp, only to be driven straight into the beast's head.

  What had she just seen?