The air in the Shattered Highlands tasted of ozone and altitude. It was a brutal, vertical landscape, a testament to some ancient magical cataclysm that had ripped a mountain range apart and left its fragments to float in the sky. Jagged islands of rock, drifted on currents of perpetual wind. Below, the clouds were a roiling white sea. This was a place that punished mistakes with a long, final fall.

  “The target is a Gale-force Griffin,” Zane’s voice cut through the wind, clipped and devoid of warmth. He stood on the edge of a precipice, his plain gear flapping, his eyes scanning the windswept crags above. “It’s a fencer, and the sky is its rapier. It knows the currents better than we do. We fight it on its terms.”

  Liam Corbin planted his feet, his new epic-tier shield, the [Aegis of Recursion], a slab of polished metal that seemed to absorb the ambient light. “So, what’s the plan? Lure it down?”

  “No,” Zane said, turning his cold, gray gaze on them. “This is about coordination under extreme pressure. Liam, you are the anchor. Ground yourself. Use the Aegis to absorb the kinetic force of its wind attacks. If you get thrown off this island, we all die.”

  Liam’s jaw set. He nodded once, a silent promise.

  “Evie,” Zane continued, his eyes locking onto her. “You are the blade. The Griffin is too fast to hit. You’ll wait for it to dive. When it commits, I’ll run a script to create a momentary stall in the wind currents. That’s your window. Less than a second to strike the joint of its left wing.”

  “A second isn’t long,” Evie stated, her mind already processing the variables.

  “It’s all you’ll get,” Zane replied flatly. In the first timeline, a veteran Infiltrator squad of five was wiped out by one of these. They treated it like a brute. They were wrong. This lesson must be learned now. “I will be the lure. Execute on my command. No deviations. Let’s begin.”

  Zane stepped off the edge. A barely visible platform of solidified data formed under his feet, then another. He ascended into the sky, a deliberate, impossible staircase, an arrogant challenge.

  Minutes later, a shriek echoed through the highlands. The Griffin appeared, a majestic and deadly creature of feather and fury. It saw Zane and dove.

  The training was a masterclass in precision. For an hour, Zane’s control was absolute. “Liam, anchor! West flank, gust incoming.” Liam would brace, the Aegis glowing as a blast of wind slammed into it, leaving him unmoved. “Evie, prepare. The next dive will be from the south.” The Griffin plummeted. “Stall!” Zane commanded through the party channel. He ran a script through his [Codex of the First Glitch]. The wind directly below the Griffin became unnaturally still. “Strike!” Evie moved, propelled upwards like an arrow, her [Phase Daggers] scoring a shallow hit on the wing joint. The Griffin shrieked and pulled away. “Good,” Zane’s voice came, devoid of praise. “Reset. Do it again.”

  They repeated the exercise relentlessly. Each time, Zane pushed them harder. The stall window became shorter. The Griffin’s attacks grew more ferocious. Liam’s shield was dented, his arms trembling. Evie’s movements were losing their explosive edge.

  They’re reaching their limits, Zane observed internally. Good. Limits are made to be broken.

  The Griffin dove again, this time at a steeper, more dangerous angle. “Stall!” Zane commanded. “Evie, it’s compensating. The window is higher and to the left. Adjust trajectory mid-air.”

  It was a suicidal maneuver. Evie didn’t hesitate, launching herself into the air. But fatigue had slowed her reaction time by a fraction of a second. She was too late. The stall ended. The Griffin, recovering, beat its massive wings once.

  A concussive blast of air, solid as a stone wall, slammed into Evie. Her body was flung backward like a rag doll, smashing into the cliff face. She cried out in pain before sliding down the rock, leaving a smear of blood. She landed in a crumpled heap, her left arm bent at an unnatural angle, a deep, bleeding gash torn across her bicep.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “Evie!” Liam roared.

  Zane landed softly on the ledge, his expression unchanged. The Griffin circled high above, waiting. “The exercise is not over,” Zane stated, his voice as cold as the mountain air. “In a real fight, the enemy doesn’t wait. Get up, Evie.”

  Liam stared at him, his face a mask of disbelief that quickly hardened into fury. He took two heavy steps, planting himself directly between Zane and Evie, his tower shield slamming onto the rock with a deafening clang. It wasn’t a defensive stance. It was a barricade.

  “That’s enough, Zane.” Liam’s voice was a low, dangerous growl. “She’s hurt. Look at her.”

