"WHAT?!" I say, and my eyes widen. "You can't be serious?" I ask the Professor.

"I very much am, Cloud. You're a Guide and a Champion. Are you really that afraid of such a small challenge?"

Before I can reply, Althir butts in, "We don't need this rat to pass the assessment anyway. We're more than strong enough to take care of the monster on our own."

"You can try," Professor Braagh says. "In fact, why doesn't your group go into the simulation first?"

I start to protest, yet Althir nods. "We will show you exactly what Elves are capable of."

Damn it! I feel my neck crawl with heat, and the start of a headache hammering behind my eyes. Collaborating with these idiots is going to be impossible.

Professor Braagh moves the rest of the class into their groups and waves them back to the stands. The arena falls quiet, the wards on the red stone floor pulsing like a heartbeat. He beckons us forward to begin, our steps echoing on the stairs as we move down to the ring.

"I don't want to lose this challenge," I tell Althir, and I keep my voice steady. "Please, let's just collaborate. You can hate me all you want—I just want to make sure we don't fail the year."

"Shut up," Althir replies, not even looking at me. "And stay back."

Professor Braagh stops a few paces away and unfurls a long scroll. He dips a brush in black ink, and he draws firm strokes that bind the runes together. The runes glow, and the air turns cold. My breath turns to mist in front of me. A shape swells out of nothing, and water vapor beads on my skin. A translucent, gigantic octopus hangs over the floor, and its eyes fix on us with a slow, alien focus.

[Abyssal Octopus - Level 250]

"This is an Early Platinum threat. Let's see how you guys deal with it."

The "Early Platinum threat" towers over us at ten meters tall, and its tentacles stretch even further. Its tentacles flex and curl, and show suction cups ringed with pale spikes. The floor hums under its weight, even though it is a projection.

* * *

"Why are we worrying about this little squid?" Althir clenches his jaw. "Is this it? Is this the big test that we're supposed to face? By the end of the year, we'll—"

A tentacle snaps across the ring with a crack that rattles my teeth. Althir jerks back and scrambles as he pulls a saber from his Interspatial Ring.

"Elyndor, Ithriel, with me!" Althir shouts.

If this idiotic Professor thinks that an Early Platinum threat is too much for us, he has a bad surprise coming for him.

Ithriel darts in and slashes at a whipping coil, yet his blade skips over its skin as if he were striking glass. Elyndor steps in front of him and creates a thick barrier of mana, rising up like a wall of amber. The tentacle slams down, but it holds steady, light rippling through the shield in strain. Althir's eyes narrow in suspicion.

Why didn't the attack go through?

Ithriel vanishes into the octopus's shadow and reappears near its bulbous head, driving his blade straight at the eye. However, the strike skates aside again, and the projection flares where it blocks him.

"Regroup!" Althir shouts, and both Elyndor and Ithriel jump back. They spread out in a circle, their boots scrabbling for a better purchase on the floor.

"There's something off with this bastard! It has some force barrier or something!" Elyndor tells Althir. "Try one of your stronger attacks, I'll cover you!"

They have trained together for years, and their moves flow in sync with each other like steps in a dance. They carry on their shoulders the weight of old names, their houses grooming them to become exemplars of their species from an early age. Althir draws mana until the air around his saber ripples in thin lines. He cuts, and blades of blue wind roar toward the octopus. That Skill must form the core of his Class, even if he tries to hide it under showy moves.

"This is impossible!" Althir says that when his attack fails to leave even a mark on the creature.

The octopus presses them in response with a steady rhythm of attacks. Its tentacles coil and pound the floor, causing shockwaves, as each barrier Elyndor creates grows thinner than the last. The monster is a Level 250. That should mean just one of them can finish it alone, yet the fight drags on, and the stands grow restless.

Murmurs rise from the seats. Students lean forward, faces tight with anxiety, not believing what they're seeing in front of them.

Professor Braagh watches and shakes his head in amusement. He has trained many who are proud and haughty and so sure of their birthright. They think raw power can crush every problem in front of them, yet monsters do not fit a single mold. Every species bends rules in its own way, and most have odd tricks that punish lazy habits. The Abyssal Octopus carries several weaknesses, yet you need knowledge and a clear plan to exploit them.

If Jacob Cloud can't get them to listen to him, they'll never be able to pass the year. They're strong, but all it took was one uncommon monster for them to lose.

He turns to me, expecting a Guide to shout advice to win the Elves over. He finds me still and silent. Leaving him puzzled.

Why isn't he doing anything?

I ignore his looks and keep my eyes trained on the fight. I narrow them when I map the angles of each strike, and my shoulders twitch when I trace the rhythm of each coil.

Why is he so twitchy?

* * *

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Are you serious?

Interfering now will only hurt their pride, Jacob Cloud, King Baalrek explains. Trust me, you don't want to do that.

King Baalrek offered to coach me through this mess, and I'm glad he has decided to show up.

What do I do, just let them get beaten up?

For now. Observe their houses, Cloud. What do you see?

I squint at their hilts and guard-rings because families stamp their glory where hands must see it.

There's a Silver Tree on Althir's saber. The other two both have a Yellow Tiger on theirs.

These are old families, Cloud. The Silverleaves and the Goldmanes. If nothing has changed since I was last here—and it usually doesn't in Elven society—they have close ties to the Royals.

How does that help me?

The closer the ties to Royalty, the more competition among their families for status. Elves are NOT as close as they want us to believe. They are people just like everyone else. Like people, they hate each other, and have had blood feuds, and many, MANY scandals. They're just exceptionally good at hiding them afterwards.

King Baalrek… I'm not really following.

