After the blood magic exams, an atmosphere of overwhelming victory settled over the Elite Class.

  Even Elinia—the Ice Princess whose facial muscles usually only operated in variations of a scowl—arrived in an excellent mood. She even smiled at someone (though she did it over her shoulder, so no one could prove exactly who the smile was for).

  The combat instructor walked into the room and tapped his staff against the chalkboard.

  "Practical application is the most vital stage of your education," he announced. "Tomorrow, you will all embark on a genuine dungeon-clearing expedition. First, you will clear a sector under my direct supervision. After that, you will be divided into squads of four and sent to clear adjacent sectors entirely on your own."

  The class froze.

  Finn leaned forward. "Dungeons...? You mean, real ones?"

  "Completely real," the instructor confirmed grimly. "Complete with actual monsters, lethal traps, and a fully hostile combat environment. Every squad will be issued a distress bell. Use it only in absolute emergencies." He swept his gaze across the room. "Any questions?"

  I wanted to raise my hand and say, Mira and I used to clear these kinds of caves in under an hour for fun. What could possibly be difficult about this?

  But I wisely kept my mouth shut.

  The Morning of the Expedition

  When I arrived at the Academy gates the next morning, the first thing I saw was the luggage.

  Everyone was carrying massive, bulging backpacks. Provisions. Thick wool blankets. Changes of clothing. Medical herbs. Lucille had even brought a portable cast-iron cauldron for brewing mana potions.

  And every single one of them was staring at me as if I had shown up to school without wearing any pants.

  "Uh... Helvard," Finn said slowly. "Where is all your gear?"

  I blinked. "Why would I need gear?"

  The entire group sighed in unison.

  "You... you genuinely don't know?" Tara asked, her voice calm but strictly judgmental.

  Reynar smiled nervously. "Oh, this is going to be a fun trip..."

  "A dungeon expedition can take days," Astra explained sympathetically. "If we're lucky, maybe twenty-four hours."

  "If we're unlucky, a week," Miella added grimly.

  A WEEK?! I screamed internally. I remembered how Mira, the elves, and I used to clear dense cave systems in two hours—maybe a full day if we found a particularly shiny rock or a "really interesting" monster.

  Humans are so incredibly slow... I mourned.

  The instructor walked over, glancing at my empty hands. "Too late to pack now, Helvard. You'll just have to learn field survival the hard way."

  Finn snickered. "Well, at least we'll get to see what you look like when you're starving."

  The instructor unrolled a parchment. "Squad assignments. Squad One: Elinia, Tara, Siren, Astra." (The most perfectly balanced, lethal composition possible).

  "Squad Two: Noah, Lucille, Miella, Kairen." (Illusions, teleports, and pure swordsmen—an ideal reconnaissance and assassination team).

  "Squad Three: Helvard, Finn, Edgar, Reynar."

  ...Who cursed our group? I wondered bleakly.

  Finn looked absolutely horrified. "Wait... THREE MAGES AND EDGAR?!"

  Edgar looked highly offended. "Hey! I'm not purely a mage! I hit things with metal!"

  "But you still rely entirely on mana to forge it!" Reynar pointed out.

  "This is the absolute worst dungeon-crawling composition in history!" Finn groaned, rubbing his face.

  "Yep," I agreed mildly.

  Finn glared at me. "Why are you so calm about this?!"

  Because everything in that cave is kindergarten-level fodder to me, I thought. Outwardly, I offered an encouraging smile. "I just... believe in us."

  Finn looked like he was going to choke.

  The First Sector

  The instructor activated a massive spatial array, and in a flash of blinding light, we were teleported to a vast, rocky plateau.

  Before us yawned a massive, pitch-black hole in the side of a mountain. It looked unnatural. Too smooth. Too perfectly circular. Too deliberately carved.

  "Who in their right mind decides to build a dungeon in the middle of an open field...?" Tara whispered critically.

  The instructor raised his hand. "Before we enter, I want an assessment. Without stepping inside, determine the exact number of hostiles."

  This was a core skill for any mage: extending one's senses to read the ambient mana signatures of living creatures.

