“It’s about to launch a decisive attack, brace yourself!” Kene shouted.

  Even as the words left his mouth, his mind was already racing.

  The roc was large for an avian magical beast, possessing both considerable strength and mass, yet it maintained frightening speed through innate magic. That alone made it dangerous. Magic…

  Up until now, the creature had been holding back. Aside from the thin but constant coat of mana reinforcing its beak and talons, it hadn’t relied on any of its true abilities.

  Kene berated himself.

  As if to punish the lapse, he felt mana begin to stir faintly behind him.

  Kene twisted his head around and saw emerald wind-aspected mana gathering along the roc’s wings, the glow intensifying with each passing heartbeat as the energy was compressed and shaped.

  Siran noticed it at the same time. His expression tightened in understanding, and he pushed himself harder, forcing more speed out of his exhausted body. His life depended on it. lives depended on it.

  There was no time for discussion.

  The roc gave a single, powerful beat of its wings.

  A massive blade of condensed air tore forward, thick and dense, screaming through the space between them with enough force to cleave stone.

  Kene evaluated his options as the attack closed in.

  Fight? Unlikely. None of the enchantments on his blade were suited for something like this. Even reinforcing the edge would only allow him to cut into a small portion of the attack. The surface area was far too limited to meaningfully disrupt its structure.

  Run? Worse. The attack was too fast. Siran wouldn’t outrun it, and Kene wasn’t confident he could either. The roc had been careful, giving the airblade vertical depth as well. Jumping over it would still mean being clipped, and a glancing hit from that much compressed mana would cripple them. And even if they somehow survived, the roc would simply swoop in and finish the job.

  That left the third option.

  Stupidity.

  Kene felt a flash of grim resignation as he slowed to a stop, forcing himself to concentrate. He had barely a second to attempt something reckless.

  But if he didn’t…

  That second would be all they had.

  ***

  Kene was about to do something highly irresponsible, but he had no choice. The area covered by the air blade was too wide and too dense to evade in time.

  He cycled mana, but instead of allowing it to diffuse through his body in its usual, nebulous enhancement, he forcibly funneled it into his arms, tracing the pathways through his channels by sheer will.

  Pain detonated through him instantly, his body convulsing in response.

  Enforcers eventually learned how to enhance specific parts of their bodies by concentrating mana in localized areas. With enough advancement, they could even project it outward to reinforce weapons, objects, or other people.

  The problem was that this level of control was only meant to be feasible once their bodies and channels had developed sufficiently, usually by the second or third tier, when they could endure the immense strain it caused.

  Kene was only at the first tier.

  What he was attempting was far outside the scope of his current advancement, and there were consequences. Channel damage was almost guaranteed.

  There were treasures and elixirs that could repair such harm, items he might find in a dungeon, but using them would set him back. Even so, if the choice was between that and dying here, he would accept the cost without hesitation.

  Mana surged clumsily toward his arms. Kene felt several channels rupture under the strain, sharp flashes of agony ripping through him, but he forced the flow to stabilize long enough to coat his blade.

  In a single smooth arc, he slashed downward.

  The mana from his strike collided with the roc’s wind-attuned attack, the two forces clashing for a heartbeat before the air blade was severed cleanly in half.

  A moment later, they plunged into the tunnel. If he had been even an instant slower, both of them would have been bisected by the magical strike.

  Kene stumbled inside, groaning in pain as the backlash caught up to him. An enraged screech echoed from outside the cave entrance.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Kene thought grimly.

  He looked down at his trembling hand and carefully cycled a small amount of mana through his body to assess the damage. The flow was smooth until it reached his arm.

  Then pain flared violently, sharp and searing, like alcohol poured into an open wound.

  “Shit,” he shouted.

  Siran turned to him, eyes wide with concern. “Young Master?”

  “It’s fine,” Kene said through clenched teeth.

  It was not fine at all.

  His control over mana, honed by decades of experience, had allowed him to mitigate the damage to some extent. Even so, the channels in his arm would operate at reduced efficiency compared to the rest of his body, a lingering consequence of pushing beyond his limits.

  Kene removed his mask. Now that they were hidden, there was no need to keep his identity concealed. Sweat clung to his hair and ran down his temples.

  When he turned to Siran, the man looked ready to collapse. He had been completely exhausted minutes ago and had only pushed past it through discipline, training, and a very strong desire not to die.

  The man deserved a break.

  “We’ll rest here for a few minutes, then keep moving,” Kene said.

  Siran did not need to be told twice. He dropped onto the ground, landing heavily on his backside, finally giving himself time to fully catch his breath.

  “When you’re rested, I want you to scout ahead and look for the exit,” Kene continued. “I’ll guard the entrance.”

  “Yes, Ester,” Siran replied.

  He hesitated, his gaze drifting to Kene’s quivering hand.

  “I take it you have questions?” Kene asked, keeping the tunnel entrance in his peripheral vision.

  “Y-yes,” Siran said. “That attack you used to disrupt the roc’s magic. How did you do it? I thought that because of your disability, you weren’t able to cast magic.”

