As soon as the dial was set to level 10, the training dummy leaped forward with such blinding speed that Jack could barely track its movement. The dummy seized its sword and surged toward him with terrifying velocity. The blade sliced through the air, and Jack managed to shift right at the last second. The sword grazed his cheek, leaving a thin line of fire across his skin. Blood dripped onto the ground where the wound opened.
How could this thing be so fast? Before Jack could finish the thought, the dummy already had the blade back in position. It launched forward again, thrusting with mechanical precision. The blade came within inches of his ribs, and he couldn't dodge in time. The impact sent him flying backward several feet. He crashed onto the ground, his arm buckling beneath him with a sickening crack. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to stand, doing his best to ignore the white-hot pain radiating from his broken arm.
Chris stared at the display panel, his face pale. "What in the world? Did he get weaker, or did the dummy just get faster?" he muttered. "Is this what level ten is really like?"
Jake, another student standing beside Chris, smiled coldly. *This is amazing,* he thought with barely concealed satisfaction. *Now that my master has turned up the difficulty, I can finally watch this guy lose. I'm tired of him beating me over and over again. It's time for you to get what's coming to you, Jack.*
As soon as Jack staggered to his feet, another sword strike came whistling toward his leg. Pain clouded his vision, blurring everything around him. His focus shattered, and that gave the dummy all the opening it needed. The sword struck his leg with brutal force, snapping the bone. He collapsed, but the dummy showed no mercy. Before Jack was halfway to the ground, it flew toward him and drove a fist into his face, sending him sprawling backward. He hit the ground hard, breaking several more ribs.
A broken arm, a broken leg, and broken ribs—all throbbed with agonizing intensity. Every breath sent sharp pain lancing through his chest. Jack struggled to draw air into his lungs, each inhalation a battle.
Suddenly, as the dummy raised its blade to deliver another strike, someone leaped between them. The newcomer's sword flashed once, cutting the dummy's blade in half, then again, severing its head with effortless precision.
When the figure landed, Jack could finally see his rescuer clearly. The man had black hair streaked with crimson red. He gripped a sword in one hand, and his armor bore a black obsidian star in the center of his chest while the rest gleamed blood-red. Behind his mask, his face radiated calm authority.
Marshall—also known as the Crimson Hunter—stood before him.
Marshall looked down at Jack with concern. He placed his sword on the ground and lifted Jack with surprising ease. "All right, time to get you some help," Marshall said, his voice steady and reassuring. He carried Jack out of the training hall while staff members hurried to replace the destroyed dummy.
Chris watched them leave, his expression troubled. "I can't believe something hurt Jack that badly," he said quietly. "And I also can't believe someone managed to destroy the thing that hurt him so easily. Even though it was just a dummy, that's still an impressive feat. A very impressive feat."
Jake smiled cruelly as he glanced over at the staff member who had turned the knob to level ten. Clark caught his disciple's eye and smiled back with dark satisfaction.
"Now that I'm done with that, I can leave," Clark said. He departed the training hall with Jake following close behind.
---
In the medical facility, doctors worked quickly to treat Jack's injuries. He had sustained at least nine broken ribs, with two more fractured but not completely broken. His leg and arm were both broken, though thankfully the injuries were treatable. Still, he would need to stay several nights in the hospital to ensure his ribs healed properly.
Chris and Aaron sat at his bedside, their faces etched with worry.
"I can't believe something did this to him," Aaron said, looking at Chris with disbelief in his eyes.
"You're right. I can't believe it myself," Chris replied. "If you had been there to see it, you would have been in shock."
"I think I would be," Aaron agreed. He paused, then added, "Anyway, we should stay here for a few nights while Jack recovers."
"I can't stay here for a few nights," Chris said, shaking his head. "I hope you remember that the Hunter Exams are in five days. He won't be able to train for at least three to four days. Is he good enough as he is?"
Aaron looked over at Jack's broken body lying motionless on the hospital bed. "Yeah, but like I told you—what if the Crimson Hunter is going to be there? If he's there, then Jack doesn't have a chance at winning."
Chris met Aaron's gaze. "You don't have to win against the Crimson Hunter to pass the Hunter Exams, you know that, right? So he might do pretty well. He might even make second place."
"Yeah, you might be right," Chris said, looking down at his feet with uncertainty.
Aaron sighed. "I mean, I wouldn't worry about it. Either way, Jack is probably going to make the top ten. Just relax." He sat down on a nearby seat, and Chris followed suit. They both settled in to watch over Jack's condition through the long night ahead.
---
In a nearby office, Clark sat doing paperwork. He performed this tedious task to pass the time when he wasn't training students or his disciples. Though he hated it, he had to keep up with it if he wanted to maintain his position at the academy. The pay was good, so he endured.
As soon as Clark looked up and rubbed his tired eyes, someone opened the office door. The man who entered had brown hair and piercing green eyes. His muscular frame filled the doorway, and his face bore a deadly serious expression.
"Sir Matthew, what are you doing here?" Clark said, immediately jumping to his feet to face his superior.
"I heard you put the knob to level ten in the training hall," Matthew said, stepping forward. Clark instinctively stepped back, terror flickering across his face. He had no plans to challenge Matthew anytime soon.
"So tell me, Clark—is that true?" Matthew's eyes narrowed dangerously.
Clark tried to force a lie past his lips. "No, sir. I don't know what happened. My finger just slipped—"
"Enough of your excuses, Clark," Matthew interrupted, slamming his hand on the desk with a resounding crack. "Since the day you got here, you've been spouting excuses. We know why you did this. You wanted revenge for Jack beating your disciple Jake. Am I right, Clark?" His voice grew more stern with each word.
Clark sighed, giving up the entire act. He didn't care anymore. "Yes, that is the reason. You know what? It had to be done. The boy needs to be humiliated. He needed to be humbled somehow."
"Let him be humbled during the Hunter Exams," Matthew said, his voice dropping to a deathly calm tone. "You didn't have to do that, Clark, and you know perfectly well you didn't have to do that. You know how we feel about people who belittle others because things aren't going in their favor."
Matthew paused, letting the weight of his words settle. "We'll keep you around for a few more months. If you don't show any more of this behavior, we'll keep you permanently. But if you show more behavior like this within that six-month window, we'll fire you on the spot. Instantly. No second chances."
"So what do you want me to do?" Clark asked bitterly. "Just let my disciple lose? Let him be beaten with complete fairness?"
"You think I want Jack to beat your disciple with unfair advantages? Absolutely not," Matthew replied. "I want them to use every legitimate trick in the book. Fair competition builds character." He sighed heavily. "You can spin any argument you want, but don't show me this behavior again."
Matthew left, closing the office door behind him with finality.
Clark's face darkened with rage. He glared at the papers scattered across his desk, crumpled one up, and hurled it at the wall.
"I'm not only going to get my revenge on Jack," he muttered venomously, his voice dropping to a chilling whisper. "I'm going to get my revenge on you too, Matthew, for allowing this."
He reached into his drawer and pulled out a worn leather notebook, its pages filled with names, dates, and detailed plans. A cold smile spread across his face as he flipped to a fresh page and began to write.
"They have no idea what's coming."