  Lucille stepped forward first, closing her eyes. "Six goblins... two dire wolves... and one low-tier shaman. Nine in total."

  Elinia focused her aura. "Eleven."

  Finn squinted into the dark. "Seven."

  Edgar grunted. "Yeah, I feel seven too."

  Noah leaned against a rock. "Nine."

  I, of course, saw absolutely everything. I saw the nine monsters. But more importantly, I saw the scrying artifact embedded in the stone wall just inside the entrance. It was too ancient. Too precise. And... it was pointed directly at us.

  But I couldn't say that.

  "Probably... six," I guessed, putting on a face of strained concentration.

  Finn scoffed. "Can you even see anything at all?"

  I just shrugged helplessly.

  The instructor smiled. "Lucille is correct. Exactly nine."

  I watched the instructor closely. I wonder if he noticed the surveillance artifact... or if he's intentionally ignoring it.

  "Now," the instructor said, crossing his arms. "Outline your clearing strategy."

  And the chaos began.

  "Burn everything to ash!" Finn declared instantly. "I will teleport each of them into a corner and execute them individually," Lucille stated coldly. "One massive, pressurized explosion will suffice," Elinia offered. "We just charge in and smash their heads in. One by one," Edgar grunted, cracking his knuckles.

  The instructor slowly covered his face with his hand.

  Only the swordsmen from Squad One—Tara and Miella—offered a sane, tactical approach. "Lucille teleports Noah inside. Noah casts a localized illusion to mask our entry. We approach silently. The mages execute synchronized, targeted strikes on the wolves and the shaman. The swordsmen immediately clean up the panicked goblins."

  The instructor lowered his hand and sighed in relief. "Approved. Execute the plan."

  (Of course. A plan designed by normal humans).

  Noah cast a powerful illusion over our group, making us blend perfectly into the rocky terrain. Lucille blinked out of existence and reappeared inside the cave with a duplicate illusion of Noah to draw any initial attention.

  We moved in.

  The goblins didn't even realize we were there until it was too late. The swordsmen moved with flawless lethal precision, cutting down the grunts in seconds. Astra provided rapid shielding. Edgar hurled a heavy metal javelin that pinned the goblin shaman directly to the cavern wall. Finn incinerated a dire wolf before it could howl. Elinia simply raised her hand, and the second wolf collapsed, crushed beneath an invisible waterfall of sheer mana pressure.

  It was over in thirty seconds.

  "Excellent work," the instructor praised, stepping into the cavern. "Coordinated. Fast. Precise."

  The class was beaming. They were incredibly proud of themselves.

  But I wasn't looking at the dead goblins. I was staring down the pitch-black corridor leading deeper into the mountain.

  Because down there... someone was watching.

  A hidden silhouette. A microscopically thin thread of mana connected to the scrying artifact. And then, the presence vanished. Not like a monster fleeing. Not like an animal retreating. Not like an illusion fading. It vanished with the clean, untraceable precision of a highly trained mage.

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  "Helvard, keep up!" the instructor called out.

  I turned and followed the group. But a cold, nagging question settled in my chest: Who set up the surveillance? And why are they watching us... or more specifically, me?

  The Iron Gates and the First Boss

  We had been walking through the cavern system for over two hours. The stone tunnels twisted endlessly, but we hadn't encountered anything serious—just a few stray wolves and lower-tier beasts that our class combo annihilated with embarrassing ease.

  But at the end of the main tunnel, we found something that didn't belong.

  Massive iron gates, towering nearly six meters high. They were as thick as fortress walls, forged from dark, ancient metal and completely covered in deeply engraved runic symbols.

  Lucille placed her palm against the cold iron, and her composure finally cracked. "This is bad... The door completely dampens spatial mana. I cannot see what is on the other side. It feels like... an absolute void. Or a dense fog."

  Elinia frowned deeply. "These runes... this is Ancient Era magic. What is it doing in a novice dungeon?"

  The instructor stepped up to the gates, his expression hardening. "It is either a Boss Room. Or a lethal trap."

  "Perfect!" Finn grinned, his hands igniting. "Let's burn it down!"

