Beneath the dense canopy, the flickering campfire cast wavering light across Inferno Knuckle's face, carving his rugged features deep into the shadows. From the distant Gate came a low, droning hum—steady, yet growing louder with each passing second, like the heartbeat of some vast beast preparing to burst forth. He sat still, his eyes glinting with the quiet light of far-off memories.
Back then, he had been just a boy in the Outer Wall. That fateful night arrived without warning—monsters emerged outside Lost Angel like shadows from the void, charging straight into the Outer Wall's neighborhoods. His parents fell within moments of chaos, before any superheroes could intervene. They saved the city from collapse, but not his home. Knuckle became an orphan adrift in a sea of panic.
In the days that followed, it was the humble folk of the Outer Wall—neighbors, friends of his parents—who took him in. They had little to spare, yet still shared each meal. He grew up on grains and sweet potatoes from a hundred homes, on coins gathered through painstaking donations to pay for his aptitude test. And miraculously, the results revealed a path he had never dared to dream of: the aptitude to become a Raiser. From there, he advanced to Trainee, then finally bore the title of Superhero. All thanks to the people who had believed in him, lifting him from the ashes.
The hum abruptly shifted into a piercing vibration. Knuckle blinked, pulling himself from the tide of memory. The forest near the gate flared with light, space itself swirling into spiraling patterns as if opening into a living abyss. It didn't keep him waiting—out of the forest's shadow, a massive form emerged.
A lion on two legs, nearly half again Knuckle's height, its muscles rippling like forged steel, its thick mane shimmering with a silver glow. Each step made the earth tremble. Golden eyes swept across the clearing, the campfire's glow reflected in twin, feral streaks. A Silvermane.
He froze for half a beat, a familiar page flashing in his mind. Enemies – Hero's Handbook. Entry No. 242: Silvermane. Distinguishing traits—silver-maned lion, high speed, quick reflexes, relentless claw-and-fang strikes. Majestic mane, but weaker defense against heavy blows compared to its kin. Dislikes prolonged fights—will retreat if seriously injured.
Knuckle's fists tightened as he exhaled. If it were an Ironmane, he wouldn't dream of breaking through its guard, but a Silvermane… there was at least the faintest chance. Flames roared to life around his fists, reflecting the resolve in his eyes. He owed the people of the Outer Wall too much—and tonight, no monster would cross him to touch that land.
He drew a deep breath, shoulders squaring as the giant lion approached. He knew this fight wasn't one to win. He only needed to hold it—just long enough for the Outer Wall to gain a few more minutes. Every minute mattered. But he also knew—the gap between F-rank and E-rank wasn't something that could be bridged by willpower or clever tricks.
Contrary to popular belief, when a superhero advances in rank, their greatest gain isn't a new skill—that's just the flashy surface. The real reason ranks exist—the only thing that truly matters—is Vorn Intensity.
The real reason we have ranks on top of levels is because the gap from Level 20 to Level 29 is nothing compared to the leap from Level 29 to Level 30— the rank-up threshold.
Throughout each rank, the body is slowly rebuilt to channel more Vorn. The leap from Level 29 to Level 30 marks the final stage of this reconstruction—once complete, the body can unleash far greater Vorn Intensity, every strike, every movement carries a weight and power that simply didn't exist before.
That was why Knuckle had sent the others away. Solstice and Evermoss didn't need to die in a fight with nine chances in ten of failure.
Nine chances… because he still clung to the one in ten—the slim hope this monster would be arrogant enough to fight him one-on-one, giving him time to stall the evacuation.
But life never followed his script.
The lion halted, eyes narrowing, mane rippling in the wind. Then it threw back its head and roared, low and thunderous. From the forest's dark depths, more golden eyes ignited—dozens, of all sizes—spreading into a wide encirclement.
Knuckle's plan burst like a soap bubble before it even began. His one-in-ten hope shrank clean to zero.
He clenched his teeth, fire flaring around his fists, ready to hurl himself into the encroaching tide of fur and fangs. But then—a fierce rustling behind him, metal sliding from a sheath.
Evermoss appeared first, vines lashing from her bracers to whip at the smaller beasts. Solstice followed close behind, [Excalibur] blazing in his grip, the sword's light glinting off his cold expression.
Knuckle's pupils tightened at the sight of them both.
Evermoss flashed a faint smile as she passed. "Well, leaving your friends behind in a moment like this makes me feel a little guilty."
"I don't feel guilty at all," Solstice clicked his tongue, voice hard as steel. "But the Pendragon name doesn't permit retreat."