  He doesn’t understand, Zane’s mind raced, a flicker of rage from his past life surfacing. He died because of this sentiment. A broken arm is nothing. This is a necessary lesson.

  “Pain is a data point,” Zane said aloud, his voice flat. “Her hesitation was an error. She was too slow.”

  “It’s training!” Liam’s voice boomed. “She’s not a machine, Zane! She’s our friend! We are a team, not disposable assets to be broken and reforged to your specifications!”

  Zane’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t argue. He simply walked forward, forcing Liam to either stand his ground or give way. Liam held firm, a wall of steel and conviction. Zane stopped, his gaze so cold it seemed to burn.

  “The last time I let sentiment override strategy,” Zane’s voice was a low, chilling whisper, barely audible over the wind, “I was at your funeral. We are not making that mistake again.”

  The words struck Liam harder than any physical blow. The fury in his eyes faltered, replaced by a flicker of confusion and remembered sorrow from a life he’d never lived but could feel in Zane’s chilling certainty.

  Zane brushed past him. He knelt beside Evie, not with warmth, but with the detached efficiency of a field medic. He withdrew a small, crystalline vial—a high-tier healing salve. Uncorking it, he poured the glowing liquid directly onto the gash. The flesh sizzled and mended at a visible rate. He then took her broken arm and, with a sharp, brutal movement, set the bone back in place. Evie cried out, gritting her teeth against the fresh wave of pain.

  “The salve corrects the physical damage,” Zane said, his voice leaving no room for debate as he rose to his feet. “The next repetition will correct the error in technique. The lesson is not over until the target is dead.” He looked down at them, a commander addressing his soldiers, not a friend. “Get up. Both of you.”

  A new fire ignited in Evie’s eyes—not of anger, but of fierce determination. Pushing herself up, she tested her newly-mended arm. It was stiff, but functional. Liam, his face pale and grim, took his position beside her. The argument was over. The crucible was not.

  “Now,” Zane’s voice cut through the tension, “it’s hunting.”

  He ascended once more. This time, there was no hesitation. Pushed beyond their limits, fueled by a mixture of adrenaline, fear, and a desperate need to prove him right, their execution was flawless. They moved as one, a seamless unit of shield, blade, and mind.

  The Griffin dove for the final time. “Stall!” The wind stopped. “Strike!” Evie launched, her body a blur of vengeful grace. The [Phase Daggers] found their mark, sinking deep into the Griffin’s wing joint, shattering bone and sinew. The creature shrieked, its dive turning into an uncontrolled spiral. It crashed onto a lower rock island, wounded and furious.

  “Advance,” Zane commanded, landing beside them. “Finish it.”

  The final fight was brutal and close-quartered. Liam, with a battle roar, charged, his shield absorbing a desperate flurry of talon strikes. Evie, ignoring the pain in her arm, became a phantom, her daggers flashing, striking again and again at the beast’s exposed neck. Zane orchestrated the kill, calling out weaknesses, his scripts disrupting the Griffin’s attempts to summon the wind.

  With a final, gurgling cry, the Gale-force Griffin collapsed. A wave of golden light washed over them, and the familiar, satisfying chime of the System echoed in their minds.

  [You have slain the ‘Gale-force Griffin’!] [+8,500 EXP] [Your skill ‘Aegis Proficiency’ has increased to Level 7.] [Your skill ‘Dagger Arts’ has increased to Level 8.] [Your skill ‘Acrobatics’ has increased to Level 6.]

  The creature’s body dissolved, leaving behind a small pile of loot shimmering on the rock. Among the feathers and claws lay a pulsating, crystalline orb that swirled with captured wind.

  Zane walked over and picked it up.

  [Gale-force Griffin’s Heart (Epic Crafting Material)] Description: The crystallized heart of a master of the skies. A key component in crafting wind-aspected armor and weapons.

  He closed his hand around the heart, its energy cool against his skin. His expression was unreadable, but his mind was already three steps ahead. The boots… with this, the master craftsman can forge the [Gale-walker Greaves]. Increased agility, and the passive ability to tread on wind for short bursts. Essential for the Sunken Temple’s vertical traversal puzzle.

  The brutal training, the confrontation, the victory—it had all been a calculated step in a much larger plan. He turned to his exhausted, battered, but victorious team.

  “Good,” he said. It was the same word as before, but this time, it carried the undeniable weight of progress. “Let’s go. We have work to do.