The sky had dissolved into a relentless gray veil.
Pitter-patter. Pitter-patter.
The rain drummed against the canopy with a rhythmic, suffocating intensity, forcing the forest's inhabitants into a temporary truce.
For the students scattered across the simulated wilds, this deluge was a double-edged sword: a reprieve from the hunt, but a chilling reminder of their vulnerability.
Deep within the jagged maw of a small limestone cavern—barely large enough to shelter five souls—a different sound flickered.
Crackle. Pop.
The golden glow of a campfire danced against the damp stone walls, casting long, wavering shadows that fought back the creeping cold.
Ash sat hunched against the far wall, his silhouette sharp and lonely.
He had stripped down to a simple black shirt and denim jeans, hanging his tactical gear near the flames to steam dry.
His pale skin was a map of violence. Crimson welts and jagged lacerations—the souvenirs of Fenrir's fury—crisscrossed his torso.
Yet, the supernatural constitution of an Opener was already at work; the bleeding had ceased, and the raw edges of the wounds were beginning to knit together under the heat of his accelerated metabolism.
A few paces away, Fenrir lay sprawled on the cold earth, motionless.
An hour had bled away since Ash had dragged him into the dry dark, yet the wolf-kin remained lost in the void of unconsciousness.
Ash turned his gaze toward the mouth of the cave.
The rain showed no mercy, turning the vibrant forest into a blurred, emerald ghost.
'It won't let up until dawn,' Ash mused, his eyes devoid of emotion.
'Time to see how the world changed while we were busy trying to kill each other.'
With a flick of his mind, he summoned the holographic leaderboard.
The blue light shimmered in the dim cave, reflecting in his gray irises.
[ Simulation Rankings ]
1.Isolde (850 pts)
2.Fenrir (820 pts)
3.Soren (730 pts)
4.Riven (660 pts)
5.Ash (420 pts)
6.Dorn (400 pts)
7.Flin (370 pts)
8.Kael (350 pts)
9.Layla (300 pts)
10.Vill (280 pts) ]
The hierarchy had shifted like sand.
While he and Fenrir had been locked in their stalemate, others had been harvesting points with ruthless efficiency.
Isolde had seized the throne, knocking Fenrir to second place, while Ash had tumbled down to fifth.
He scanned the names below the top five. Several familiar faces had vanished, replaced by newcomers like Vill, Layla, and Flin.
A cold realization settled in his gut. These were students from Class 001—titans in their own right. It was impossible for them to have stopped scoring unless...
'They're gone.'
To confirm his suspicion, Ash typed a name into the search bar: Vey.
The system scrolled instantly to the bottom. The name was there, but it was muted—a dull, lifeless gray. Ash checked the casualty count.
412 dead. Nearly half the roster had been extinguished in less than twenty-four hours.
Some had fallen to the claws of the forest's monsters. But the others?
'They were hunted by their own kind.'
Ash looked back at the top ten.
Names like Flin and Vill hadn't just appeared; they had surged forward by "inheriting" the points of the fallen. A predator's market.
'I need to keep an eye on these three,' Ash thought, his mind filing the names away in a mental folder labeled Threats.
"Uhm..."
A low, pained groan drifted from the shadows.
Ash didn't move, his eyes remaining fixed on the flickering embers as Fenrir began to stir.
...
'My eyelids... they feel like lead.'
Fenrir forced his eyes open, his golden pupils struggling to focus on the jagged ceiling above. His head throbbed with a rhythmic ache, and every muscle felt as though it had been pulverized into dust.
'What happened?'
Fragmented images flickered through his mind: the clash of silver against claw, the primal roar of the rhino, the cold gray of Ash's eyes.
He remembered the transformation, the surge of power—and then, a blind, suffocating heat. Rage so thick it had swallowed his consciousness.
Beyond that, there was only blackness.
"Ugh..."
Fenrir attempted to push himself up, but a sharp flare of agony from the spear wounds in his leg and chest buckled his arms.
