Chapter 109: Col’s Determination

E-rank dungeon,

Drevin and Col returned swiftly, their boots echoing lightly against the damp stone as the rest of Class Caelis turned toward them expectantly. Both of them were slightly out of breath, but their eyes carried sharpness — they had seen enough to give a proper report.

“We scouted the chamber,” Drevin began, his midnight-blue hair damp with sweat. “Just like we suspected, instead of one settlement, there are two.”

That alone caused murmurs among the students, but Drevin lifted his hand to quiet them. “The groups are divided clearly. One side bears a white circle on a black flag, the other a white X. The distance between them isn’t large — close enough to glare at one another, not close enough to clash.”

Col nodded firmly. “Each side controls one gateway. The X-flag goblins use the right-side passage. The Circle-flag goblins use the left. And between both groups, pressed against the far wall…” He paused, remembering the strange sight. “…a pond. Looks Artificial. Small but deep, fed by water flowing from the mouth of a carved dragon statue. The water drains somewhere unseen, because it never overflows.”

Felrin adjusted his glasses, already scribbling notes into a small pad. They’re tolerating one another for survival. Water in a dungeon is too valuable to risk losing.”

Lia’s pink eyes narrowed. “Then our plan might work even better. If the corpses are placed in the right spot, the water source itself could become the center of their conflict. Both groups will fight over it once suspicion arises.”

Maera folded her arms, her dark purplish hair catching the faint light. “The escape routes?”

Drevin replied, “Only the gateways That I told you about , three in total. The one we came from, plus the two controlled by each tribe. Once the fighting starts, some of us have to block those gates fiercely. If we want to strike, it has to be quick and from the shadows — otherwise we’ll be caught in the middle.”

Jax smirked. “All the better. A proper brawl right before lunch.”

Selene slapped the back of his head. “Idiot, you’ll be lunch if you treat this lightly.”

The group chuckled softly, but the tension was there. They all understood that this wasn’t some classroom spar. It was a dungeon, and every mistake could cost lives.

Maera finally straightened, her tone commanding. “Then it’s decided. We use the corpses to ignite their hatred. Drevin— you’ll guide the one chosen to plant them at the right spots. Once the chaos begins, we strike the survivors hard and clean.”

Her eyes swept over the class. “The question is… who among us has the skill to deliver the corpses unnoticed?”

The students looked at each other in silence, the weight of her words hanging in the cold, damp air of the dungeon.

Col’s voice was steady when he spoke.

“I’ll do it.”

Heads turned. For a moment, the only sound was the distant drip of water and the soft scrape of leather as students shifted their stances.

Maera’s eyes narrowed as she studied him. “Are you sure, Col Alven? You’re a scout—we can choose someone else. It’s dangerous.”

Col met her gaze without flinching. “No. I’ll do it. I am a scout. That’s precisely why I should. I know the exact route to the corner; I saw every patrol route and where they pass to the water. My specialty is stealth and speed. I can place the corpses and return before anyone notices.”

There was a silence as the class weighed his words. Drevin gave the slightest nod—an unspoken vote of confidence. Felrin adjusted his glasses and looked approvingly at the map he’d drawn in the dirt. Even Jax’s grin went quiet for once.

Maera considered him for a long breath, then exhaled and gave an order. “Fine. You’ll do it, Col. But listen—place the bodies at designated area . Stay hiddem. If anything goes wrong, retreat immediately and signal us.”

Col inclined his head. “Understood.”

Maera added one more detail, her voice low and precise. “Once the corpses are placed and the fight breaks out, we won’t rush in. We’ll move slowly—edge closer under cover, take vantage points until the goblins’ numbers reduced , and only then strike. Do not charge. Do not bait. We pick them off when they’re vulnerable.”

Lia’s expression was hard with planning. “Drevin, report back every ten minutes. If you even smell an alarm being raised, pull back immediately. Keep communication clear—shouts only to signal danger. Otherwise, whisper.”

“Maera said. “Stay Calm . Rations stay light. Keep your mana reserves. If any of you feel overwhelmed, use the calming technique. Don’t let fear make choices for you.”

The students finalized their equipment quickly—bolts checked, pouches strapped, cloaks adjusted to blend with the stone. A hush settled over them not born of fear but of focus.

Col slipped the two lifeless goblin bodies into a heavy sack, the smell of damp earth clinging to the rough fabric. He cinched the bag tight and shouldered it with careful ease, testing the weight. The others watched for a beat—then turned away to avoid tempting fate with their gazes.

“Go now,” Maera whispered. “And be back before the first bell of chaos rings.”

Col ran into the darkness like a shadow released. He moved with the patient silence. The torchlight from the settlement’s perimeter burned faint ahead

Behind him, the rest of Class Caelis settled into waiting positions—tense, poised, every sense tuned. The plan had begun.

—

Col stood before the looming gateway, shadows stretching out from the torchlit walls of the dungeon. In the distance, across the chamber, the two goblin settlements sprawled against opposite sides—the crude wooden stakes of their borders glowing faintly under scattered fire pits.

