He’ll admit he’d been underestimating Donghyeok, but it looked like he hadn’t earned his rank of 10th place for nothing. Watching the barrier crack under a single powerful blow, Sihyeon narrowed his eyes, sharpening his senses as he observed Donghyeok grinding his teeth like he was ready to go down together.
It felt as though an extra layer of skin had formed over his body—an intangible sensation wrapping around him.
That sensation told him—Kang Donghyeok had just used a skill.
And not just any skill, but a fairly strong one.
As if to prove it, Donghyeok’s complexion looked different from before. His face was drained of color, yet his eyes still burned with inferiority. Watching him, Sihyeon steadied his breathing. He had waited, wondering if Donghyeok had briefly lost his mind, but even after time passed, the killing intent in his eyes didn’t fade.
Bang!
Donghyeok charged again, carving several more cracks into the already fractured barrier. Sihyeon narrowed his eyes as he sifted through his memories.
There had been a skill he’d taken note of when he observed Class C’s training. The sensation was similar to when he underwent class engraving—the feeling of something flowing into his fingertips made his body tingle, and Sihyeon swallowed.
He had always only considered it as an option, a tool.
This was his first time actually using it.
“Do you know how those bastards look at me because of you?”
Bang!
Donghyeok swung his sword at the barrier again. Unlike before, it seemed he hadn’t used a skill this time—the impact was weaker. But the barrier, already having taken heavy damage, looked like it could shatter at any moment.
Glancing briefly at its condition, Sihyeon rolled his eyes, searching for something he could use as a weapon.
“Why would I need to know that?”
Crack—Sihyeon snapped a nearby tree branch. It was thick enough to fill his grip, but perhaps because it was from a dead tree, it broke easily. Seeing that, Donghyeok let out a scoff.
“With something like that, what are you even—”
“You’re misunderstanding something.”
Cutting him off mid-sentence, Sihyeon kicked off the ground.
At a speed surpassing that of most Swordsmen, Donghyeok’s eyes widened—just as Sihyeon hurled the branch.
—Whoosh!
The branch, accelerated, shot toward Donghyeok at a vicious speed. It flew at him so fast he didn’t even have time to blink, grazing past his eye. It was a close call—one wrong angle and it could’ve pierced straight through.
Drip—blood trickled down beside the corner of his eye, and Donghyeok’s stiff fingers twitched. Only then did Sihyeon stop moving and meet his rigid, crimson gaze.
Donghyeok’s lips opened and closed like a goldfish, unable to form words. It was likely his first time experiencing the fear of blindness. Watching him, Sihyeon slowly opened his mouth, still feeling the lingering force of acceleration.
“I’m the strong one. Not the people around me.”
So what—want me to try using your skill too? It’s not like you’d actually die.
People instinctively fear the strong and try to avoid them. That sense—that touching them would be dangerous—was like a built-in sensor of primal fear.
And yet, why did Donghyeok keep provoking him, poking and scratching at him like this?
The answer was absurdly simple.
He had never been overwhelmed before.
No matter how much someone claimed strength with words, unless others experienced that power firsthand—unless they witnessed it—they wouldn’t believe it. And even if Sihyeon was a Quadruple, he had only completed class engraving for Copy and Healer.
That made it even harder to believe.
“……”
Sihyeon took a step toward the speechless Donghyeok.
“Kang Donghyeok.”
“……”
“Seeing how you’re struggling from just one skill, it must be pretty strong, huh?”
Well, it did crack a barrier that was designed to withstand four Wormman attacks in a single blow.
His calm voice sounded like he was telling an old story. It stood in stark contrast to Donghyeok, whose eyes trembled uncontrollably. Step by step, Sihyeon closed the distance, stopping within arm’s reach before extending his hand toward the sword Donghyeok was holding.
Their hands overlapped. Sihyeon spoke casually.
“Want to hear something interesting?”
“……?”
“Your skill consumes mana, right? If I could use it while ignoring mana… how long do you think you’d last?”
Donghyeok’s eyes widened. It was as if Sihyeon had read his mind—his disbelief was written all over his face. Gripping Donghyeok’s sword, Sihyeon continued,
“You won’t die even if you ‘die,’ but the pain stays the same.”
“……”
“Do you think you could endure that?”
I’m a Healer, after all.
Sihyeon’s blue eyes stared at Donghyeok without the slightest shake. If he wanted, he could burn through massive amounts of mana to push Kang Donghyeok right to the brink of death—and then heal him.
Over and over again.
“Whether my mana runs out first, or you lose your mind first—if you’re not curious to find out, then keep your head down and live quietly.”
“……”
“You pathetic piece of trash.”
Clack—Sihyeon knocked aside Donghyeok’s sword as if pushing it away and turned his body. As he considered which skill would be most effective for threatening Donghyeok—and most efficient in this forest—he chose Acceleration to Copy. However, since Copy could only be used three times a day, it wasn’t exactly a favorable trade.
In this virtual world, he had to survive for three days, but in reality, not even a full day had passed—so the usage count for Copy wouldn’t reset.
