The fineness of Shane’s mana control was unbelievable for an F-rank.

  Low-rankers usually leaked eneergy all over the place, wasting their reserves, which made it far harder for them to participate in real combat.

  Ryan could see Shane pouring every last drop into the sword.

  He felt the blood that had spilled over him evaporate into thin air.

  And the bleeding wounds across the entire pack began to burn.

  Was he preparing an area skill while using the [Bluff] this whole time? thought Ryan.

  It didn’t seem to be a massive mana-guzzler on the level of B-rank or higher, but the nearby monsters toppled over like dominoes, succumbing to the wounds the other hunters had risked their lives to deal.

  A hunter standing near Ryan clapped a hand over his mouth. Even though it wasn’t over, Ryan could feel a wave of relief spreading through the survivors.

  The belief that they were going to live.

  The skill spread outward as if it had no limits. In an expanding circle with Ashwell at its center, the monsters died in droves, burnt to a crisp. A clean sweep.

  When the last of the horde went down, the view opened up.

  Ryan found himself trying to imagine how much an F-rank must have struggled to learn to use mana that efficiently.

  He knew how to tell the difference between those who fought to grow despite their limits and those who just gave up.

  In that moment, his opinion of Ashwell did a complete one-eighty.

  Maybe he couldn’t pull this off in the other dungeons because the skill took time to activate and he needed to be in sync with a team.

  But something still felt off.

  Can an F-rank have a skill that devastating?

  While Ryan was lost in thought, Ashwell finished off the last of the Divine Beasts before finally deactivating his skill.

  Silence fell.

  Everyone just stood there, chests heaving, leaning on their weapons amidst a battlefield of mangled corpses and shattered rock.

  The crimson dust kicked up by the battle hung in the air like a bloody mist, settling onto the sweating skin of the survivors.

  It didn’t discriminate between the living and the dead, coating the open eyes of the fallen in a layer of dirty red snow, mixed with the flakes of ash drifting from the burning carcasses. The blood on the ground was already drying in the arid air.

  Yet, as the haze began to thin, a shaft of golden sunlight broke through, washing over the center of the canyon. It was warm on their skin—a sharp contrast to the cold touch of death they had just escaped.

  Only then did Ashwell turn to look at the other hunters.

  He looked completely drained, a trail of cold sweat tracing a line down his jaw. It was a stark contrast to the bored, mechanical way he’d been providing support earlier in other dungeons.

  This was the face of a man still burning with the heat of battle. Of someone who had poured out everything he had to save them.

  All strength deserted those who’d almost died, their bodies starting to tremble.

  As the adrenaline faded, the realization of the dismissal he’d given Ashwell before brought a flush of hot shame up his neck and behind the ears.

  Ashwell was an F-rank that used efficient mana control and tricks like [Bluff] to survive. And Ryan had just forced him to perform a miracle that had likely cost him significantly.

  The fact that Ashwell had to come save them—the people who had scoffed and laughed at him—added a layer of humiliation to the gratitude.

  There was no way to pay back a debt this heavy. Ryan, before, had prided himself on being a veteran who “knew” things, believing he could tell the difference between amateur and pro.

  For that arrogance, in this moment, he was less than a clueless amateur who needed saving.

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  But they couldn’t stay silent in front of the man who had just saved them.

  Ryan felt that he, the one who had told Ashwell to quit being a hunter, had to be the first to speak.

  He saw one of the party leads open his mouth, so he pushed himself to his feet.

  “Hunter Ashwell,” said Ryan.

  The man didn’t answer, as was his habit, but Ryan pressed on.

  “Thank you for saving our lives.”

  He could say it a hundred times and it wouldn’t be enough.

  He’d expected Ashwell to stay quiet, but a low sound reached him, that almost resembled a chuckle.

  Ryan looked up.

  It was so fast he thought he might have imagined it, but there was no mistaking it.

  For the first time, a faint smile touched Ashwell’s face.

  Those simple words broke the spell.

  Finally, someone let out a choked sob.

  A few hunters dropped to their knees, and others began the grim task of checking on their comrades.

  “I’m sorry, I know it hurts, I’m sorry.”

  “Is… is Laura okay? Has anyone seen Laura?”

  Ryan forced himself to look away from their savior. The battle was over, but the danger wasn’t.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a young hunter stumble and slide down a rock face, clutching a leg that was pumping blood.

  Gratitude would have to wait.

  He rushed forward, his expression tight and focused as he skidded to his knees beside the young hunter.

  His fingers fumbled with the bandage wrapper, slick with sweat and tremors. He swore, then tore it open with his teeth instead.

  “Don’t look down. Just keep your eyes on me. What’s your sister’s name, again? Tell me her name.”

