How long had they been walking? Only after what felt like a little over 20 minutes did an abnormally large group of Irregulars come into view across a vast open plain. At a glance, there had to be well over twenty of them swarming together, and Sihyeon’s mouth fell open in shock.
“Crazy.”
They pulled aggro on all of those?
Whoever it was, that alone showed an incredible level of talent.
As Sihyeon stood there, stunned at what could only be called high-level aggro control, Haeun, standing beside him, added to his astonishment.
“Oh, it’s been reduced a lot?”
“…Ha.”
So this was considered reduced. If this was already fewer, how many had there been before? Moving a little closer, Sihyeon finally caught sight of Haru and Hamin within a narrowed distance and felt a renewed sense of disbelief. Whether it was Yoo Seowoo, who had faced them earlier, or Haru and Hamin now holding their ground—none of them were anything close to ordinary.
Meanwhile, someone else had struggled just to deal with a single Hazard-level.
Sihyeon briefly thought of Geonwoo, who was probably sitting somewhere resting by now, and felt a pang of sympathy as he adjusted his grip on his staff. The thought that the balance patch among the Four Heavenly Kings was urgently needed drifted through his mind.
“Damn it, what is this, a swarm of cockroaches?!”
“…….”
As they got closer, Hamin’s voice—fighting desperately within the shrinking distance—reached them. From afar, they had looked small, but up close, both Haru and Hamin were clearly not in good condition. Were they even human? Injuries covered them here and there.
“Cough.”
Especially in Hamin’s case, it seemed he was intermittently coughing up blood. Frowning, Sihyeon assessed the condition of the two.
Every time Haru swung his arm, he subtly winced—suggesting not just minor injuries but also a wound around his shoulder. As for Hamin, it looked like he was overexerting his mana.
Being a Dual didn’t mean having twice the total mana of others—just as Sihyeon, despite being a Quadruple, didn’t have four times as much.
Of course, an Awakened’s mana capacity could change as they grew until the age of twenty, but at least for the current Hamin, after such a prolonged battle, his mana had to be critically depleted.
Stopping at an appropriate distance, Sihyeon extended his staff forward. Even if he didn’t like the pink staff, when it came to supporting healing from range, it outperformed most other weapons. Before learning that, he had cursed this staff twelve times a day.
“Apply buffs.”
“This is seriously insane….”
Even while grumbling, Haeun diligently cast buffs. Sihyeon used a continuous heal, while Haeun applied an attack power enhancement buff. Despite complaining, Haeun also cast a flight buff and even deployed a wide-area debuff. A massive circle formed beneath the Irregulars’ feet, slowing their movement.
As their wounds healed and the Irregulars slowed down, Haru and Hamin turned their gazes toward Sihyeon. It felt like their eyes met, but greetings were skipped as they focused on the battle. Timing incoming attacks and raising a barrier to block them—this was an application Sihyeon had mastered over the past month.
Bang!
An Irregular’s attack was blocked by Sihyeon’s barrier. Seeing the attack aimed at him completely nullified, Hamin laughed. It was a grin that perfectly suited the word madman.
Feeling Haeun’s mana running low and his own nearing depletion, Sihyeon glanced at Hamin, who continued fighting while coughing up blood. Then, shifting his gaze, he saw Haru in a similar state. His blue eyes wavered.
Sihyeon let out a sigh.
It was a skill he wanted to save, given its 10-day cooldown—but if not now, they might collapse before he ever got to use it.
“I’m not doing it, can’t do it, too tired!”
After expending a massive amount of mana, Haeun plopped down on the ground and whined. Yet despite his complaints, he still cast another status debuff. The Irregulars clutched their ears, screaming as they crouched down. Wide-area debuffs consumed a lot of mana, and as if to prove it, Haeun collapsed backward, lying flat like a starfish.
“I’m exhausted!”
“I get it, so get up.”
“What? I don’t even have the strength to stand!”
“I know.”
“I’m out of mana, I’m tired, I’m exhausted….”
“Get up.”
Having no intention of indulging his complaints, Sihyeon planted his staff into the ground.
“I told you, I don’t have any mana—huh?”
A massive circle formed in the air. Haeun, who had been whining moments ago, widened his eyes and gaped.
“What is this now?”
Light poured down from the magic circle in midair, and the mana that had been nearly depleted instantly surged back up.
Haeun wasn’t the only one whose mana recovered. Hamin, who had stopped coughing up blood, stared at Sihyeon with wide eyes. When Sihyeon responded with a casual “What?” to their meeting gazes, the madman curved his lips into a grin and tightened his grip on his sword before charging at the Irregulars. He looked like a fish thrown back into water.
With a loud flourish, Hamin swung his blade and activated a taunt. Bang, bang—he struck his shield, drawing all the Irregulars’ attention to himself. In that brief moment, Haru seized the opportunity.
With their attention diverted, the red-eyed boy erased his presence and melted into space. It was the skill Stealth.
Concealed, Haru targeted the vital points of the unsuspecting Irregulars. Blood spurted, and they collapsed one after another. In the fleeting moments when he reappeared, a faint, idle smile lingered on his face. With Stealth, Weak Point Detection, and even Haeun’s flight added on top, it was a perfect combination.
Boom!
