It was a woman.

  Long red hair spilled from beneath her hood, though most of it was hidden beneath the black cloak that marked the enemy. The way she moved told Suri enough — calm, deliberate, practiced. She wasn’t like the others. This one saw through tricks. The woman’s gaze swept the battlefield with the stillness of a veteran; even through the storm, Suri could tell.

  She could already tell what was an illusion and what wasn’t.

  That alone made her dangerous.

  Near Suri was Wor-en and the black hooded figure battling each other.

  The dirtiest—she meant trickiest—fighter she knew. His entire strategy revolved around chaos.

  He tossed a smoke bomb at the woman’s feet. A hiss filled the air as the cloud expanded, thick and gray. For a second, Suri thought it was a mistake — his visibility vanished, and so did hers.

  And yet, a few heartbeats later, another bomb arced through the air.

  Then another.

  Each time, the black-hooded woman paused for only a moment before slashing through the haze. Wor-en barely dodged — a cut grazed his arm, then another on his thigh. Blood streaked his tunic.

  Suri’s jaw tightened. He’s losing.

  And then, Wor-en threw another bomb directly at her face.

  The woman didn’t even flinch this time. Her sword came up, cutting the projectile cleanly in two midair—

  And the world erupted in fire.

  A bloom of orange light flared through the snowstorm, so bright it shattered the illusion of winter for an instant. Flames clung to the woman’s cloak, racing upward, devouring fabric and air alike.

  Suri flinched, one arm raised against the heat.

  Then she saw it.

  The woman didn’t move. Didn’t scream. She stood in the middle of the inferno like a statue.

  For a heartbeat, Suri thought she’d turned to ash. Then—

  The black cloak shimmered, light rippling across its surface like oil on water. The flames snuffed out, vanishing as though pulled into the fabric itself.

  When the smoke cleared, the woman was untouched. Not a single hair burned.

  Suri blinked. “…I need that cloak,” she muttered.

  Her voice dropped low, serious now. No more jokes. No more distractions.

  Wor-en stumbled backward, chest heaving, his breath coming in ragged puffs that turned instantly to frost. His sleeve was scorched; his mana output was wild, uneven. He wouldn’t last much longer.

  Suri crouched, hands working quickly. Her illusion skill was active — half-hearted, barely holding — because her real focus was elsewhere.

  The stone in her hand was nearly finished. Smooth. Sharpened down to a cruel, unnatural edge by her craft.

  One strike. That’s all she’d need.

  Her fingers glowed faintly as she gathered energy, shaping more stones around her in a halo. Some were real, most were illusions — she wanted the woman confused, even for a breath.

  Suri smiled faintly, a whisper slipping from her lips.

  “Let's see if you can see through this one.”

  Then she threw them — dozens of stones arcing through the snowy air like a storm of silver needles.

  ….

  Suri didn’t want to use it.

  Not now. Not here.

  Her upgraded skill—an illusion sharp stone, as if alive breathing in her hand.

  If she unleashed it, Wor-en would notice — of course he would. Then the questions would come. From him. From the others. From the principal.

  And no one liked talking to the principal about their abilities.

  But she had no choice.

  If she wouldn’t act, Wor-en would die.

  Her breath misted in the cold. She steadied her trembling hand, marble energy flickering faintly around her fingertips as she prepared to unleash her transformed illusion stone into reality.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  The atmosphere shifted.

  A gust of wind — sharp, focused — cut through the battlefield like a blade. Even from her distance, she could feel it.

  Kana!

  The next instant, someone else landed beside the black-hooded woman, snow bursting around him like smoke. Suri blinked through the haze, covering her eyes.

  When the air cleared, she saw him —

  Adam. Towering, broad-shouldered, axe in hand. His shield was missing, but his stance was as steady as a fortress wall.

  “Why did he go here?” Suri muttered.

  She didn’t waste another breath. She ran. Towards them.

  The black-hooded woman was surrounded now — Wor-en, breathing hard but standing; Kana, daggers up and eyes burning; Adam, his axe looked very deadly.

  Suri arrived, sliding to a stop, staff raised. Her illusion turned reality stone still hovered somewhere in the air — spinning, waiting for her command.

  The woman looked around, calm even in defeat. Then, to Suri’s surprise, she lowered her weapon. Slowly, deliberately, she pulled back her hood.

  A pale face, heart-shaped. Red hair, almost the same shade as Suri’s.

  She dropped her one-handed sword into the snow and knelt.

  “I surrender.”

  Kana scratched the back of her head — a motion so familiar it reminded Suri of Boris. “This feels familiar,” Kana muttered.

  Suri chuckled, lowering her staff. “She’s not Roa, is she?”

  Before anyone could answer, a voice spoke from behind them.

  “About time you all stopped playing.”

  Zia emerged from the curtain of snow, staff in hand, expression unreadable.

  “Where have you been?” Kana snapped. “We needed you earlier. We almost died.”

  “Almost?” Zia arched a brow, a faint grin ghosting across her lips. “I don’t think so.”

