Minutes had passed since Phase 3 began.
Of the original 100 teams, only around 70 remained.
The battlefield had turned ruthless.
Daniel and Lyra's alliance had already destroyed several cores, working in coordination with other teams under their command. On the other side, Feldine and Georgina's team was no less aggressive—they too had carved a path of chaos, cores shattered in their wake.
But their approaches were different.
While Daniel's group suffered casualties—eight members fallen during relentless monster ambushes and core defenses—Feldine's forces remained untouched. Not a single member injured. Clean. Precise. Untouchable.
That was Feldine.
Even if someone got hurt, he had healing magic.his regenerative skills were far beyond what anyone expected. His team moved like shadows—efficient and fast.
And then… paths collided.
In the midst of the dead forest, with the scent of burnt mana and fading monster corpses in the air, the two forces crossed each other.
Daniel's cloak was slashed in multiple places, blood dried on his side. Lyra's eyes were sharp, glowing faintly with residual magic. They were tired, but they stood strong.
Georgina narrowed her eyes, her blade already in hand.
Feldine, standing at the front like a monarch, smirked. His blood-red eyes shimmered with disdain.
"Hmph… Tum inferior beings yahaan kya kar rahe ho?" His voice echoed with arrogance. "You look half-dead already."
Lyra stepped forward, brushing dust off her arm.
"We're hunting, obviously," she snapped, irritation in her tone.
Lyra didn't argue.
Not because she lacked confidence—but because she understood the situation far too well.
Her family, like many others, was under the influence of the powerful Sagnius family. And Feldine? He was their heir. Their monster. Their pride.
Everyone knew his reputation. His strength. His nature.
Arguing with him when it was just her and Daniel left would've been foolish. Especially with Georgina on his side.
Feldine eyed the two of them with cold scrutiny, as if examining whether they were even worth the effort.
"You two look weak," he said plainly, voice laced with disdain. "How many cores have you destroyed?"
Daniel's eyes narrowed slightly. He didn't flinch.
"Ten," he replied. "And you?"
Feldine smirked.
"Twenty," he said with a slight tilt of his head. "Such numbers are natural… for an inferior species like you."
Before his arrogance could settle, Georgina jabbed her elbow into his side, annoyed.
"Oi, bloodsucker. Don't act like you did all the work. I helped too."
Feldine didn't respond. He simply let out a dismissive tch and looked away, as if acknowledging her wasn't worth the effort.
Georgina turned to Lyra and Daniel. Her tone became serious.
"Will you come with us? We're heading to attack Team 12 next. Arthur and Julian are there, and we need to move quickly. If we wait any longer, the monsters will start spawning—stronger ones."
Daniel exchanged a glance with Lyra.
Then he nodded, cautiously.
"Alright… but we're running low. We only have about twenty percent mana left. If we're going to fight, we'll need some help."
Feldine narrowed his eyes.
"And why should I care?"
Georgina shot him a sharp look. "Feldine. Just give them some mana."
"Tch." He clicked his tongue again, clearly irritated, but complied. With a flick of his hand, dark crimson mana began to flow from his palm—cold and powerful, tinged with something ancient and dangerous.
It surged into Daniel and Lyra like a bitter wind, restoring their strength. The others in Feldine's team followed suit, contributing just enough to stabilize the pair's reserves.
Lyra flexed her fingers, mana now steady. Daniel straightened up, his breath no longer strained.
"Thank you," he said, calmly.
Feldine didn't respond. He merely began walking.
"Our plan is simple," he said, without turning back. "We destroy the core. Eliminate the weak. You two handle the trash. Julian is mine."
He paused.
"And Arthur… I'll take him alone."
Georgina crossed her arms and raised a brow. "Just don't get yourself killed, blood prince."
One by one, the group nodded.
There was no trust between them—just a shared goal, and a temporary alliance born of necessity.
The hunt for Team 12 had begun.
