Chapter 55. Discord and Discipline
Simon led his team deeper into the forest.
The moment they crossed the tree line, the sheer beauty of it stopped him cold, dappled light filtering through an endless canopy, the air thick with the scent of moss and wildflowers. For a brief moment, he simply stood there, drinking it in.
That moment didn’t last long.
The culprits were, as always, his two teammates.
The first was Carlos Hilbert, broad-shouldered, red-haired, and carrying himself with the kind of effortless authority that came from a lifetime of being told he was important. The second was Arthur, blue-haired and lean, with an enormous spear strapped across his back like it weighed nothing at all.
The other two members of their team trudged along in relative silence. Lawrence Vendar of the Summoning Department, and Flora Farminhaim from Divine Studies. Both of them wore the same expression, a tight, strained look that said I would rather be anywhere else.
Simon couldn’t blame them. Carlos and Arthur had been at each other’s throats since before they’d even entered the forest. The argument was simple, petty, and somehow completely inescapable.
Both of them wanted to be team leader.
Because of this, no leader had been chosen. Because no leader had been chosen, no strategy had been formed. And because no strategy had been formed, they were currently wandering through a monster-infested forest with all the coordination of a headless chicken.
Simon exhaled slowly through his nose.
"You’re a commoner," Carlos said, his voice clipped with irritation, though even in his anger, his posture remained immaculate, his tone never quite crossing into vulgarity. "What would you know about leading a team? Step aside. I’ll take point, and I’ll bring us victory."
Arthur didn’t even flinch. "Class doesn’t matter inside this academy. You can be the son of a Duke and I can be from the gutters. It makes no difference here. I have every right to lead this team. And since you brought up winning..." He tilted his head slightly. "My combat experience puts yours to shame."
"Experience?" Carlos almost laughed. "I trained under Rank Six instructors from childhood. Private sessions, tailored curriculum. I’m ranked second in our entire first year. What exactly have you experienced that could compete with that?"
"You don’t earn experience in a private training hall," Arthur replied evenly. "You earn it by surviving on the streets. Moment by moment, with nothing but your own two hands. That’s something no amount of gold can buy you."
"Fighting garbage and calling it experience is a stretch." Carlos’s eyes sharpened. "There’s a difference between killing ten dogs and killing one tiger. Ten dogs makes you capable. One tiger makes you exceptional. I know which one I am."
"Ten dogs can bring down a tiger," Arthur said. "When you know how to coordinate chaos, that’s real experience. Something you’ve never had to develop."
"Dogs scatter the moment real fear sets in. A tiger doesn’t. When you face something that doesn’t run, that’s when you learn what you’re truly made of."
Simon had stopped listening somewhere around the third exchange.
He watched them bicker, same as they’d been doing before the forest, same as they’d been doing since the mission briefing, and felt the last ember of his optimism quietly go out. He wasn’t even annoyed anymore. He’d moved past annoyed into something colder and more practical.
We’re probably not going to win this.
He’d accepted it. Quietly. Without fanfare.
They walked like that for a while, no direction, no formation, no plan, until the undergrowth ahead shifted.
Simon saw it first.
A Crimson Wolverine stepped out from between the trees, its rust-red fur bristling, black eyes fixed on them with a predator’s flat, patient attention.
His stomach dropped.
Rank One monsters. Not particularly strong on their own. That wasn’t the problem. The problem was that Crimson Wolverines were never alone. If you spotted one, the accepted wisdom was simple. Assume there were at least fifty more within striking distance.
As if on cue, the bushes on all sides began to rustle.
One by one, then all at once, dark shapes poured out of the undergrowth, a tide of crimson fur and bared teeth closing in from every direction.
Simon’s entire body went rigid.
The argument behind him had finally gone quiet.
***
On the other side of the forest, Lyra and her team were ready.
They had spent the time well, scouted the terrain, settled on a formation, and identified the perfect choke point to spring an ambush on the Centarian Monkey. Everything was in place.
Now they crouched behind a line of dense brush, holding their breath.
The formation was tight. Lyra and Elizabeth at the front, Matthew and Clien tucked in behind them, and Joseph anchoring the rear.
Through the gaps in the undergrowth, Lyra watched their target.
The Centarian Monkey stood roughly six feet tall, a deeply unsettling fusion of gorilla and horse. From the waist down, it moved on four powerful equine legs. From the waist up, it was pure primate, a massive torso, absurdly long arms that nearly dragged against the ground, and a jaw packed with teeth that were too large for anything to have a right owning. Fine blue fur covered every inch of it, catching the forest light in a way that almost made the creature look ethereal.
Almost.
Lyra’s grip tightened around her fist.
A small, quiet fear had begun to take root somewhere in her chest. She found herself asking the question she’d been trying not to ask. Can I actually do this? Doubt crept in at the edges, cold and uninvited, and for just a moment, her resolve began to waver.
Then she raised both hands and slapped herself hard across both cheeks.
The sound was sharp enough that Elizabeth immediately turned to look at her.
Lyra barely registered it. The sting had done its job, cleared her head, pushed the doubt back down where it belonged. This isn’t the time. She didn’t get to wonder whether she was capable. That was a luxury for after. Right now, she had to move. She had to prove something, not to anyone else, but to herself.
"...Are you alright?" Elizabeth whispered, her voice barely audible.
"I’m fine," Lyra murmured back. "Just getting my head in the game."
Elizabeth held her gaze for a moment, expression unreadable. Then she turned back toward the clearing without another word.
A beat passed. Then another.
Elizabeth watched the Centarian Monkey move between the trees, timing its steps, reading its rhythm. When the moment arrived, that narrow, perfect window, she drew her sword from her hip in one smooth motion and leveled it toward the clearing.
"Charge."