By the time Duncan was dragged into a prolonged melee, the sky had gone from dim gray to bright morning. No matter how dense the canopy was, it couldn't fully withstand the sun's spread.
Warm light poured over Duncan—
but it did nothing to chase the cold out of his bones.
The situation was too brutal for him to spare even a thought for the sun's comfort. He fought while moving, step by step, under the bears' rotating pressure.
But at this pace, he couldn't shake them.
And the other bears—those positioned elsewhere—were drawing closer. They no longer bothered hiding their presence. Whenever Duncan jumped up onto the treetops to avoid wind blades, he could clearly see distant sections of the forest heaving with movement.
Originally, Duncan had planned to wait until the bears exhausted their magic, then slip away.
Instead, they proved smarter than he'd hoped:
They rotated.
The bears that had been providing ranged cover swapped roles with the ones doing close-quarters pressure—clean, premeditated teamwork.
During the switch, Duncan forced some distance and chugged a potion. The icy liquid restored a portion of stamina and soothed his wounds. Even though he hadn't taken a direct hit, the flying gravel and shattered wood mixed into the bears' attacks had battered him plenty.
The forest was turning into a construction site.
Where the fighting passed, it looked as if bulldozers, excavators, and logging trucks had plowed through—nothing left but torn ground and broken timber.
"Wagging Finger."
While dodging, Duncan thrust out a finger and refreshed his magic.
Golden light flashed.
Inside his mind, the "Wagging Finger" label on the spell slot vanished, replaced by a new effect.
Granted Magic — Wind Cutter.
From the outside, him wiggling a finger at empty air would look idiotic.
But there was no audience.
If anything, Duncan had never wanted someone to appear and laugh at him more than he did right now.
"Duncan—!"
His body went rigid.
As if the world loved mocking him: the instant he wished for help, Bell—who should've already escaped—came running back.
That soft, childlike face was full of fear and worry… and yet also a stubborn, decisive resolve.
Damn it.
He'd wanted help—yes.
But not Bell. Never Bell.
"You came back?! Go—!"
Duncan's voice rose into a roar.
But before they could even close the distance, several wind blades slashed in again, forcing them to split to opposite sides.
"I can't keep relying on you and just running forever! I'm an adventurer too!"
Bell shouted back.
Fear still clung to his young face, but the determination in his eyes wasn't fake. Picking only safe routes and calling it "adventuring" wasn't what an adventurer meant to Bell—not anymore.
Duncan's anger flared.
He'd finally carved out a chance to drag the bears and run—and Bell had thrown it away.
Anyone would be furious.
Courage was a virtue, sure—
but courage without judgment was suicide.
Against enemies multiple times stronger, the only rational plan was to keep fighting while moving, and get out of their range. A bold frontal clash wasn't bravery—it was stupidity. Even the strongest adventurer only had one life. Every day, people died because they were reckless. Staying alive was an adventurer's first obligation.
…But the words stuck in Duncan's throat when he looked at Bell.
No matter how hard the boy trained, he was still seven.
Unlike Duncan—whose soul didn't match his body—Bell was a real child.
At Bell's age, Duncan had grown up stupidly safe under his parents' protection.
Bell had grown up under cruelty—and now he'd even beaten back his terror of death and returned to help.
How could Duncan scold him?
Thoughts aside—
Reality didn't care.
The bears certainly didn't.
The moment Bell re-entered the fight, one of the bears lunged at him, intent on tearing him apart.
"Wind Cutter!"
Duncan slammed down his last bottle of stamina potion and bellowed.
The magic restored by two stamina potions emptied out in a rush.
Invisible wind gathered around him.
It was his first time using the spell, yet the technique felt already carved into his mind—as if his body simply knew.
A gale converged at the spear tip, shaping itself into a longer "blade"—a spearhead made of compressed, unseen wind edges.
The wind at the tip rubbed against itself, creating a sharp, buzzing whine.
Maybe it was born from envy—
envy of the bears' wind blades.
Duncan sucked in a breath and crushed down the weakness that came with draining his magic, then charged straight at one of the bears in melee.
The bear hesitated.
Maybe it hadn't expected Duncan to attack instead of fleeing.
Maybe the shrieking tear-sound at the spear tip disturbed it.
Either way, it was a heartbeat too slow.
And on a battlefield, hesitation was fatal—especially when both sides were fully capable of killing.
Even that blink was enough for Duncan, whose strength lay in speed and agility.
He slipped inside before the bear's palms could fall, and the wind-wrapped spearhead flashed down toward its lower limbs.
It was like a hot knife through wax.
The wind edge sliced cleanly through limbs Duncan couldn't sever even with a full-power strike.
The sudden shift stunned not only that bear—
even the two bears providing support in the back froze, black eyes widening with something that looked like disbelief.
Duncan didn't waste it.
As the bear's massive body crashed down, he pivoted, sprinted to its head, and with one brutal cut, severed it.
But the spell came with a brutal cost.
The wind edge was terrifyingly sharp—so sharp it startled even Duncan—
yet after only three strikes, it shrank noticeably, as if it traded durability for maximum killing power.
Seeing it degrade so fast, Duncan didn't dare delay.
He stepped forward, then another, surging toward the bear tangling with Bell.
Everything was happening too quickly.
Sensing danger, the bear abandoned Bell immediately.
For the first time, it took a defensive posture: palms snapping trees in half and hurling them at Duncan while its horn lit green again.
The two support bears finally snapped out of their shock and charged Duncan almost simultaneously.
At this distance, they couldn't safely fire wind blades without risking friendly damage—so they closed in instead.
Duncan, sprinting at full speed, couldn't dodge the thrown logs.
He gritted his teeth and cut through both the flying timber and the incoming wind blade.
"Wind Cutter" made stopping wind attacks easier than before, but the effort thinned the wind on his spear tip even further.
Now the screaming whistle was nearly gone—only a faint flow of magic remained at the spearhead.
Still—
it was enough.
With the obstruction cleared, Duncan closed in again.
The bear, treating him like a true lethal threat, slammed both palms together and smashed down.
Its weight and full-body power hit like an artillery shell, blasting a crater into the ground.
The shockwave and shattered terrain forced Duncan to abandon his approach and leap into the air—
And in that instant, from behind where no one was watching—
Bell slipped around the bear.
Two daggers clenched tight—
and he drove them, with everything he had, straight into the bear's eyes.
....
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