I barely had time to catch my breath, my body still buzzing with the aftermath of the fight with Ren. My Evolver quietly displayed my updated score, the 3,000 points from defeating him feeling heavier than they should. Every point was a double-edged sword, drawing more attention, more predators.
And then I heard it—the crunch of leaves, the unmistakable shuffle of multiple feet approaching. I sighed. Of course. It's never quiet for long, is it?
"Arthur Nightingale," a voice called out, full of mockery and disdain. Stepping out from the shadows was Morris von Ponfleck, flanked by his group of opportunists. His smug grin was practically dripping with superiority, as if he'd already won. "The commoner sullying Class A. What a sad sight."
'You've got to be kidding me,' I thought, gripping my sword tighter. I was tired, my body still aching from the clash with Ren, and now I had to deal with this lot?