A continuous roar echoed from the battlefield. Watching the two of them run wild with the mana he had restored, Sihyeon swallowed dryly when—smack—Haeun suddenly clung to him.
“What are you doing?”
“That thing just now—was that a skill?”
“Yeah.”
Answering immediately, Sihyeon shook him off and told him to focus.
Blessing of God.
The skill name sounded ridiculously tacky, as if someone had named it without a second thought, but its effect was undeniably powerful. It consumed all of the caster’s mana, yet in return fully restored both mana and health for up to four people—including the caster—and removed all status effects. Whether you had 10% mana left or 70%, as long as it wasn’t completely depleted, it could be used anytime. Among healer skills, it was practically the only one with such incredible efficiency.
Except for the fact that, due to low proficiency, it had a 10-day cooldown.
It was a bit of a waste, but since all four of them were currently struggling with depleted mana, there couldn’t have been a better moment. Casting aside his hesitation, Sihyeon looked at Haeun. Revitalized with restored mana, Haeun was now enthusiastically stacking all sorts of buffs on Haru and Hamin—everything except wide-area buffs. He was even throwing in debuffs for good measure.
Stagger—
Hamin lost his balance midair. Barely dodging an incoming Irregular, he shot Haeun a murderous glare as Haeun smirked at him.
“Stop messing around.”
Only after Sihyeon nudged Haeun did he remove the debuff. Honestly, in moments like this, he really did seem like an innocent child.
Then suddenly, a massive snake lunged at Hamin.
“…!”
With his attention briefly on Haeun, Sihyeon realized too late as the attack came in. Just as he was about to swing his staff, Hamin leaped. Blocking the attack with his shield, he swung his sword and severed the snake’s neck. In that same instant, Haru flew in and took down another Irregular aiming for Hamin. Their coordination was flawless, as if they had practiced it beforehand.
“You said you didn’t like him before.”
They had seemed so reluctant, yet now that they were working together, their synergy was excellent.
“He’s my partner.”
For some reason, Sihyeon felt a subtle shift in his mood and cast an additional heal on Haru. He ignored the quiet snickering from Haeun beside him.
“Kkiiieeeek!”
As the last remaining Irregular collapsed helplessly, the four boys dropped to the ground. Even if their mana and health had been restored, it didn’t mean their physical fatigue had disappeared.
“…Ha.”
A sigh—no one knew whose—escaped here and there. As they lay sprawled across the grass recovering, Haru and Hamin, leaving behind a graveyard of Irregulars, approached Sihyeon and Haeun. Then suddenly, Hamin rushed straight at Haeun.
“Ghk—wait, wait!”
Caught in a sudden headlock, Haeun tapped the ground in surrender. Only then did Hamin release him, scolding him for being insane. Meanwhile, Sihyeon turned to Haru—whom he was seeing for the first time since the evaluation began—and gave a faint smile.
“Hello, hyung.”
“…Yeah.”
“You’re not hurt anywhere, right?”
“…You healed me.”
Haru’s reply filled Sihyeon with quiet satisfaction. Though the battle had been grueling, he was relieved that all four of them were safe. Then suddenly, something came to mind, and Sihyeon looked around.
Seeing him urgently scanning the surroundings, Hamin’s guard shot up.
“What? Is something there?”
“…Class C.”
“Huh?”
“Didn’t you see Class C?”
If his hypothesis was correct, Class C should be somewhere nearby. But in a place this wide open, hiding or ambushing seemed impossible. Staring at Hamin as if pressing him, Hamin tilted his head.
“When we got here, it was just the Irregulars and Yoo Seowoo. Didn’t Class C throw Yoo Seowoo into the Irregular swarm and run away?”
At Hamin’s words, Sihyeon looked at Haeun. Haeun blinked, then broke into a smile as he met Sihyeon’s gaze. That expression—like he knew something—made Sihyeon try to speak again, but Haeun spoke first.
“Oh right. Come to think of it, I never told you that score transfers are possible, Sihyeon!”
“…….”
Haeun changed the subject. Somehow, Sihyeon had a feeling that Haeun either knew something about Class C or at least had a guess. Narrowing his eyes, he studied Kang Haeun, who was smiling as usual—yet gave off the distinct impression that he wouldn’t tell even if asked.
And it seemed that impression would prove true. Swallowing his unease, Sihyeon decided to first check the topic Haeun had brought up.
“…What do you mean, score transfer?”
“Why do you think the Class C kids said tying scores was possible?”
“…You’re saying you can transfer as much as you want?”
“Yeah. Have you ever checked your score window and tapped on the score?”
“…No.”
As soon as he answered, Sihyeon opened the score window. Pushing aside the delayed calculation screen that still lingered, he tapped on the accumulated score—and sure enough, a system window popped up asking, ‘Do you want to transfer your score?’ His blue eyes widened.
When he pressed confirm, a prompt appeared asking him to search for the recipient’s name. He searched for Ban Haru, entered his own name as the sender, and sent it. Startled, Haru looked at him.
“…It really works.”
Having confirmed it, Sihyeon stared intently at the score window—then slowly curled his lips upward.
Because an idea—an ingenious, almost absurdly efficient “creative economy” plan that would make him rank first in the evaluation—flashed through his mind.
