After chanting "come," Rean’s mana skin was immediately summoned. The synchronization seemed to be even greater than Michael’s, somehow. His top half wasn’t fully covered like Michael’s, but his entire head was bathed in mana skin. All that was left human were his eyes.

The face was the hardest part for synchronization to occur.

Seeing Rean transform like this was nothing but educational for the others. It was like they had been given something to work toward.

Just about everyone was impressed—except Michael. He wanted to know how Rean pulled such a feat in so little time.

One of the orcs’ heads just fell off. The others didn’t see any point of contact—just the monster’s fluids spilling everywhere.

The others didn’t rush him.

That was the first thing Rean noticed.

The ice orcs spread out in a wide arc ahead of him. Frost clung to their armor-like skin, breaths steaming in the cold air as they watched him—measuring, waiting.

Nine left.

Rean exhaled slowly, blade low at his side.

"Alright..."

The first moved.

A heavy step, then another—then the entire arc collapsed inward at once.

Rean stepped forward to meet them.

His blade came up in a sharp, efficient motion, catching the first orc mid-swing. Steel met flesh, mana reinforcing the edge just enough—

Clean.

The orc’s torso split, its momentum carrying it past him as it fell.

Rean didn’t stop moving.

He shifted right, letting the next attack pass just behind his shoulder before driving his blade straight into the second orc’s throat. A quick twist, a pull—

Down.

Seven.

A third came from the left.

Rean pivoted, cutting across its midsection in a horizontal arc. The strike was precise, controlled—no wasted force. The orc staggered, then collapsed as the cut finished its work.

Six.

They pressed harder now.

Less caution. More aggression.

Good.

Rean stepped deeper into them, closing the space before they could fully surround him. His blade moved in tight patterns—short slashes, direct thrusts, each one placed to end the fight immediately.

Another fell.

Then another.

Five.

Four.

The rhythm held.

But something shifted.

Rean felt it before he fully registered it—his thrust on the next strike didn’t hit as deep as it should have. The blade met resistance and slowed just enough to notice.

Mana.

He clicked his tongue softly.

Too many clean kills. Too much reinforcement layered into every strike.

Three left.

They came together.

Rean drove his blade forward again, aiming for a clean thrust through the chest of the nearest orc—

It didn’t go all the way.

The tip punched in, but the force behind it wasn’t enough to carry through cleanly. The orc roared, grabbing at his arm—

Rean reacted instantly.

He pulled back, then stepped in close and finished it with a short, brutal slash across the neck.

Two.

Now they hesitated.

They felt it too.

That slight drop in pressure. That fraction of weakness.

Rean straightened, blade still in hand—but his grip shifted. 𝒻𝑟ℯℯ𝑤𝑒𝑏𝑛𝘰𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝒸𝑜𝘮

"Yeah... not enough for clean work anymore."

The last two orcs roared and charged together.

Rean didn’t raise his blade.

He stepped forward instead.

Mana surged.

Not refined. Not shaped into an edge.

Just power.

Raw and direct.

The moment the first orc entered range, Rean thrust his hand forward—not with steel, but with force. A massive pulse of mana erupted outward, slamming into its chest like a detonating wall.

The impact was immediate.

The orc’s body jerked violently before being blasted backward, its chest caving under the pressure as it was thrown across the ice.

The second was right behind it.

Rean turned slightly, his other hand rising—

Another pulse.

Stronger.

Closer.

The air cracked as the mana burst outward, striking the orc point-blank. The force tore through its frame, lifting it off its feet before smashing it down into the frozen ground with crushing finality.

Silence returned.

Rean stood there for a moment, breath steady, faint traces of mana still dissipating from his hands.

His blade lowered slightly.

"...Messier," he muttered.

But effective.

Ten had become none.

The others’ reaction said it all. This guy was different. He had slain ten ice orcs with nothing but his blade and a few mana pulses.

Zeta thought back to the high grades. ’I barely got one, and you mean this guy just clutched a 1v10 against undeniably stronger opponents?’

"Brother, tell me I’m seeing this wrong," she asked as she turned to look at Michael.

Michael said nothing. He just stood there, containing his thoughts.

’I could pretty much take on an ice orc or two on my own, no problem. But the speed to be able to contend with that many... no, that can’t be right. Is Rean really that far ahead?’