  The surge of frantic activity died down almost as quickly as it had started—because there was nothing left to do.

  Against Celestial monsters, there was no middle ground. Hunters were either standing with minor injuries, or they were shredded beyond the help of any treatment.

  The only movement remaining was the quiet, methodical work of veterans stabilizing the few who had been wounded.

  Marcus Vane, a burly man with a two-handed axe, spat on a dead Divine Beast. The spit sizzled on the scorched hide, disappearing instantly in the dry heat.

  “Damn rookies,” grunted Marcus. “Should’ve known better than to panic.”

  Ryan’s head snapped up.

  “What are you trying to say? They were targeted, Hunter Vane. It could’ve happened to anyone.”

  “A pro always finds a way to stand a chance,” Marcus shot back, not meeting Ryan’s gaze.

  He gestured vaguely at the carnage.

  “This is what happens when you let kids who’ve only been on milk-run dungeons think they’re real hunters.”

  Ryan’s jaw clenched, but he said nothing more. He knew arguing was pointless.

  He hadn’t seen exactly how the others had fought, he’d been too busy trying to keep people alive, but he could feel the cold indifference coming off Marcus and the party captains.

  They were already writing off the dead as “collateral damage.”

  Even so, he chose to believe the veterans were merely masking the unbearable guilt—that they probably felt the loss most acutely, since their decision to enter the dungeon had led to all these deaths.

  If only they’d listened to Ashwell’s warning.

  *

  It was into this tense quiet that some of the survivors finally turned their attention to the hero still standing in the center of it all.

  “Th-thanks, man. You saved our asses.”

  “That was insane!”

  “I really thought I was a goner.”

  One of them reached out as if to pat Shane’s shoulder, but pulled his hand back instinctively, because the air around him was sizzling. It felt like getting too close to a hot stove, which was the burning aftermath of Shane’s skills.

  But unlike the condescending look [Behavior Lock] was making him wear, Shane was having a silent conviction for the first time that maybe, just maybe, stopping the Cataclysm wasn’t completely impossible.

  He’d been trying to have a hopeful outlook, but he was really seeing solid proof now.

  Good.

  He was glad he dumped all three skill points he earned into [Bloodcraft], the Broken Oath’s skill.

  [Skill: Bloodcraft]

  Rank: B–

  Source: Broken Oath (exclusive)

  Effect: Converts nearby blood into Mana. The relic-bearer’s own blood yields the highest conversion.

  Overflow: Mana gained from Bloodcraft can exceed your Max Mana, creating a temporary Overflow bar. Overflow is spent first and persists even after the skill ends. When Overflow hits zero, your mana cap returns to normal.

  And thanks to his exclusive title, [The Predator of the Seraphim], the effect was much more dramatic than when he’d ranked up his [Skill Copy]. The title boosted his skill rank by two levels when fighting Celestial-class monsters.

  That meant that today, his [Bloodcraft] skill had effectively been an S-minus rank and his [Fireball] an A-minus.

  The mana his F-rank body desperately lacked had been more than supplied by the monster blood spilled by the other hunters.

  He was practically buzzing from a mana high, as if he’d had too much whiskey.

  But the euphoria died instantly when the wet, retching sound cut through the air. The greasy stench of charred meat was overpowering, and a rookie hunter was vomiting next to the mangled remains of a comrade, unable to handle the twisted mix of grief and the smell of the barbecue.

  Shane’s nose wrinkled involuntarily, and his mouth watered, as if he was about to throw up, too.

  Which was nonsense.

  This wasn’t the first death he’d seen in combat.

  He grimaced, or almost did, before [Behavior Lock] stopped him, and looked away. His eyes landed on the pile of burnt monster carcasses.

  The battle had been so one-sided that it was basically a massacre that should have been impossible for an F-rank hunter like him to achieve.

  But just because the odds were stacked against him didn’t mean Shane had to fight head-on.

  Today’s feat had only been possible because the monsters had evolved into Divine Beasts.

  To Shane, the first monster wave would have been fatal, whereas a flood of Celestials was a cakewalk. Now as long as the dungeon rewards were decent, he could cruise his way to the Cataclysm.

  But then came the inevitable question.

  “Hunter Ashwell, how in the world did you kill all those things?” Ryan whispered to Shane, and thankfully, the other hunters didn’t hear him.

  Shane stood still for a moment, like he was thinking it over.

  Then he slowly parted his lips, as if to answer.

  But before any words came out, a sharp warmth spread through his chest. He clapped a hand over his mouth and bent over.

  “Hunter Ashwell?”

  An intense, metallic taste coated his tongue.

  Cough. Blood spattered his palm.

  Just like he planned.