  He spoke carefully, aware it was a sensitive subject.

  “I suppose it looked like a spell,” Kene said calmly, “but I can assure you it wasn’t.”

  “What I did was throw raw mana at the attack to weaken it. Think of it like dousing a raging fire with water to lower its intensity.”

  Siran frowned in thought. “I think I understand. But the path you’re on, Merva has mentioned it before, and I’ve seen it in action while fighting alongside you. It seems focused on enhancing the body, not projecting power outward. I thought you needed a fully developed core for that.”

  Kene chose his words carefully. He decided not to be entirely truthful. If Siran ever spoke of this to others, it was better to keep certain details obscured.

  “You do need a core, normally,” Kene said. “But in a life or death situation, I had to innovate. The enforcer path lets the body absorb mana like a sponge, saturating itself with it and pushing its limits. But unlike a core, that power is rigid and lacking finesse.”

  Siran was listening intently now.

  “What I did was forcibly push the mana I’d absorbed through my hand. My body did not like that at all. It’s unnatural for this path. I paid the price and damaged my channels in the process. You’ve probably noticed I’m favoring it.”

  Siran nodded. “Aye. So you brute forced the wrong tool into doing a job it wasn’t meant for.”

  He paused. “Is there any way to fix it?”

  Kene considered the question.

  Dungeon resources aside, advancing to the fourth tier would rebuild his channels entirely. The problem was enduring reduced efficiency until then. There was also the matter of the mysterious new set of channels he had gained. They were undamaged, but he was wary of using them before understanding their nature.

  He turned back to Siran.

  “I believe I’ll be able to figure something out,” Kene said. “I’m a Flamebearer. I have resources and connections I can leverage.”

  It was a safe answer. Siran did not need to know about the new magical organs.

  Seemingly satisfied, Siran rose to his feet.

  “I’ll scout ahead now,” he said, then added with a nod, “You- Ester.”

  With that, he moved deeper into the tunnel.

  ***

  Only a few minutes had passed, but Kene could already hear the faint, distant rumbling of beasts. The situation was spiraling out of control, and despite himself, his thoughts kept drifting back toward his territory.

  Had the stampede spilled outward? Were Merva and the guard unit already defending the walls from stray beasts?

  He wouldn’t know until he found a way out, but the sensation that he was nearing the finish line refused to leave him.

  Footsteps echoed down the tunnel. Kene turned as Siran approached, his expression tight and troubled. That alone was enough to tell him the news wasn’t good.

  “Well?” Kene asked.

  “I found an exit,” Siran said, “but it’s sealed off by rocks. We might be able to break through, but it’ll take time. And it’ll make a lot of noise.”

  “Keep watch. I’ll check it myself,” Kene replied.

  “Yes, sir.”

  It took barely two minutes to reach the blocked passage. Boulders of various sizes were jammed together, wedged tight, but thin rays of sunlight filtered through the gaps.

  Kene frowned. “What’s the best way to go about this…”

  With his Tier One physique, he could manage better than Siran, but it would still be taxing. His sword wasn’t the right tool for the job, and he couldn’t afford to dull or damage it. If things went wrong, he would need it intact.

  He made a mental note to craft enchanted tools and not just weapons in the future.

  he thought.

  The tremors grew deeper, louder. They were running out of time.

  When he returned to Siran, he stopped short.

  Two dead direboars lay on the ground nearby.

  “A few found their way in,” Siran said grimly. “Something spooked them. They were running from something.”

  That was worse than expected.

  “Then we’ll have to split our focus,” Kene said after a moment. “One of us clears the blockade while the other holds the entrance.”

  He hesitated, then continued, “I’m stronger physically. I’ll work on clearing the rubble. We might need to switch roles depending on how things develop, but it’s the best plan I’ve got. You’re more experienced—what do you think?”

  Siran nodded slowly. “It’s our best shot. We—”

  The air changed.

  A heavy presence pressed down on them from above, and the shaking intensified. The sound of scales sliding against stone echoed through the tunnel, accompanied by a deep, serpentine hiss.

  But that wasn’t the worst of it.

  The direboars were retreating, being toward them by something higher on the food chain.

  “Young Master…” Siran began.

  “We don’t have time,” Kene snapped. “More are going to be pushed this way any second. I’ll start clearing the rubble!”

  He was already moving.

  Cycling as much mana as he dared, ignoring the pain flaring in his injured arm, Kene drove the pommel of his blade into the looser stones first, levering and striking where the structure was weakest.

  One boulder cracked free and tumbled away, spilling a wash of sunlight into the tunnel.

  Another strike. Another stone shifted loose.

  From behind him came the screeching cries of direboars. Siran should already be engaging them, but the numbers would only grow.

  Kene grit his teeth and worked faster.

  Another boulder gave way. More light poured in. This had been meant to be a simple elimination mission.

  Now it was a race against collapse, predators, and time itself, and Kene had no choice but to push forward.