Arthur sat cross-legged atop a flat rock near the heart of Team 12's territory, his eyes closed, body still. He had remained that way for some time, unmoving—lost in deep meditation as waves of mana swirled gently around him.
But suddenly, his lips curled into a small, almost imperceptible smile.
"So… they've decided to come," he murmured.
A thin glint of light shimmered across his eyes as he opened them.
Through the subtle currents of his Mana Sense, he had detected six distinct signatures approaching rapidly—powerful ones, unmistakably hostile. They were still at a distance, but their trajectory was certain.
They were coming for Team 12's core.
Rodin was nearby, sending jagged stone thorns through the air, each strike piercing the chests of the relentless Mana Drainers that threatened their defenses. His breathing was steady, expression focused.
Sera stood atop a wooden tower, her longbow drawn in fluid precision. Each arrow she released burst into mana-tipped bolts of death, lighting up the sky and clearing dozens of creatures before they ever got close.
Below, Bryce stood like a wall of iron, his shield planted firmly into the ground beside the core. Mana Drainers that dared approach were swiftly dismantled—each stroke of his sword a masterful execution.
Arthur stood, brushing off his coat casually.
"Someone's coming," he said, his voice calm, yet commanding. "Six of them. Heading straight toward us."
Rodin didn't look away from the battlefield, but nodded faintly. Sera continued firing without hesitation. Bryce simply readjusted his shield, grunting in acknowledgment.
"Don't let anyone pass you," Arthur added, walking toward the incoming threat. "I'll take care of this… personally."
He didn't need a response. His team trusted him completely.
The wind shifted as he stepped out of the core's perimeter, his black cloak fluttering behind him. His mana pulsed—sharp, focused, dangerous. His smile widened just slightly as he felt the pressure of the six incoming fighters growing closer.
"I hope they're not too boring," he muttered to himself.
His steps were quiet. His intent was loud.
Because Arthur wasn't planning to defend.
He was going to intercept.
And destroy them before they even thought of launching an attack.
Feldine suddenly stopped mid-stride, his black eyes narrowing.
He felt it.
A ripple in the mana.
Someone was coming.
Before anyone else could speak, he turned his head sharply toward the east, eyes focused as if piercing through the forest itself.
"…He's coming."
Georgina blinked, puzzled. "Don't be ridiculous," she said, shaking her head. "We're still far from their base. There's no way they sensed us—not with your stealth magic cloaking us."
But Feldine didn't look convinced. In fact, for the first time in a long while… there was disbelief on his face.
"I sensed him," he said, voice low. "But… he sensed us first."
The others fell silent.
No one had ever sensed Feldine's presence when he used his concealment magic—not during this phase, not in previous ones. Not a single team.
Daniel frowned. "Who are you talking about?"
Feldine's tone became strangely calm. Almost reverent.
"Arthur," he said. "Arthur Valerian."
A sharp hiss spread among the group.
Georgina's face tightened as she instinctively began channeling mana into her gauntlets, the metal humming faintly with power.
"Be ready," she muttered. "He's not simple."
Feldine's eyes glowed faintly. "I'll engage him first. You move on his team. I've already scanned their defenses—only three members guarding the core. Julian isn't there."
Georgina's lips curled into a grin. "Hmph. I thought he was supposed to be smart. Turns out he's just a reckless fool."
Daniel scoffed. "What can a ten-year-old do with his tiny little brain anyway?"
Feldine smiled darkly.
"He's here."
The entire group stopped.
Just fifty meters ahead, the forest parted slightly—wind rustling leaves in an unnatural silence.
There he stood.
A lone boy.
He wore a sleek black bodysuit, a slender sword sheathed at his waist. His hair was jet-black, streaked faintly with crimson near the ends, shifting slightly in the breeze. But it was his eyes that froze the group in place—golden, unblinking, cold as the void.
A smile curved on his lips.
It wasn't mocking.
It wasn't arrogant.
It was worse.
It was the kind of smile that said:
"I already know your plan… and I've already torn it apart."