You're going to do something very sneaky, Jacob Cloud. Let them lose this first round, first. And listen to me very well.

* * *

The octopus drives them into a corner, and Professor Braagh steps in before bones break. He waves the scroll, and the spell fades with a sigh. The three Elves fume, their faces flat as I walk up.

"What do you want, rat?" Althir says. His voice sounds raw. He must hate that we saw him fail that badly.

"Well," I say, and he lowers his voice so that no one else can hear him. "Look at that."

Althir and the other two, Elyndor and Ithriel, follow where my finger points. A group of Elves, two tiers higher up in the stands, fail to hide their laughter behind pale hands. I can feel rage spark in all three, yet they force their faces to remain still.

"What about it?" Althir asks, and he does not bother to spit an insult because his eyes stay on those snickering rivals.

"I know about this… little competition of yours. You want to become Royal Knights, don't you? But they only select around three candidates from each year at the Academy. And those guys are your competition. Am I wrong?"

Althir's frown deepens.

How does he know so much about us?

Anyone could dig up facts like that, yet most students would not even know where to start looking or how to distinguish the rumors from the facts.

"I don't like you," I say, and I meet Althir's eyes without blinking. "I really don't, you know? I kind of hate people like you."

"Nobles?" Althir smirks.

"No, just haughty nobles. You're always so convinced of your superiority, even when confronted with the opposite."

"What do you want?" Althir says. His tone shifts because he senses something he can use.

"A deal. I help you out with your enemy—competition. While we're doing this, though, you guys forget that you hate me. Outside of this class, I don't care. For everything that concerns Monster Felling 201, I want an Oath that you'll not only listen to me as your Guide, but that you'll also collaborate with me."

"Why would we ever consider that?" Elyndor asks.

"What can you even do to help?" Althir says, ignoring his Shield.

"You don't have a good relationship with your family, do you?" Jacob asks.

"What? Excuse you?" Althir frowns.

Shock flickers across all three faces.

"How dare you speak like that?!" Elyndor almost shouts, yet he does not want anyone else in the arena to hear this hush of a talk.

"We'll hurt you, human. Careful with your words," Ithriel says.

"You are not using Earth magic, like most of your family," I say, and I keep my focus on Althir. "But that means you have trouble finding Runic Notation or tutors for your Skills because your family doesn't really support you like that, do they? Elves are known for being very conservative with their magic choices. Are your parents still hoping for you to change your mind?"

Althir recoils, and his knuckles go white on his saber.

"How did you know?" he responds in a low voice.

"It wasn't the hardest thing to guess. So, how about this?" I smile and step close to Ithriel, and my words drop to a whisper. "I have access to the Hidden Market. Convince your friends to listen to me and follow my lead, and I'll help you find the kind of Skills you're looking for. I suspect you only have a Gold Class. You're waiting to get better Skills to upgrade it. But if you don't do that soon, you'll fall behind."

* * *

Professor Braagh finishes logging new teams and worriedly glances back toward them, expecting sparks. He sees Althir grabbing Jacob's collar with his fist, and he takes a step forward, stopping when Althir lets go. The proud Elf turns, conferring with his friends. Their heads tilt toward one another, and their faces harden with resolve.

Jacob walks up to the Professor. "Professor, might we get a redo of the simulation? We'll be quick."

"Quick?" Professor Braagh asks. "Is this a joke?"

"No. Can we?" Jacob Cloud asks earnestly.

"It's your funeral," Professor Braagh says with a shrug, as he reaches for the summoning scroll. Runic script flares, the air chills, and they're confronted with the Abyssal Octopus again.

He has probably decided to fight alongside them, but I doubt they could swallow their pride enough to listen to a commoner, even if he is a Champion.

He expects a messy tangle where they ignore the Guide and rely on their brute strength. Teams fail when trust fails, and the Abyssal Octopus represents a level of challenge that demands everyone play their part.

The next moment, his eyes widen in shock.

"Elyndor!" Jacob shouts, and the Shield thrusts his hands out. He creates two barriers on either side of the creature, boxing in the tentacles to prevent it from reaching them.

"Ithriel, start tripping him!" Jacob shouts, and he sprints for the front line.

Professor Braagh watches as Jacob weaves through the Octopus's many strikes with ease, as if dancing to a beat that no one else can hear. Each tentacle lands where he was just a second before, and the next one hisses past his ear. Horns of faint ash glow above his brow, and his wings spread, flickering behind him.

He knows?

Ithriel slides behind the monster. He lifts both hands, and the floor swells under the creature's backside. A jagged ridge rises low and hard like the lip of a hidden step.

"Be ready!" Jacob shouts. He crosses his blades and fuses them into one, driving them straight into the octopus's mass. The blow crashes against the projection, and light splashes with no wound, yet the force shoves the beast backward. It stumbles over the raised earth and pitches over, leaving its soft underside showing.

But that's not enough. The skin of an Abyssal Octopus is too powerful. It's close to Peak Platinum Rank. In reality, it's like fighting a Level 400 monster. They're not going to—

"NOW!" Jacob shouts.

Althir whips his saber, and the blue wind already gathered along the edge of his sword howls. A single slash tears out and rakes across the exposed underside where the skin never hardens past Peak Gold Rank. The cut opens clean and deep. Sharpened mana floods the wound, and the projection shreds into drifting sparks.

The arena falls quiet. They walk toward the Professor while the last motes fade.

"I hope that's going to earn us a good grade," Jacob tells the Professor, and the Minotaur's mouth hooks into a smirk.

People can say what they want, but even though this kid isn't super strong right now, I can see how he would qualify for a position as Champion.

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