Good. That was the right choice.
Duncan had never believed that running from a stronger enemy was shameful—unless you carried a mission or faith more precious than your own life, backed by an unbreakable resolve.
For adventurers, life was the most valuable thing. As long as you lived, anything was still possible.
Duncan had no doubt Bell would one day reach the level of a First-Class adventurer. Whether he could reach the heights of Alfia or Chaldo was uncertain, but once he reached that tier, killing these bears would be effortless. There was no point throwing away your life just to "win" out of pride.
Bell turned and fled.
The bears immediately launched another wind blade. These monsters were too smart—seeing Duncan had no power to counterattack, they didn't burn through all their magic at once. Instead, they fired one blade at a time, probing his limits.
[Air Step]
The air platform shattered like glass. Duncan forced out the last scrap of strength to block the wind blade aimed at Bell—then, as expected, he was blasted away again.
His heavy body couldn't rise anymore.
His consciousness began to blur into a fog, yet his weapon never left his hand—not even for a moment—though in truth his palm had already split open, blood soaking the grip.
The severity of his injuries brought a strange kind of "mercy." With adrenaline flooding him, the pain dulled to something distant. Now all he could do was lie against the trunk, listening to the bears' snarls and watching their grotesque posturing. With no strength left to fight back, Duncan simply closed his eyes, refusing to look at their taunting.
Damn that god.
He'd been living a perfectly fine shut-in life back in his own world, then got tossed into this one. Other protagonists got to stomp around like invincible dragon kings, while he had to claw and bleed for every level—
and now he was paying for it with his life.
If he ever met that god after dying, he'd scream "Refund!" right into his face.
…Strange.
He knew he was about to die, yet he felt no fear at all. Instead, the fogginess in his head turned sharper, clearer—like his mind was waking up. Even the blood-iron taste in his mouth seemed to be washed away by something sweet, something warm, flowing down into his chest.
…
No.
Something was wrong.
Duncan snapped his eyes open.
A familiar figure stood in front of him.
"Oh? Awake? Then you're still alive. Kid, your luck is ridiculous—this makes the second time."
On Chaldo's brutal-looking face, there was an unexpectedly gentle smile. He handed Duncan a glass bottle with about a third of its contents left. The bottle's design alone screamed expensive.
"This is a panacea. Pour it on the wound. Hermes sent it for healing, but it's useless to us now. It won't do much for critical damage, but there's no healer out here—make do."
"Where's Bell?"
Duncan could feel his body slowly regaining the ability to move as he poured the remaining liquid over his right arm. He'd braced himself for pain—yet when the potion touched the flesh, there was none. The bone-deep wound visibly began to close, knitting together at a speed that felt unreal.
"Duncan! I'm here!"
Bell darted out from behind Chaldo's massive frame, his face alight with relief and emotion.
"Bell, keep an eye on Duncan," Chaldo said with a weary smile, not blaming Bell's excitement in the slightest. "I'll go deal with the audience."
He hefted the greatsword embedded in the ground and began walking—one step at a time—toward the seven bears.
In training, Chaldo's silhouette was like a demon from hell.
But when he became your shield…
that same silhouette was as reliable as a mountain.
Sensing death, the bears let out thunderous roars. Their wind blades—once playful tools of torment—now erupted like a barrage, all of them launched at Chaldo at once.
"Worthless trash," Chaldo snorted. "If Alfia were here, she'd probably call it 'noisy.'"
He raised his right hand.
Just a casual block.
The wind blades—attacks that could have shaved this entire region of forest clean—met his palm and behaved like docile pets. He simply crushed them into nothing with a squeeze.
He shook off the dust and grit stirred up by the blades, then strolled forward, greatsword in hand, as if bored.
Perhaps it was the first time in their lives these monsters had ever felt fear: from the bears' perspective, Chaldo blocked the full barrage with one hand and walked straight through it, unscathed, until he stood right in front of them.
Their instincts screamed to flee—
but monster instinct and pack fury surged up instead. They chose to bet on numbers and mass, to smash him into paste.
They were still monsters.
Their limited intelligence made them misjudge the gap.
There was a quality difference, yes—
they'd just picked the wrong side.
Some people think "eight hundred thousand versus six hundred thousand" means "advantage us," not understanding that for adventurers, raw individual power doesn't lose to numbers—especially not at First Class, not at the top.
The bears charged in a rage.
Chaldo didn't even lift his right hand.
He only held the greatsword level—then swung it with his left in a single horizontal cut.
It was destruction given form.
An invisible slash devoured everything in front of him—stone, trees, and bears alike. Anything caught inside that arc was torn apart into dust.
When the haze settled, a deep trench carved outward from Chaldo's feet stretched into the distance. At the end of that trench, debris—splintered wood and pulverized rock—had piled up into a small mountain.
The bears were simply… gone.
This was Duncan's first time truly witnessing the power of a First-Class adventurer. Chaldo clearly hadn't even used full strength—yet the sight alone was enough to chill the blood. By Earth's scale, every swing of Chaldo's blade was like a heavy bomb. It was hard to even imagine what a full-power strike would look like.
"All done. Let's go."
Chaldo slung the greatsword back as if nothing had happened, and walked to them with the light tone of someone who'd just finished cleaning a room.
"So… so strong…"
Bell blurted, wide-eyed and utterly stunned. This was his first time seeing Chaldo's strength too. Compared to getting beaten up during training, it was heaven and earth. Who knew how much effort Chaldo had been putting into holding back while hitting him.
"It's a realm you'll reach someday," Chaldo said gently, looking at Duncan. "But not now. Can you stand?"
Duncan, pale as paper, tried to get up—yet his body refused to cooperate. He could only force a bitter smile and shake his head. A panacea might be "universal," but its real specialty was curing abnormal conditions. For something like massive blood loss, it worked slowly.
"Tch. None of you ever make my life easy," Chaldo complained. "You, Bell, Alfia—always making me play nanny. Next time I'm making her take the shift."
With a sigh, he crouched, lifted Duncan onto his back, and started walking toward the exit of the Great Tree Sea.
....
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