The chill of the autumn night bit sharp against the lower city stone, a stark contrast to the sprawling white marble of Sol-Caelum Academy. Eldon stood in the narrow alleyway behind his meager servant quarters, inspecting the rusted iron shortsword he had recovered from the cleaning sheds. The blade was pitted with orange spots, its edge dull enough to crush rather than cut. Against the armored hide of a Shadow Wolf or the stone-plated scales of a Forest Drake, this scrap metal would snap like dry pine. Survival in the Darkwood Forest demanded real steel. Real steel required gold—and he had none. Pulling a square of plain black cloth over his nose and jaw, Eldon tied the knot tightly at the back of his neck. Hood pulled low, he dissolved into the shadowed, winding alleys of the Lower District, where the bright light of the System's high society never reached. The stench of stale alcohol, roasted meat, and damp copper grew stronger with every step toward the slaughterhouses.

The narrow alley smelled of wet coal ash and rotting pine. Rain had begun to drizzle through the smog above the forge district, coating the cobblestones in a slick, dark sheen. Inside the shattered doorway of Orik’s smithy, three mercenaries stood lined up in a tight, military formation. Their heavy steel crossbows remained raised, iron limbs drawn under immense tension. Above the weapons, glowing blue magical indicators flickered violently as the System’s targeting script ran its loop. [Targeting Script: Searching for Class ID...] [Targeting Script: Searching for Mana Signature...] [Target: NOT FOUND] "Fire!" the lead thug barked. Three heavy iron levers clicked simultaneously. Three glowing blue tracking bolts tore through the air with a high-pitched, metallic whistle. To an ordinary warrior with a status screen, these bolts were legendary for their lethality. The System’s auto-aim script was designed to home in on a target’s mana signature, curving mid-air to strike

The thick canopy of the Darkwood Forest gave way to an open, moss-covered glade. Light cut through the gloom, illuminating a scene of absolute chaos. Backed against a sheer sixty-foot limestone wall was a five-person noble squad from Sol-Caelum Academy. Dust and crushed fern leaves filled the air, mixed with the sharp, metallic tang of fresh blood. Six massive Shadow Wolves—beasts the size of plow horses, covered in matted dark fur and pulsing with glowing red eyes—circling them like starvation incarnate. [Shadow Wolf - Level 15] [Shadow Wolf - Level 15] [Shadow Wolf - Level 16 (Alpha)] Floating red status screens hovered above the pack, casting a sinister crimson light across the clearing. But the wolves weren't acting on a pre-programmed AI script. They were wild, hungry, and intelligent. They smelled the pure, unadulterated terror radiating off the teenagers before them. "Mage! Cast something!" the squad's frontline tank screamed, his knuckles white as he held a silver-plate

Eldon didn't even turn his head toward the shouting tank. He slid his cold steel broadsword back into its leather sheath with a quiet, metallic rasp. Ignoring the blushing mage and her outstretched health potion, he turned on his heel and melted into the dense foliage without uttering a single word. Behind him, the tank’s indignant yells faded into the rustle of leaves, swallowed by the vast, oppressive quiet of the ancient trees. Gratitude was a currency nobles rarely possessed. Eldon didn't need their thanks, nor did he need their potions. His target was far deeper in the dark heart of the woods—the central territory where the high-tier alpha beasts roamed. To clear his name and earn total freedom from Headmaster Roste's ultimatum, he needed the highest point tally in the academy's history. That meant hunting targets that five-person noble squads wouldn't dare touch. For three hours, Eldon moved like a phantom through the changing terrain. The tall oaks and fresh pine

Panic transformed Valen’s face into a grotesque, contorted mask.His fingers jabbed frantically into the empty air, slapping at glowing blue interface icons that only his eyes could see. He wasn't aiming with his eyes, his posture, or his body—he was blindly spamming his skill buttons, desperate for the System to save him from the dark-haired specter advancing through the smoke.[Skill: Fire Arrow - Cast Time: 0.8s]A sharp, crimson circle materialized before Valen’s trembling palm. A streak of screaming flame burst from the spell ring, tearing through the green fog straight toward Eldon’s chest.Eldon didn't even draw his sword. He had read the telltale sign half a second before the spell even manifested—the sharp hitch in Valen’s right shoulder, the over-extension of his elbow, and the rigid lock of his hips required by the System’s casting animation frame. Eldon simply tilted his head two inches to the left.WHOOSH!The fireball scorched the air right past Eldon’s ear, slamming