  Kana frowned. “I swear—”

  Zia’s tone turned amused, almost taunting. “My quest says I can’t let any student die. Almost doesn’t count.”

  Her grin faded as she raised her staff. “But I’m here now — because you’re starting to believe you can’t die. And that’s when people do.”

  She pointed her staff toward the kneeling woman.

  “[Bind].”

  A circle of golden light appeared around the woman’s body, glowing faintly before tightening like invisible ropes. The woman gasped as the light coiled around her torso, freezing her arms in place.

  “She can still move her feet,” Zia said, approaching. “But she won’t be using any skills.”

  The woman’s eyes hardened. Her pale cheeks flushed red with anger.

  “You’ll pay for this,” she hissed. “An adventurer interfering in a battle between two nations? That’s an act of war!”

  Zia paused. Her eyes flicked up to the dim gray sky. When she spoke again, her voice was quiet — almost kind.

  “You have no idea, do you?”

  The woman glared but said nothing.

  “This kingdom,” Zia said softly, “is not kind to its captured enemies. Unlike yours.”

  Her words hung in the cold air.

  Then her expression changed— the faintest hint of sadness buried under her calm exterior.

  “Enjoy the air while you still can.”

  Kana’s voice cut through the silence. “That soldier… he died.”

  Zia stopped. For a long moment, she said nothing. Then she looked at Kana.

  “She’s not part of my quest,” Zia said flatly.

  The storm howled around them. No one spoke.

  …..

  Kana’s knees almost gave out beneath her. The blade in her hand trembled, slick with frost and blood that wasn’t hers. For a heartbeat, she nearly let it fall.

  It was her fault.

  They could have retreated. They should have retreated when they saw the wave of monsters cresting over the snowdrift — a living tide of claws and teeth. But she hesitated. Worse, she’d decided to stay and fight.

  Because of exp points.

  Because she thought they could handle it.

  Her breath came out uneven, mist curling in the frozen air. The metallic tang of blood hung heavy, mixed with the burnt scent of monster ichor that steamed faintly against the snow. Around her, the world felt muted — no sound except the wind whispering through broken armor.

  Was it really worth it?

  She swallowed, throat dry. Her eyes fell to the fallen man near Boris—Nalyn. His body half-buried in the drift.

  Nalyn, the northern soldier who had laughed more than anyone during campfire nights.

  He didn’t look like someone who should be dead.

  Something hot burned behind her eyes. Anger — not at the monsters, not even at the kingdom. At herself.

  Roy approached the man, he knelt on his corpse.

  Is he trying to make the soldier his summon?

  Roy looked at their direction and waved his hand.

  ….

  The air inside the cage was thick — heavy with the stink of sweat, rust, and damp stone.

  Breath came shallow for most of them, rasping like wind through old reeds. Each inhale carried the sour taste of iron and old blood. Each exhale fogged faintly in the cold air before vanishing into the dark.

  The cell wasn’t large — barely enough space for five bodies to sit without their knees touching. The walls were close, made of metal that shimmered faintly with dull runes. The symbols pulsed in a slow rhythm, like the cage itself was breathing. Every breath sent a faint hum through the air, draining the strength from their limbs.

  An enchanted cage. The kind built not just to hold bodies, but also sealed their skills.

  The four other captives were slumped against the bars, barely conscious. Their breaths came ragged, uneven — a discordant rhythm that echoed in the silence. Only one still sat upright.

  Prince J.

  His once-regal face was almost unrecognizable. Bruises bloomed dark across his cheeks and jaw, his lips cracked and dry. Blood had dried at the corner of his mouth, a brown smear against pale skin. The flicker of the runes threw long shadows across his features, carving his exhaustion deeper into his expression.

  Still, his eyes — blue as cut sapphire — burned faintly in the dark.

  A voice broke the silence.

  “Don’t look so sad,” one of the patrolling guards said, boots crunching against the frost-bitten ground. His armor rattled softly with each step. The torch in his hand sputtered, casting orange light over the iron bars. “Those cages will be filled up soon.”

  The guard stopped before the cell, smirking. The smell of smoke and stale wine clung to him.

  Prince J lifted his head slowly, eyes narrowing, the faintest tremor in his jaw.

  “It will be filled,” the guard continued, “with the kingdom’s finest students.”

  He let the words linger, twisting them like a knife.

  Silence followed — broken only by the steady drip of water from somewhere unseen. The drops hit stone with a sound like slow ticking — marking time in that dim place.

  Prince J’s hands clenched weakly in his lap. His breath came heavier now — not from pain, but from the effort of keeping rage contained.

  The guard leaned closer to the bars, torchlight spilling across the prince’s bruised face. “The letter should be delivered to your father soon,” he said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “The things we want in exchange for your life. But I’m not sure about the students.”

  The flame hissed. For a moment, the rune’s glow dimmed — enough that darkness swallowed the cage whole.

  And in that moment, as the guard turned away, Prince J exhaled slowly through his nose. Steam rolled from his lips in the cold.

  He whispered something — words too soft for the guard to hear.

  But if one could see into his eyes, they’d know.

  He wasn’t broken yet.