  "Or," the instructor said coldly, "one of you will burn to death. Form up! Combat positions!"

  We immediately fell into a strict formation. Swordsmen in the vanguard. Healers strictly in the rear. Mages fanned out in a semicircle.

  The instructor extended his hand, whispered a harsh incantation, and blasted the heavy iron doors open with a violent gale of wind.

  The Army Beyond the Gates

  We had expected a dozen monsters at most. Perhaps a slightly larger troll.

  What we saw was an army.

  Five massive armored orcs. Thirty goblin archers. Forty heavily armed goblin warriors. Three mid-tier necromancers.

  And sitting on a jagged stone throne at the far end of the chamber was the Goblin King. He was nearly the size of an ogre, his body draped in glowing, cursed amulets.

  "ENGAGE!" the instructor roared.

  The swordsmen surged forward instantly. Siren and Tara moved in absolute synchronicity, acting as a two-headed blade—every strike finding a vital point, every step perfectly measured. Miella and Kairen aggressively covered their flanks.

  The goblins fell in droves.

  But the necromancers immediately raised the fallen. The corpses jerked back to their feet and charged our lines.

  "BURN THEM ALL!!!" Finn bellowed, unleashing a massive torrent of fire.

  His flames melted the orcs' armor, but the necromancers simply pumped dark mana into the burning corpses, forcing them to continue fighting while engulfed in fire.

  Lucille tried to teleport behind enemy lines... but the ancient magical seal in the room violently suppressed spatial magic. She was violently violently thrown backward, landing hard on the stone.

  Elinia summoned dozens of spears made of compressed ice and stone—thirty, forty, fifty of them—and turned the entire front row of the undead into a pulverized mess.

  But the King... The King just sat on his throne and watched.

  The King Intervenes

  When Elinia's barrage finally impaled one of the necromancers, the King stood up.

  He moved fast. Impossibly fast.

  In a single, explosive leap, he crossed the chamber and landed directly in front of Lucille, who was still recovering on the ground. He swung his massive spiked club.

  Lucille was sent flying backward like a ragdoll.

  "I'VE GOT HER! HEALING HER NOW!" Astra screamed, sprinting toward the Archmage's daughter.

  The King didn't even bother chasing Lucille. He knew she was out of the fight. Instead, he pivoted with terrifying speed and brought his club down directly toward Astra, actively targeting the healer.

  Astra barely managed to throw herself to the side, the club shattering the stone where she had been standing a millisecond prior.

  Alright, I thought. Time to intervene.

  I couldn't afford to look overwhelmingly powerful. But if I did nothing, this "Elite" squad was going to be slaughtered.

  I slammed my foot into the ground, instantly freezing the floor beneath the goblin horde, binding their feet in solid ice. Simultaneously, I conjured a front line of golems. The water golems absorbed the King's crushing blows, instantly re-forming. The ice golems acted as living mines, violently exploding upon contact and freezing any monsters caught in the blast radius.

  Elinia immediately recognized the opening. "Good! Keep him contained!"

  She unleashed a relentless barrage: waves of razor-sharp ice, slicing gales of wind, heavy stone projectiles, and crushing pillars of high-pressure water.

  But the King evaded them all. He moved with lightning speed, reading the predictable, textbook trajectories of her attacks as easily as reading a children's book.

  Finn decided to go all-in.

  He condensed his fire mana until the air itself warped and turned blindingly white. "HOLD HIM STILL!! I'M GOING TO MELT THIS ENTIRE CAVE!!"

  The cavern turned into an oven. Stone began to slag. The remaining necromancers shrieked as their dark magic burned away.

  But the King... the King simply opened his massive, scarred jaws. He inhaled sharply... and violently exhaled, blowing the blinding inferno directly back at Finn.

  Finn froze. "W-What...?"

  The concussive wave of his own backfiring heat slammed into his chest, throwing him violently against the cavern wall. Astra desperately crawled toward him to cast a healing ward. The King raised his club to crush them both.

  "MAGES—DISTRACT HIM!" I roared over the chaos. "SWORDSMEN—EXECUTE THE REMAINING NECROMANCERS!"