He shut his eyes for a moment, drawing in a deep breath. The weight of the sack in his hands pressed down heavily, the lifeless body inside reminding him of his mission. His fingers tightened around the rough fabric as he whispered to himself, steady and low,

“Let’s go.”

A surge of green aura flared to life around him, moss-colored light wrapping his body like flowing wind and roots.

“Gale Stride Arts.”

The spell took hold, and in the next instant, Col shot forward. His steps barely kissed the stone, his figure blurring across the chamber as he angled himself toward the narrow gap between the two goblin encampments. It was reckless, dangerous—one mistake would mean discovery—but he had no choice. Time was everything. If he looped around either settlement, he’d lose precious minutes, and the plan would collapse before it even began.

He gritted his teeth, eyes locked on the slim passageway.

But then he froze mid-stride.

Just ahead, where the path should have been clear, ten goblins stood in a loose cluster, snarling and hissing at each other. Their guttural sounds echoed across the chamber.

“Keihhk—”

“Kehhkkk—”

Col’s eyes widened. What? Impossible…

By all their scouting and careful observation, there should only have been two guards patrolling at this hour. Not ten. The sack suddenly felt heavier on his back. His breath faltered, panic crawling at the edge of his mind.

What do I do? What do I—

And then, like a spark cutting through the storm, Zane’s voice echoed in his memory.

“Use the technique when you need focus and calmness.”

Col’s chest tightened, then steadied. He inhaled deeply, forcing the fear down. While sprinting, he let his eyelids fall shut. The world around him blurred as the rush of wind pressed against his skin. His heartbeat pounded like a war drum, wild and frantic.

He focused.

“Iron Pulse.”

The name of the technique reverberated in his mind. His breath slowed, rhythm aligning with each step. His heart, once chaotic, synced with the flow of mana coursing through him. With each beat, power surged into his legs, his lungs, his core. The pounding of his steps quieted into silence, his body no longer heavy but light, sharp, precise.

It was as if the dungeon itself faded away.

The world narrowed to a single path.

Col opened his eyes. The chaos, the fear—all of it washed away. In their place was clarity, a razor-edged calm.

The ten goblins were still there, still bickering with snarls and snapping teeth—but now, through them, he could see it. A line, faint yet undeniable, winding between their shifting stances. A road invisible to all but him, revealed only in this heightened state.

His lips curved into a sharp grin.

“I can see the path. I know what to do.”

Col’s breathing was steady now, every fiber of his body in sync with the focused rhythm of Iron Pulse. The noise of the goblins ahead faded into nothing but background hum. He narrowed his eyes, waiting for the precise moment.

“Gale Stride Arts: Fleetstep Veil.”

The words slipped from his lips like a secret incantation.

In that instant, his moss-green aura thinned, then vanished completely, as if the air itself swallowed him. His figure blurred, speed erupting in a sharp burst that bent the wind. He became a whisper, a fleeting gust slipping between shadows.

The goblins stiffened. Their guttural growls stopped as a sudden draft brushed past them.

“Kehhhk?”

“Keihhh?”

They glanced around, confused, sniffing the air, weapons half-raised. But by the time they looked, Col was already gone—nothing but a faint ripple in the grass behind them.

He reappeared in silence, crouched low, safely beyond the two villages. His chest rose and fell once, sharp but controlled, before he whispered, almost unconsciously,

“Thanks… Professor Zane.”

Releasing Iron Pulse, he allowed his heart and mana to slow back into normal rhythm, conserving what remained of his strength. His legs trembled faintly, but his focus remained. The pond wasn’t far.

Col crept through the thickets, slipping into a bush just at the edge of the water source. The artificial pond surface disturbed by the steady trickle of water flowing from the dragon statue’s mouth. He crouched, eyes narrowing.

Two paths led here. One from the Circle-Flag tribe’s settlement, the other from the X-Flag tribe’s side. If their plan was to work, the corpses had to be placed in those precise paths—clear markers of betrayal.

Moving with quiet precision, Col shouldered the sack again. First, he made his way toward the X-Flag tribe’s path, carefully laying down the corpse of the slain successor. He adjusted the necklace around its neck, setting it just as before, a deliberate sign the goblins could not mistake.

Then, with a practiced breath, he carried out the same task along the Circle-Flag path, placing the other corpse with equal care. Not a single goblin had noticed his movement. Not a single alarm was raised.

His work was done.

Retracing his steps with the same cautious strategy, Col once again engaged Fleetstep Veil at the critical moment, gliding past the goblins undetected. By the time he reached the gateway, his heart thundered with the aftermath of speed, but he was safe.

Drevin was waiting, arms crossed, his sharp eyes flicking over Col. A smirk tugged at his lips.

“Good. For a moment there, I thought you were going to fail.”

Col exhaled, dropping the sack at his feet. Sweat clung to his brow, but his eyes gleamed with calm relief.

“It’s all thanks to Iron Pulse. Without it, I’d have panicked. But with it… I was able to think clearly, move precisely.”

Drevin nodded once, the faintest approval glinting in his gaze.

“Good. Now,” he said, stepping back to peer toward the chamber. “We wait.”

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