Grimm didn't waste time once the opening presented itself. A thin crack in Gerald's guard was all he needed.
He pushed off the stone floor, his boots scraping as he closed the distance before Gerald could recover. The boy was still rattled, half lost in the shock that had shaken him. But as Grimm neared, Gerald sensed the danger, confusion snapping into focus. Yet it was already too late.
Grimm was on him.
His mana-forged claw came down in a brutal arc. Gerald crossed his arms instinctively, bracing for impact.
Except the strike never landed.
Grimm's attack was a feint. He slipped past Gerald's guard like a shadow, pivoting around him. His eyes narrowed as he focused on Gerald's left hand, where dark energy still poured from spreading across his body.
Grimm's initial plan had been simple—cave Gerald's skull in or land a fatal blow and end it in one strike. But that plan was no longer viable. Gerald's vitality had already hit zero, yet he still moved like death had simply chosen not to claim him. That alone threw the plan out the window.
Grimm adjusted. He decided to go for the source instead.
His claw flashed once, a sharp sound cutting through the air.
Flesh parted. Bone cracked. A spray of black-streaked blood fountained out as Gerald's left hand flew through the air, landing with a dull, wet slap.
There was a pause, as if time itself had stopped. Then, Gerald screamed.
The sound that came out of him didn't belong to anything human.
It tore its way up his throat like metal scraping stone. The air vibrated under it. Grimm felt the tremor, involuntarily stepping back as Gerald clutched the stump and collapsed.
Then the rot began.
No healing this time, no sign of regeneration.
Instead, the skin around the wound dried up, cracking and peeling. Ash spread across Gerald's arm, flaking into the air like burnt paper. The rot crawled up his neck, hollowing his cheeks and draining the life from him.
Grimm gagged at the stench—something between burnt tar and rotting meat. He slapped a hand over his nose, his stomach lurching. He fought it down.
Gerald's scream devolved into a gurgle as his body began to collapse in on itself, deteriorating faster than Grimm could track.
Limbs caved in, his ribcage sank, and his skin turned gray and powdery. The boy now resembled little more than a dried husk, dragged from a tomb.
Grimm held his breath and stepped back, deactivating his mana claw.
Finally, it was over.
He exhaled deeply, letting his shoulders drop.
But then, danger pricked the back of his skull.
His body froze.
A footstep behind him. Light. Fast. Someone was approaching.
He spun.
Or at least tried to.
But he wasn't fast enough. A sting hit the back of his neck—sharp enough to steal his breath. His limbs went heavy instantly. His vision blurred. His knees buckled.
"What—"
His voice cut off as his body hit the ground with a solid thud. He couldn't feel his fingers. Couldn't feel anything. The world pitched sideways, and darkness crept in at the edges.
Through the haze, he saw a boot step into view—leather polished to a soft sheen, strapped tight around a strong ankle.
His last shred of awareness sensed the killing intent coiling in the air before his thoughts dissolved into static.
Darkness swallowed him whole.
---
When Grimm opened his eyes again, he sucked in a sharp breath and rolled to his side, bracing on shaky elbows. For a moment, he didn't know where he was. Then everything sharpened into focus.
He lay inside a small magical tent. The walls emitted a soft blue glow, like moonlight trapped in fabric.
The air inside was warm, dry, and clean. A few lantern runes hung in the corners, shedding steady light. The floor was lined with thick padded quilts, providing a surprisingly solid bed. A low table sat near the wall, with a kettle, clean cups, and a plate of still-warm bread.
Awakener convenience tents. Designed for quick recovery between floors. Simple, practical. Not luxurious, but dependable.
A warm smell drifted from the table—fresh bread, something sweet, something he hadn't tasted in too long. His stomach growled loud enough to echo. His mouth watered.
Before he could reach for the food, a voice cut through the air.
"Hungry, aren't you?"
The voice was sharp and dry, maybe a little amused but definitely unimpressed.
Grimm twisted around.
A girl sat on a small wooden stool near the tent flap, her posture loose and casual. Black hair spilled over her shoulders, smooth and glossy. Her skin was pale, the kind that caught the lantern light. She wore a simple white dress, cut in a way that wasn't seductive but somehow drew attention anyway—maybe it was the way she sat, legs crossed, one arm draped over the back of the stool, relaxed as if nothing in the world could bother her.
Her green eyes watched him like she could read every secret he'd ever had.
Grimm swallowed hard.
It wasn't attraction that hit him first. It was alarm.
He hadn't sensed her at all.
That was wrong. Very wrong.
Without thinking, he activated Omnivision.
Lines of data snapped into existence across his field of view.
---
[Sophia Ashvale]
Rank: Wood
Level: 30 [0%]
Profession: Martial Artist
Talent: ???-rank Communication (Authority Tier)
- [Vitality: 100%]
- [Mana: 100%]
Stats:
Physical:
↳ Strength: 89 | Endurance: 60 | Agility: 90
Mental:
↳ Intelligence: 50 | Focus: 40 | Perception: 77
---
His breath caught. That stat spread was absurd. Impossible for her rank. Even for people with rare professions. Even for rich clans pumping their kids full of high-grade elixirs.
She was his age. Maybe slightly older. But reaching those numbers should have taken years of brutal training or absurd amounts of resources.
Unless she had some kind of monstrous background. Or another kind of cheat.
Before he could think further, the air around him dropped a few degrees.
Her expression shifted—just the slightest frown.
Grimm froze.
He remembered too late: scanning someone without permission was one of the biggest insults among awakeners. Some people killed for it. And he had just done it to someone far stronger than him.
He tried to cancel Omnivision.
Too slow.
A red notification screen flashed across his vision.
[Warning! Higher-level concealment detected. Backlash imminent.]
Grimm didn't even have time to react before pain speared through his skull. His eyes burned. Hard. Like someone had driven needles into them. His vision split, fogged, and then went white at the edges. Blood streaked down his cheeks.
"Gah—"
He clutched his face and dropped to one knee.
For a second, he didn't even hear her move, but her presence pressed down on him like a weight.
"How rude," she said, her voice calm but her aura anything same. It hit him like a wall. The air tightened around his lungs, every breath felt heavy.
Then, mercifully, she withdrew it.
Grimm collapsed fully this time, chest heaving. The world swayed. He didn't know how long he lay there, blinking back tears and blood, until the spin eased.
When he finally pushed himself up, she was watching him again. Blank expression. No warmth. No hostility either. Just reading him like data on a page.
A lollipop rested between her lips. She absently pulled it out, rolling the stick between her fingers. The motion wasn't meant to be anything, but the lazy pace of it drew his eye before he could stop himself.
She didn't notice. Or didn't care.
"You're tougher than you look for a fanatic," she said. "Commendable, I guess."
Grimm stared at her.
Fanatic?
Me?
He blinked, his mind scrambling.
She didn't wait for him to catch up.
"Let's skip the pleasantries," she said, her voice cooling by a few degrees. "What were your intentions? What is a fanatic doing inside the tower? And what exactly are your people planning?"