  Siren nodded sharply. "Understood!"

  The swordsmen carved a bloody path through the undead horde, tracking the necromancers by their dark mana signatures.

  I rapidly cycled through golem formations: water to absorb kinetic force, ice to explode and stagger, and dense rock-dust to blind the King's vision.

  Elinia seized the momentary distraction. She didn't attack the King directly; instead, she transmutated the stone floor beneath his feet into deep, viscous mud. The King stumbled, his immense speed finally compromised for a fraction of a second.

  Reynar amplified the atmospheric pressure, dropping a crushing weight of air directly onto the King's shoulders.

  Edgar dragged a massive, raw iron plate from his bag. His veins bulged as he furiously transmutated the solid metal, reshaping it into a thick, heavy chain. "FINN! HEAT IT!"

  Finn, coughing blood, blasted the chain with fire, tempering the metal to near-indestructibility.

  "THE CHAIN IS READY!!" Edgar roared.

  The Final Strike

  "I'LL FREEZE HIS TORSO—BIND HIS ARMS!" I shouted.

  I encased the King's chest in a thick, jagged cocoon of solid ice. Elinia instantly recognized my spell structure and amplified it, weaving secondary rings of absolute-zero ice around his limbs.

  The King bellowed in rage, straining his massive muscles to break free. But Edgar hurled the tempered chain, wrapping it tightly around the King's arms and locking him in place.

  At that exact moment, Siren's blade cleanly decapitated the final necromancer. The undead army instantly collapsed into dust.

  The King dropped to one knee, his dark aura rapidly evaporating.

  Elinia stepped forward, her eyes cold and merciless. She raised her hand... and drove a massive, rotating spear of pressurized ice directly through the King's heart.

  The throne room fell dead silent. The air was thick with the stench of ozone, burned flesh, and exhausted mana.

  Everyone collapsed. Edgar was clutching his ribs, gasping for air. Finn was hacking up black smoke. Siren was covered in dozens of shallow, bleeding cuts. Astra was entirely drenched in sweat, her mana pool completely drained.

  I, naturally, made sure to put on a spectacular performance of utter exhaustion. I staggered, slumped my shoulders, and leaned heavily against the cavern wall, looking as though a stiff breeze would knock me over.

  The instructor walked into the center of the carnage. He looked at the dead King, then at the exhausted students.

  "Exceptional," the instructor said quietly. "Particularly you, Helvard. Your situational awareness and coordination of the mages held the vanguard together."

  Finn looked at me in utter shock. Elinia slowly raised an eyebrow, staring at me through the smoke.

  "Tomorrow," the instructor announced, his voice echoing in the dead chamber, "you will clear the adjacent sectors without me. Squads of four. Good luck. You are going to desperately need it."

  Sector 3: The Novice Trap

  The next morning, the spatial array deposited my squad in a jagged mountain range. The air was thin, cold, and heavily veiled in gray mist. Before us gaped the entrance to Sector 3—a perfectly circular tunnel that looked as though it had been melted directly through the rock face.

  The instructor, who was only there to drop us off, looked at our group. "Remember the protocol. If the situation becomes critical, ring the distress bell. I will arrive within five minutes. Now... good luck."

  And he teleported away.

  Leaving us completely alone.

  The "Perfect" Squad Finn (Fire). Edgar (Metal). Reynar (Air). And me (The "Weak" Ice Mage).

  Finn grinned arrogantly, rolling his shoulders. "Well, weakling, I hope you actually packed some rations this time."

  I held up a small, pathetic-looking cloth pouch containing a single sandwich.

  Edgar groaned, dragging a massive hand down his face. "You. Never. Learn."

  Reynar was nervously wringing the hem of his mantle. His hands were shaking visibly. "Zen... this cave... it feels... wrong. Really wrong."

  I wanted to reassure him that this cave was an absolute joke by my standards, but I kept my mouth shut.

  "Remember what the instructor said," I reminded them. "Analyze the mana signatures before entering."

