Vol3 Chapter 12 Offended

Amos looked toward the enormous concentration of players and his smile widened.

"This is going to be fun."

Estelle followed his gaze.

The center of the safe zone had become a battlefield. No. Calling it a battlefield was almost too simple. It was simply just pure uncontrolled chaos. Hundreds of applicants had been forced into the same region by the shrinking boundary. Teams that had spent the examination avoiding one another were suddenly colliding. Lone applicants darted between groups, looking for openings. Spells flashed across the field. Swords struck shields. Temporary artifacts activated one after another.

BOOM!

A fireball exploded against a stone wall.

CRACK!

An earth barrier shot up just in time to block a spear. Three applicants charged at a lone swordsman, who turned to face them.

SHING!

One badge flew.

Flash.

Another applicant disappeared. Then the swordsman himself was struck from behind.

Click.

Flash.

Amos stared. "..." His smile grew wider. "This is beautiful."

Estelle looked at him.

"Beautiful?"

"Yes."

A group of applicants screamed as an enormous stone construct crashed through their formation.

BOOOOOOM!

Amos pointed.

"Look at that."

Estelle looked.

"...?"

"Pure chaos."

"Yes."

"No plan."

"Perhaps they have one."

"Then it is a really bad one."

Another blast rattled the battlefield. Amos crossed his arms, scanning the chaos from one fight to the next. Four hundred and twelve. Soon, only three hundred would be left. That meant at least one hundred and twelve still had to be taken out. And now, everyone was stuck together. He could sense it—the whole battlefield was shifting.

Earlier, the examination had been a hunt but now you could feel that it is the final circle.

His fingers twitched. "..." He really wanted in. Desperately.

His eyes scanned the battlefield. A group of seven applicants clung to a crumbling tower, while another team guarded their wounded behind a tight defensive line. A lone mage perched atop a shattered wall hurled spells at anyone daring to come close. In the distance, two massive alliances were already colliding.

And somewhere—

BOOOOOOM!

A red-haired figure smashed straight through a barrier.

Amos blinked.

"...Is that Chester?"

From the distance came a familiar voice.

"HAHAHAHAHAHA!"

Amos nodded.

"That's definitely Chester."

Estelle watched the distant destruction.

"He appears happy."

"I understand him."

Amos stepped forward, then again, his pulse quickening. The fatigue from outrunning the boundary was already slipping away, replaced by a surge of excitement. He rolled one shoulder then the other, to be ready for whatever came next.

"Alright."

Estelle looked at him.

"Are you going?"

Amos glanced back.

"Obviously."

He pointed toward the battlefield.

"There are one hundred and twelve eliminations between us and passing."

Estelle considered this.

"That is true."

"And I have badges to collect."

"Is that so?"

"And players to hunt."

Estelle blinked.

"...Players?"

Amos paused.

"Applicants."

"I see."

He turned back to the battlefield, shifting his foot as mana surged through his legs. In the next instant, he was ready to launch forward—

Twang.

Amos’s expression changed as the sound reached him—faint at first, barely there. But after Mira—he recognized it instantly. His gaze darted. An arrow sliced through the air. Fast. Far too fast for an ordinary shot. It had come from beyond the western ruins, slipping between two clashing groups before streaking across the open field.

He came straight at him, but Amos shifted his body and stepped aside.

SHIIIIING!

The arrow passed his face.

"..."

For a brief moment, Amos just watched. Then his eyes widened Estelle was right behind him. The Saint Candidate had turned slightly toward an injured applicant, unaware of the danger. The arrow kept flying, straight toward her. Amos sprang into action, his hand shooting out.

CLACK!

The arrow halted mid-flight. Estelle blinked, the arrowhead hanging just inches from her white-and-gold attire. Beside her, Amos gripped the shaft firmly in one hand.

"..."

Estelle looked at the arrow. Then at Amos.

"Thank you."

Amos stayed silent, his gaze locked on the arrow in his hand. For a fleeting moment, an image came to mind—green hair, long ears, a bow. Mira? No. His eyes narrowed. Wrong. This shot was different. Mira’s arrows curved, adapted, shifted mid-flight, capable of bending with the chaos of battle. This one had been loosed with sheer speed and brute force, tearing through the fray. And more than anything—the angle was off. Amos slowly turned his head toward the distant ruins.

"...Not her."

Estelle tilted her head.

"Her?"

"Someone I know."

His fingers tightened around the arrow.

Crack.

A faint crack traced its way along the shaft. Amos glanced in the direction it had come from, then turned back to Estelle, her figure haloed in a holy glow. Nearby, the injured applicants were starting to gather—one clutching a wounded arm, another struggling to stay on their feet, a third leaning heavily on a friend. Estelle’s gaze was already on them, naturally. Amos’s eyebrow gave a small twitch.

"Seriously?"

Estelle blinked.

"What is it?"

Amos lifted the arrow.

"This."

"An arrow."

"I know it's an arrow."

"Yes."

Amos inhaled.

"You were just aimed at."

Estelle nodded.

"Yes."

"You're a medic."

She thought for a moment.

"I suppose."

Amos looked toward the distant ruins again and his expression darkened.

"Then what kind of idiot shoots at the medic?"

Estelle blinked.

"This is a combat examination."

"Doesn't matter."

Amos snapped the arrow in half.

CRACK!

