"How does he still have mana to spam the thunder infinite fold?"

’Well, no time to think about stuff like that, I’ve got more important things to do,’ Porter said as he looked up to his target, the high-grade.

"Wind talent, no 68, wind blade."

Description - wind blade is a non-visible blade made of gusts of wind. Its strength is directly correlated to the amount of mana the user pours in. The wind blade can be made to spin to increase its overall edge and sharpness.

The first cut didn’t announce itself.

There was no flash. No glow. No warning.

Just—A line.

A clean, impossible line carved through the high-grade’s arm, and a heartbeat later, the limb slid off, severed so smoothly it took a moment for the body to realize it was gone. Blood followed after, spraying into the cave air as the creature staggered.

Porter stood a few meters away, one hand slightly raised, fingers loose.

Wind Blade.

Invisible, but very real.

The air around his hand twisted faintly, currents tightening into a thin, compressed edge. It didn’t shimmer like light—it bent space subtly, like heat haze, barely noticeable unless you knew what to look for.

He flicked his wrist.

Another cut.

This one took a leg at the knee.

The high-grade dropped unevenly, roaring as it tried to stabilize, but Porter didn’t give it the chance. The Wind Blade shifted—he fed more mana into it, and the unseen edge began to spin.

The cave reacted. Dust lifted. Pebbles skittered.

Porter moved.

He dashed in, then jumped—light, assisted by a burst of wind beneath his feet. His body lifted higher than it should have, gliding just enough to position himself above the high-grade.

Then he struck.

The spinning Wind Blade tore downward. 𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒆𝙬𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝒎

It didn’t just cut—it shredded. The rotating edge chewed through flesh, opening a deep, spiraling gash across the creature’s shoulder and chest. The high-grade reeled, its balance already compromised from the missing limbs.

But it wasn’t done.

Its head snapped upward.

The mouth opened wide—

’Is that a row--’

The blast erupted instantly.

A concentrated surge of force shot toward Porter mid-air, fast enough to tear him apart before he could land. The pressure alone distorted the air around it, a straight-line annihilation aimed to end him.

Too close.

Porter reacted on instinct.

"Wind Talent, No. 8—Shield of Wind!"

The air in front of him compressed violently, forming a curved barrier just as the Row collided with it. The impact was brutal—his body jerked mid-air, control slipping for a fraction of a second—but the shield held.

Then bent.

The blast didn’t stop—it redirected.

The Row curved along the surface of the Wind Shield, its trajectory twisting before snapping back toward its source. It slammed into the high-grade point blank, detonating against its upper body in a violent explosion that shook the cave.

Porter landed hard, sliding across the stone.

He didn’t get up immediately.

His chest rose sharply—once, twice.

"...Tch."

He felt it.

The drain.

Too much output. Too much control. The spinning blade, the jump, the shield—his mana was dipping faster than he’d planned.

The high-grade was still moving.

Burned, but alive.

Porter clicked his tongue and pushed himself up.

"Fine..."

The spinning stopped.

The Wind Blade thinned—less power, less rotation. He stepped in again, this time relying more on movement than force. His strikes became tighter, simpler. Controlled cuts instead of overwhelming ones.

It worked—at first.

He sliced across its side.

Ducked a clumsy swing.

Cut again—shallower, but still effective.

But something was off.

The edge wasn’t holding the same bite.

Porter pushed more—

Nothing.

The blade flickered.

Then—

It shattered.

Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just... gone. The compressed wind unraveled instantly, the structure collapsing as his mana output dipped below what it needed to sustain it.

"...Ah."

That was bad.

The high-grade noticed too.

It turned fully toward him now, ruined body dragging forward, but intent clear. Its mouth began to open again, gathering force for another Row—this one closer, harder to avoid.

Porter stood there, breathing heavier now, mind racing through options he didn’t have.

No blade.

Low mana.

Too close.

"...Yeah," he muttered under his breath, a dry edge creeping in. "I’m cooked."

The high-grade was about to fire.

But the blast never reached him.

The air warped.

Folded.

For a split second, space itself bent unnaturally—and a bolt tore through from an impossible angle, slamming into the high-grade’s side with precision.

Then—

A slash followed.

Clean. Absolute.

The creature froze.

A line appeared across its body.

And then it split.

The Row dissipated, collapsing into nothing as the high-grade’s form gave out completely, its structure undone in a single, decisive finish.

Porter blinked once.

Then exhaled, shoulders dropping as the tension left him all at once.

"...Yeah," he said, glancing toward the source of the distortion, already knowing. "I’ll take that."

"This guy’s output though?" Porter commented.

Charles walked up to him with a smile. Porter was on the ground; Charles extended his hand and helped him up.

"Ok so now that those two are done, let’s go check what’s up with Michael."

They both turned to Michael’s general direction, and there was nothing but dead high grades.

"Whatt, he’s already done," Charles exclaimed.

"Ok ok, let’s get going, nothing seems to be spawning anymore. The dungeon will soon close, so move it people."

Miles was the first to race out. The others followed not long after.

"Um do you mind," Michael said as he reached out to the captain, to allow him be the one to carry his sister to safety.

They all made for it.

Throughout their escape, only one thing remained on Porter’s mind. It was really just something about Charles. They were both introduced as B-ranks. Yes, they’ve been improving, but was Charles really that much ahead of him, or did he just improve his mana stats a little too much.

Porter was starting to get frustrated. First it was Rean, then there’s a force like Michael he can’t even comprehend, and now Charles.

’Who the hell is Charles, at least from where I am,’ he said.

They all made it out the gate.

"A call came in for you, sir."

"Ok I’ll take it, guys give me a minute."

Porter turned to Charles. He was already doing something. He turned around—and it wasn’t just Charles. It was all of them.

They had just finished this raid, but all of them were already ranking up with their systems.

"Ok,’ come’," he said, summoning his interface.