The shattered arena gates burst inward.
A formation of white-cloaked figures poured through the dust and smoke, boots striking the ruined stone in an efficient, disciplined rhythm.
Their arrival didn't bring relief.
It brought gravity.
The Red Swords had entered the field.
At their head moved a stern man with a tight ponytail pulled back from a weathered face. His eyes were sharp, assessing everything at once—the multiplied rats circling overhead, the fractured crystal ants grinding in the air, the instructors struggling to contain the chaos.
And at the center.
Goldsworth.
Still wrapped in that breathing, bleeding red soul energy.
Lieutenant Rocky slowed only slightly as Instructor Eagle-Wing Eyebrows landed before him, robes snapping violently in the unstable wind.
"Lieutenant Rocky!" Eagle-Wing Eyebrows barked, voice cutting through the chaos. "You and your men handle the Corrupted Shade! The instructors will deal with the manifested ones!"
Rocky's gaze sharpened.