Several nearby applicants flinched. He threw the broken pieces aside.

"There are rules."

Estelle looked genuinely curious.

"Are there?"

"Yes."

"What rules?"

"My rules."

"...I see."

Amos stepped forward, his earlier smile fading—not entirely, but enough to be replaced by something worse: a calm, measured look. The kind Elena would instantly recognize as trouble. He rolled his neck once, then fixed his gaze on the western ruins.

"Don't they know..."

Mana gathered around his body. The ground beneath his foot cracked.

"...they shouldn't target the medics?"

BOOM!

He vanished with a jump.

Estelle's cloak fluttered violently from the sudden burst of air.

"..."

She watched him vanish into the chaos of the battlefield, then turned her gaze to the injured applicants nearby. One of them kept staring in the direction Amos had gone.

"...Was he angry?"

Estelle considered the question.

"Yes."

The applicant swallowed knowing that it might be them if they tried anything with Estelle.

"It appears to be so."

The wounded applicant looked toward the direction Amos had vanished.

"I almost feel bad for them."

Estelle calmly walked over.

"Please sit."

"Right."

***

Amos stepped onto the battlefield fast—though not Gale Striders fast, those days were over. But he had never needed anything else to be dangerous.

A swordsman turned.

"Kyros?!"

Click.

Flash.

Amos grabbed his badge without breaking stride, and another applicant noticed.

"WAIT!"

Amos ducked under the spear, his hand darting into action.

Click.

Flash.

A mage cast a spell, and Amos quickly moved to the left.

BOOM!

The spell struck the ground.

"Where?"

His gaze swept over the battlefield. Another arrow shot out from the distant ruins. Amos spotted it—this time, not aimed at him, but at someone else.

SHIIIIING!

The applicant just managed to get their shield up in time, and Amos’s eyes narrowed with focus.

"...There."

He veered off course.

A group of five stood in the way. One lifted his sword.

"Stop!"

Amos didn’t slow down. The first took a swing, but Amos stepped into the strike and drove an elbow forward. The applicant staggered back.

Click.

Flash.

Second.

The spear shot forward. Amos twisted, seized the shaft, and yanked it hard, sending the applicant stumbling toward him.

Click.

Flash.

Third.

A magic circle appeared, and Amos casually kicked a stone lying on the ground.

CRACK!

The stone hit the applicant’s wrist, and the spell fell apart.

Click.

Flash.

The remaining two froze. Amos looked at them.

"..."

They looked at him.

"..."

One stepped aside slowly, and the other followed suit. Amos gave a nod.

"Good choice."

He rushed past them. Both applicants stayed quiet, until one leaned in and whispered.

"...Did we just survived?"

The other shook his head.

"No."

He pointed down. Both badges were gone.

"..."

Flash.

Flash.

***

High above, the academy viewing halls erupted.

"HE'S HUNTING AGAIN!"

"WHY?!"

"Someone shot at him!"

The magical screen shifted, revealing an arrow. Amos stepped aside, with Estelle standing just behind him. In a swift motion, his hand caught it, and the viewing hall fell silent.

"O0h."

A student slowly leaned back.

"That person almost hit the Saint Candidate."

Another winced.

"That's bad."

A third frowned.

"It's a battle royale. Attacking her isn't forbidden."

"No."

The first student pointed toward the screen.

"Not bad because of the rules."

On-screen, Amos smashed through another group.

Click.

Flash.

Click.

Flash.

Click.

Flash.

The student swallowed.

"Bad because Kyros apparently took it personally."

***

Inside the observation tower, the professors watched.

"..."

"..."

"..."

The youngest professor finally spoke.

"Should we be concerned?"

The elderly woman adjusted her glasses.

"About what?"

On the screen, Amos navigated the battlefield with chilling precision. He was tracking. Every few seconds, another arrow shot out from the western ruins, and each time, Amos shifted his course. Russell watched in silence, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

"He is triangulating the shooter."

The younger professor blinked.

"From the arrows?"

"From their trajectories."

***

Another arrow soared through the air. Amos watched it streak overhead, his gaze tracking its path—direction, angle, height, and the pull of the wind."...Closer."

He ran. An applicant charged him from the side.

"KYROS!"

Amos looked.

"Bad timing."

Click.

Flash.

He pressed on, the ruins looming ahead. Broken stone towers jutted into the sky, their shadows stretching over collapsed walls. Dozens of applicants clashed in the rubble, their shouts echoing through the air. Somewhere within—

Twang.

Amos froze, eyes going wide as an arrow shot through a gap in the ruins, speeding straight toward him. He grinned.

"Found you."

The arrow struck him, and Amos simply tilted his head.

SHIIIIING!

It passed him. He stepped forward.

Then—

Flash.

Phantom Step kicked in, and the last burst of energy vanished. In a blink, twenty meters were gone, and Amos appeared atop a crumbling wall, leaving several applicants frozen in place.

"..."

Amos looked down.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

A group of archers had taken over the ruins—none of them Mira, and not a single elf among them. At the center stood an applicant with a longbow, fingers already reaching for another arrow as their eyes locked.

"..."

Amos smiled, the archer froze, and then Amos crouched."Hello."

"...Kyros."

Amos's smile widened.

"You almost ruin my effort."

The archer stared.

"...Your what?"

Amos launched forward.

BOOOOOOM!