’The other possibility is that he’s expended all his mana into that explosive combo. So I guess that’d make him useless when we’re taking on the dungeon boss. I guess that leaves this A-rank boss to me.’

"Ok guys, let’s get moving," Michael said. "Let’s trace the boss chamber."

Porter and Charles walked up to Rean. They had nothing but praise for him.

"You’ve got some new moves you’re definitely going to show me," Porter said.

"Show me too," Charles added.

"Hey, I want to move like that as well," Miles joined in.

The other three just burst into laughter.

"Hey guys, what’s so funny?" Miles asked, but he got no response.

The division moved forward. Rean was technically leading the charge, as he could sense the mana seeping from the boss chamber.

They eventually arrived.

The forest ended too cleanly.

That was the first sign.

One moment, there had been frozen trees stretching endlessly in every direction—branches heavy with ice, the ground layered in thick frost, the air filled with that constant, biting chill. Then, without warning, it just... stopped.

The last tree stood behind them like a boundary marker.

Ahead was open space.

Rean slowed first.

The rest of the division followed suit almost instinctively, boots crunching softly against the frost as they stepped out of the forest and into the clearing. No one spoke. Even the wind felt different here—quieter, heavier, like it had been pressed down by something unseen.

"Boss chamber," Lin muttered under their breath.

It didn’t need to be said.

They all felt it.

The clearing was massive, far larger than it had any right to be. The ground stretched outward in a wide, circular expanse of solid ice, smooth in some places, fractured in others. Jagged pillars of frozen stone jutted out at uneven intervals, like the remnants of something ancient that had been buried and forgotten.

And at the center—

Nothing.

Empty.

Too empty.

Rean’s eyes narrowed slightly as he stepped forward, boots sliding just a fraction on the polished ice beneath. His gaze moved slowly across the chamber, taking in every detail—the spacing of the pillars, the faint cracks running through the ground, the unnatural stillness that hung over everything.

"No movement," Porter said quietly, his voice low but tense. "That’s not normal."

"Yeah," Charles added, his grip tightening slightly on his blade. "It’s waiting."

That was the problem.

A-rank dungeon.

Boss chamber.

And no immediate attack?

It didn’t fit.

The division spread out slightly without needing to be told, forming a loose formation as they advanced further into the clearing. Every step echoed faintly, the sound carrying farther than it should have in the open space.

Rean kept moving forward.

Toward the center.

The air grew colder with each step—not gradually, but in sharp drops, like invisible thresholds being crossed. Breath began to fog heavier. Frost crept along armor edges and weapon hilts.

Then—

A sound.

Soft.

A crack.

It came from beneath them.

Everyone froze.

Another crack followed, louder this time, branching outward across the ice like a spreading web. The ground beneath Rean’s feet trembled slightly—subtle but unmistakable.

"Back," Zeta whispered.

Too late.

The cracks deepened.

A low, rumbling groan rose from below, like something massive shifting under the surface. The ice at the center of the clearing began to sink—not collapse, but depress, as if weight was rising to meet it from underneath.

Rean didn’t move.

He watched.

The surface split.

A jagged line tore across the center, and from that fracture, something dark began to emerge—slow at first, then with increasing force. Ice shattered outward as the ground bulged, chunks breaking free and sliding across the chamber floor.

The temperature dropped again.

Sharply.

Violently.

The kind of cold that bit through mana if you weren’t careful.

The division tightened formation now, tension snapping into place. Weapons came up. Stances lowered. No one spoke anymore.

They didn’t need to.

The chamber wasn’t empty.

It never had been.

It had just been waiting for them to step in far enough.

Rean’s grip on his blade steadied, his breathing even despite the pressure building in the air. His eyes stayed locked on the center as the ice continued to fracture, something enormous forcing its way upward.

"Here it comes," Charles said quietly.

Rean didn’t respond.

He didn’t need to.

The boss hadn’t fully emerged yet—

But its presence was already crushing down on the entire chamber.

And for the first time since entering the dungeon—

Nothing felt like a guaranteed kill anymore.

A clean hit from an axe met and clashed with Zeta’s extension—she blocked it. The same happened to the others. Some were not so lucky.

Lin—down.

Miles—down.

Rose followed.

Charles as well.

Porter barely exchanged blows favorably.

Michael had no issues.

When the axe met Rean’s blade—

It broke.

"No way," Michael exclaimed.