Grumbling, Solstice strode to the right, [Excalibur]'s light slicing through the dark. Every swing felled one or two monsters, driving them back into the forest's shadow. His voice was icy as he called over his shoulder "But if you go down, I'm leaving."
Evermoss swept to the left, pressing a palm to the ground. From beneath the rotting leaves, thick green vines surged upward like snakes, snapping into the pack with whipcrack force. Each strike sent creatures flying into tree trunks, gouging deep dents into the bark. She didn't speak, but when she glanced back at Knuckle, the look in her eyes said it all: Sorry… me too.
He didn't answer—only tightened his fists and charged the boss. Gratitude welled in his chest. They owed him nothing, yet they stayed. They had their own burdens to protect, yet now shared this danger with him… and that was more than enough. They had cleared the field for him—bringing things, at least, back in line with his original plan.
Knuckle's original plan had been simple—suicidal, but simple. If he was lucky, the Gate would spit out an arrogant type, the kind of boss that craved a one-on-one fight. That kind of pride could keep the entire horde leashed, waiting for their leader to finish its duel before moving. It wouldn't make victory any less impossible, but it would buy the civilians precious minutes to get clear.
Silvermane, however, was no such creature. It despised nuisances, and the moment it stepped through the Gate, it unleashed the beast tide without hesitation. There would be no formal duel, no time bought—only chaos and slaughter. If Solstice and Evermoss hadn't come back, all Knuckle could have done was cut down as many as he could before the swarm tore through the streets.
But now they were here. Solstice and Evermoss split off to contain the tide, forcing the lesser beasts back and holding the evacuation route. That left Knuckle with the boss—still a fight he couldn't win, but a far cleaner battlefield than the one he'd braced himself for.
They weren't splitting up out of some misplaced sense of honor—three F-ranks against an E-rank boss wouldn't change the outcome. The real threat wasn't just the boss; it was the tide of lesser beasts spilling from the Gate behind it. If those creatures reached the evacuation routes, the civilians would be slaughtered long before the duel was decided.
Holding back a monster tide was no easier than facing the boss itself. It meant cutting down wave after wave without letting a single one slip past, knowing that every stray beast could mean another dead family. It was a battle of endurance, awareness, and relentless killing—no room for mistakes, no time to breathe.
So Evermoss and Solstice carved their own fronts into the chaos, holding the line against the horde. Luckily, the horde was still made up of F-rank beasts. The boss had emerged first simply because it was strong enough to force its way through. The E-rank monsters would follow once they finished adapting to this world—and when they did, even heroes as promising as Evermoss and Solstice wouldn't be able to hold the line. Facing a swarm one rank above you wasn't bravery; it was suicide.
Knuckle was left with the boss, not because it gave him a better chance of winning, but because someone had to keep it from tearing through everything in its path.
The fire in his hands blazed bright as he slipped under a claw swipe from the Silvermane, driving his fist into the spot beneath its right ribs. He pivoted, shifted angle, struck again—hook after hook, all hammering into the same point. The boss barely flinched, lazily scratching at the spot he'd hit, a mocking grin curling its lips, golden eyes glinting with disdain.
It swung down. That massive arm scythed the air like a falling boulder. Knuckle twisted aside, the blow grazing his temple, his hair standing on end. One solid hit and it was over—he knew it—so each breath was strung tight as wire. He kept his distance, circling like a living flame, dodging and countering.
But the longer it went, the clearer it became—the gap between Level 29 and Level 39 was wider than he'd imagined. He had once believed technique could make up for power, but every one of its blows carried both speed and force enough to crush him outright. To read its strikes, he had to focus so completely the world blurred, until only its footwork and punches remained.
Then, suddenly, the boss stopped throwing wild blows. It raised both fists, elbows tucked in, chin lowered—a boxer's guard. Knuckle's pupils shrank. No way… it was copying him.
Whish!
Knuckle tilted his head just in time to avoid a lightning-fast straight punch, the wind of it tearing past his ear.
The pressure bore down on him like a mountain. Punch after punch came, each faster than the last. All he could do was weave away, smoke and fire swirling around him as he gave ground.
Then the Silvermane glanced at his feet, smirked, and bent its legs in a sudden coil. Knuckle guessed what was coming—it had learned his footwork too—but before he could react, it closed the distance at blinding speed.
His gaze locked on the fist hurtling toward his face—a strike that could end the fight outright.
And also at that moment, in the dense foliage of a distant branch. Mai opened her eyes.