Seriously, useless bastard.
Depending on how it was used, Copy could range anywhere from D-rank to A-rank. Realizing he’d wasted one of his uses, even landing a hit on Donghyeok didn’t feel satisfying.
Letting out a sigh at Donghyeok, who remained nothing but a nuisance to the very end, Sihyeon dismissed the crumbling barrier and started walking. Just as he was about to move quickly using Acceleration to find a way out—
Ding!
A holographic window suddenly popped up in front of him.
[You have successfully escaped from multiple Irregulars. 100 points have been awarded.]
“…Why give this to me now?”
Staring at the window in mild disbelief, he wondered why something that had happened long ago was only now being tallied. Then, casually swiping the notification aside, a thought occurred to him, and he glanced around.
Creaaaak.
A faint sound echoed from afar.
A Nightmare.
Acceleration.
It was the skill he had copied, thinking it would be the most efficient in what was presumably the Nightmare’s habitat. But if points were awarded simply for certain actions, then using Acceleration just to safely escape this place would be a waste.
Since he’d already copied it, he might as well squeeze out maximum efficiency.
After all, there was something he needed to obtain by placing first in this evaluation.
With that thought, Sihyeon steadied his breathing.
Then, like an arrow, he shot toward the source of the sound.
***
[You have successfully escaped from multiple Irregulars. 100 points have been awarded.]
[You have successfully escaped from multiple Irregulars. 100 points have been awarded.]
[You have successfully escaped from multiple Irregulars. 100 points have been awarded….]
.
.
.
[You have reached the maximum accumulation for achievements against the same target. Please find a different target.]
“Guess that’s it.”
After repeatedly drawing the Nightmare’s attention and escaping several times, the duration of Acceleration ended, and a holographic window appeared. Realizing that “infinite farming” wasn’t possible, Sihyeon checked his score.
1,000 points.
It seemed that against the same Irregular, the same score could only stack up to ten times.
Taking it as a worthwhile gain that he’d learned quite a bit, Sihyeon headed toward the exit he had discovered while fleeing from the Nightmare. He had no idea what kind of thinking led to someone putting up a sign that basically said ‘This is the way out,’ but it worked in his favor.
Step by step, the light grew closer—until at last, he escaped the dreadful forest of dead trees.
He had only taken a single step out of the forest, yet the colorless world suddenly bloomed with vibrant hues. Green trees, flowers, birds flying overhead—and even a stream that looked refreshing just to look at.
Taking in the scenery, Sihyeon turned back to look at the path he had come from.
It was pitch black.
How could stepping out of a single forest make it feel like he had entered an entirely different world? It was absurd, but it only drove home once again how insane this school was.
Are there other Irregulars here?
Just because the environment had turned peaceful didn’t mean it was a safe zone. As he scanned his surroundings—
Thud!
As if his words had come true, the ground beneath Sihyeon’s forward step suddenly gave way. The area around his foot instantly began to turn into a swamp. Startled, he quickly looked around for something to grab.
Since it was a swamp, struggling recklessly would only make him sink deeper. Grabbing onto vines or something similar would be best, but unfortunately, the vines were just out of reach.
Frustration surfaced on his face. He tried moving his leg anyway, determined to get out somehow—
Yank!
Something suddenly grabbed his leg from below.
“……!”
Before he could even react, his body was dragged down into the swamp.
It happened in an instant.
His vision was dyed green.
As he was pulled rapidly downward, the green tint of his vision gradually darkened, as if he were being buried underground. In that moment, a piece of information surfaced in his mind.
An Irregular that hides beneath the ground, alters terrain, and instantly drags people into its domain.
He had definitely learned about this one before.
Furrowing his brow, Sihyeon searched his memory while glancing down at his leg. A thread-like, pure white strand was wrapped around it.
Only then did his eyes widen as he recalled the name.
Hazard-level Irregular—Earth Spider.
An Irregular classified as Hazard-level because it claimed an area the size of an entire city as its domain, dragging in numerous people and consuming them like emergency rations whenever it pleased.
Realizing this, Sihyeon struggled desperately to avoid becoming its prey, but the web clinging tightly to his leg didn’t let go.
“Ghk!”
Instead, it tightened further, forcing a groan from him as he was helplessly dragged into the Earth Spider’s domain.
Bang!
Only after his body slammed violently against the ground did the web disappear. Groaning, Sihyeon pushed himself up and coughed a couple of times. It was a miracle his spine hadn’t snapped.
Every movement sent pain shooting through his back, making him frown. Then, in the dim space, he spotted the shriveled bodies of students—and his shoulders flinched.
The Earth Spider didn’t eat human flesh.
It drained the bodily fluids inside them.
In other words, those students weren’t alive. They were dead.
Of course, it was all virtual—but that didn’t make it any less horrifying.
Damn it.
Dragged into a hellish place, Sihyeon began moving, searching for survivors who weren’t dead yet. It was better to have numbers than to be alone.
After wandering for what felt like quite some time—
“…Why are you here?”
He found Geonwoo, someone he hadn’t seen in what felt like ages.
