Marcus fired again, the bullets streaking like fiery cots, aid straight at the wyrm’s glittering crystalline eyes.
But it was no use.
A sudden, forceful stream of water erupted, intercepting the bullets midair. The shots sizzled and evaporated instantly, swallowed by the pressurized torrent before they could even graze the beast’s scales.
The wyrm’s water stream wasn’t just a random attack—it originated from a narrow slit directly between its eyes, a built-in high-powered nozzle. This small, almost inconspicuous opening unleashed a relentless blast, fed directly from the vast subterranean lake beneath them. It was a natural weapon honed by evolution—impossible to outlast in a prolonged fight.
"It’s catching up!" Cynthia’s voice cracked with urgency as she tightened her grip on Marcus, the wind magic struggling to carry their soaked bodies swiftly away from the advancing nace.
"And there’s no telling when we’ll hit a dead end!" she added breathlessly, eyes darting around the cavern’s jagged walls.
Marcus grunted in frustration, continuing to fire, but every bullet was annihilated by the watery defense.
Think Marcus.
Think!
No way that professor would send us here without any precautions...
Suddenly, realization struck him like a bolt of lightning.
The wristband!
The professor’s gift wasn’t just a useless trinket or simple pairing device. It was a tracking beacon.
Now the professor’s vague promise about "saving them when things go south" made sense, no matter how vast this cavern was—if they wore the wristband, the professor could pinpoint their location precisely.
But what if one of those wristbands suddenly got destroyed...?
Then that ans a student should be in danger...
Which ans...
He should have to intervene!
"I got it!" Marcus yelled, pain still hamring his skull, but his voice held an edge of manic excitent, like a gambler going all-in on a desperate bet.
He cackled, teeth flashing in the dim light. "Let go! I have a plan!"
Cynthia shook her head fiercely, desperation thick in her voice. "No! I’m not doing that! Even if it gives us a chance, it’s way too risky!"
"I can’t let you die!" she cried, sweat gleaming on her brow as her mana thinned, the gusts of wind she conjured barely holding them above the water’s deadly reach.
Marcus smiled bitterly inside. How cute, you actually care.
But it was clear she wouldn’t loosen her grip.
Guess I have to do this—
He turned toward Cynthia, her face tight with focus as she maneuvered through the cavern, dodging deadly streams with sharp twists and dives, wind magic fighting a losing battle against the wyrm’s relentless assault.
"I’ll say sorry for this later!" Marcus shouted, grinning wildly.
Please work...
"What do you a—" Cynthia started, but Marcus cut her off with a sudden, soft peck on her cheek.
Cynthia’s eyes widened, warmth flooding her cheeks as the unexpected gesture sent a shock through them both. Her fingers trembled, loosening their grip—a heartbeat suspended between surprise and unspoken worry.
"What...?" she whispered, voice trembling.
That was all Marcus needed.
With a burst of strength, he tore free from Cynthia’s hold, pain and adrenaline mingling into a reckless clarity. He wasn’t sure if this plan would work, or if his brain was scrambling under the pain—but he had no choice.
"Marcus!"
Cynthia’s voice cracked through the roaring cavern air, desperation threading every syllable. She stretched out a trembling hand, but her mana reserves were nearly depleted—too weak to shift the stubborn, unforgiving wind swirling around them.
The currents refused to bend, slipping past her like water through fingers, leaving Marcus just out of reach as he surged downward.
As Marcus plumted toward the lake’s surface, the wyrm lunged like a hungry lion aiming to swallow a helpless cat whole.
"Sup, fuckface..." Marcus chuckled, eyes gleaming with wild defiance as the wyrm’s massive maw yawned wide, teeth glinting like jagged blades.
He bared his own teeth, biting fiercely into the leafy wristband wrapped around his wrist, ripping it free with a sharp snap.
"HAHAHAHA!" He cackled, life flashing before his eyes.
The torn wristband now stuck between his teeth, a small piece dangling as a silent talisman of desperation.
Silence fell over the cavern, thick and heavy.
Just a heartbeat later, a voice rang out—amused, powerful, almost godlike.
"Oh-ho..."
The voice echoed through every corner of the cave, freezing the wyrm, Marcus, and Cynthia mid-motion—as if ti itself had been halted.
"What an intriguing find..." the voice mused.
It wasn’t just a voice.
It was Trearch’s voice.
Suddenly, cold air rippled through the cavern. Reality itself seed to thin.
Trearch materialized between Marcus and the wyrm, stepping out of shadows like a force of nature. His blindfold glowed faintly, the air humming with an ancient, unnerving power that silenced the very water around them.
"Smart choice, Ravenfield..." Trearch chuckled softly. "Rest for a while, brat."
Without a rune in sight, the very water and stone obeyed his whim.
In an instant, the entire subterranean lake transford. Water rippled and shimred, then blossod into a sprawling field of roses—petals unfurling in surreal beauty, covering the cavern floor without a single rune or incantation visible.
The wyrm continued to stay frozen in fear, its crystalline scales clicking like glass as it recoiled from the sudden blossom of roses. Water stopped dripping; even its rumbling breath humd to a halt, as if nature itself held its breath at Trearch’s command.
Trearch’s smile never faltered. It was unsettling, almost otherworldly.
Without warning, Marcus and Cynthia were teleported—not by the familiar shimr of academy runes, but in an instant, like a blink.
No warning mana flared, no portal opened—just a sudden shift of reality.
They landed on the rose-strewn ground, several kiloters behind Trearch and the wyrm.
Cynthia staggered as rose petals sifted around her like blood-red snow, each soft petal a surreal whisper against her soaked uniform. She blinked, disoriented, before realizing Marcus was at her side—his eyes alight with equal parts relief and astonishnt.
"Now then... with them out of the way," Trearch’s voice deepened, dark and commanding.
"I’ll take care of you."
His staff blazed with an ethereal light, vines sprouting and twisting up the wooden shaft like living serpents ready to strike.
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