  I extended my senses and instantly mapped the entire cavern: Five Black Goblin Wolf-Riders (highly intelligent, incredibly fast, lethal). Five Armored Dire Bears. Forty standard Goblin Grunts. Five Long-Range Goblin Shamans. And... a strange, lingering shadow deep in the back. The Observer was here again.

  But my brilliant teammates?

  "I sense two bears and a handful of goblins," Finn scoffed. "Pfft. A walk in the park."

  Edgar squinted. "Yeah, I feel roughly the same. Maybe three bears."

  Reynar, pale as a sheet, stammered, "U-uh... I... I feel three too..."

  I stared at them. WHAT?!

  Either their sensory skills were absolute garbage, or their subconscious fear was violently actively suppressing their perception to protect their sanity. Mages sometimes did that—if their minds weren't prepared for the sheer volume of hostile intent, their senses would just "block out" the danger.

  But I didn't have time to explain psychological mana-suppression to them. Because they had already decided to CHARGE IN.

  Without a plan. Without formation.

  Finn ignited his hands and roared, "FORWARD! FOR THE GLORY OF—"

  He sprinted into the dark. Edgar immediately charged after him. Reynar stumbled inside, looking as though he was walking to his own execution.

  I walked in slowly behind them, already discreetly weaving a high-density water barrier.

  Exactly half a second later, the three of them froze perfectly still. Like statues.

  Standing in the gloom, waiting for us, were five massive Dire Bears clad in heavy, enchanted black iron armor. They were the size of draft horses. Their eyes glowed a sickly, murderous red. And mounted on their backs were elite Black Goblins, wielding lances crackling with dark mana.

  Behind the cavalry stood five Shamans with fireballs already primed. Behind them, forty heavily armed grunts and archers with their bowstrings drawn taut.

  It was an absolute death trap.

  Finn slowly exhaled, his flames flickering out. "G-Guys...? I think... I might have miscounted..."

  Edgar swallowed audibly. "I... I made a mistake... this is bad... very bad..."

  Reynar just fell to his knees and whispered, "I'm... going to die here..."

  I couldn't help it. I facepalmed. Hard. I literally tried to warn you.

  The Ambush

  Five massive fireballs launched from the darkness, screaming directly toward our paralyzed vanguard.

  Without thinking, I flicked my wrist and conjured a massive, incredibly thick dome of highly pressurized water around us. It looked like solid, rippling glass.

  BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

  The fireballs slammed into the water and instantly extinguished into harmless clouds of steam.

  Finn and Edgar whipped around to stare at me in absolute shock.

  "Zen?!" Finn yelled. "Did you just do that?! That easily?!"

  "It's just a standard dome!" I lied, panting heavily as if the effort was killing me. "The instructor taught us this last week... remember?!"

  But there was no time to argue.

  THE BEARS CHARGED.

  The massive armored beasts slammed into my water dome. Massive, iron-clad claws tore at the barrier. Heavy maws snapped at the rippling surface. The Black Goblins thrust their dark-mana lances, sending shockwaves of necrotic energy against my shield.

  Finn finally snapped out of his stupor. "GET THE HELL AWAY FROM ME!!" he shrieked, unleashing a blind, desperate torrent of fire.

  His flames were so intensely hot that the bears actually recoiled a few steps—but they did not retreat.

  Edgar slammed his fists together. "I... I can handle this! Metal—OBEY ME!!!"

  He reached out with his mana, desperately trying to seize control of the bears' iron armor and crush them inside it. But the distance was too great. The enchanted metal actively resisted his control. His mana was draining too fast.

  "C-come on...!" Edgar gritted his teeth, blood vessels popping in his neck. "CRUSH!!"

  The armor began to groan and warp slightly. But it wasn't enough. The bears kept advancing.

  And Reynar?

  Reynar was curled on the floor, weeping and praying to whatever gods would listen. "Zen... please... please help us... I hate dungeons... I hate them so much..."

  I looked at the three of them, and a sobering realization hit me.

  This was the very first time they had encountered genuine, unmitigated, life-threatening danger. No teachers. No safety nets. No controlled environment. Just raw, brutal survival.

  And for the very first time... I saw true, paralyzing terror in the eyes of the Academy's vaunted "Elite."