The exhaustion of the [Berserk] state was a heavy, invisible weight.
"I'd suggest staying down," a cold, detached voice drifted through the cave.
"Unless you want those wounds to reopen."
Fenrir turned his head sharply. Ash was leaning against the wall, the firelight illuminating the fresh scars on his chest.
In that moment, the weight of reality hit Fenrir harder than any spear thrust.
He looked at the fire, then at the man who had dragged him to safety.
'I lost.'
The words tasted like ash. He had utilized every instinct, every drop of mana, and even the forbidden depths of his core, yet he remained grounded while Ash remained standing. The bitterness was a physical pang in his chest.
Fenrir slumped back onto the dirt, throwing an arm over his eyes to shroud his shame.
Ash watched him in silence.
He understood the ego of a predator.
To Fenrir, who had spent his life as the apex of New Age City's youth, this defeat wasn't just a loss of points—it was a loss of identity.
The silence stretched, heavy with the smell of wet earth and woodsmoke.
Fenrir had always viewed Class 001 as a mere formality, a place to prove his dominance.
He had targeted Ashfei first because Ash was the only one who radiated an aura that felt like a genuine threat—a void that could swallow his flame.
Suddenly, Fenrir yanked his arm away.
His golden eyes weren't filled with defeat, but with a searing, renewed resolve. He sat up abruptly, ignoring the protest of his muscles, and looked Ash dead in the eye. The madness was gone, replaced by a terrifyingly sober intent.
"Ashfei. You won this round," Fenrir barked, his voice rasping but firm.
"But don't get comfortable. Next time, I will be the one standing over you."
Ash let out a soft, weary sigh, though a faint, ghost of a smile touched his lips.
'And here I thought I'd finally get some peace,' he thought.
Looking at Fenrir now, Ash couldn't help but find the situation slightly absurd. The wild, uncontrollable beast had been tamed just enough to learn discipline.
He looked less like a marauding wolf and more like a stubborn hound that had finally learned its first lesson.
"Fine," Ash replied, his voice softening just a fraction.
"Challenge me as often as you like. I'm not going anywhere."
Fenrir narrowed his eyes, sensing that Ash might be mocking him, but he didn't care.
He crawled closer to the fire, leaning his back against the stone next to Ash.
For a long time, neither spoke. The battle had forged a strange, unspoken bond—a kinship born of spilled blood.
"Do you remember anything?" Ash asked suddenly, his gaze back on the flames.
"About when you... lost it?"
Fenrir frowned.
"Lost it?"
"You roared," Ash described, his tone clinical.
"Your body swelled to three meters. Your claws grew into talons, and your eyes turned a hollow, murderous red. You weren't a student anymore. You were a monster."
Fenrir's expression darkened as he listened. He knew exactly what that was.
"It's called the [Berserk] state," Fenrir muttered, his voice low.
"It only happens to those with a Core of Form. It's triggered when the mind is shattered by madness or a traumatic memory. All parameters skyrocket, but you lose your soul to the beast. The price is heavy... five hours of total impotence. No skills, no strength. Just a husk."
Ash memorized the details instantly. In a world where information was the ultimate currency, this was gold.
Fenrir sighed, his shoulders sagging.
"So that's why I feel like a dying old man."
This was his first time crossing that line.
The defeat had unearthed ghosts he had spent years trying to bury. Fenrir bit his lower lip, a fleeting shadow of pain crossing his face before he forced it back into the depths of his mind.
Ash didn't pry. He knew that everyone in this forest carried a darkness.
The [Berserk] state wasn't just a skill; it was an echo of a past that hadn't finished screaming.
He looked back out at the rain, the world outside drowning in gray.
Beside him, Fenrir buried his face in his hands, hiding a single, silent drop that might have been rain—or perhaps something much heavier.
The storm raged on, but inside the cave, the fire burned steady.
Their war was over, but the silence between them spoke of a much longer journey ahead.