The clash of steel against fang echoed through the chamber like a drumbeat of survival. Sparks danced in fleeting bursts of light every time Loren's blade intercepted Erebus's monstrous strikes. To the untrained eye, it might have looked like a duel of equals—one man pitting his skill against a beast forged from shadow.
But to the squad watching from the edge of the chamber, it was something else entirely.
Mia Frostine stood at the front, her eyes locked on the battlefield. She had fought creatures beyond number in her short life—yet this wolf unsettled her more than any of them. Not because of its power, though that was undeniable, but because of how it wielded that power.
The wolf wasn't fighting to kill. It was withholding.
Every time Vance swung his blade, Erebus met him with just enough force to keep the duel balanced. Every dodge, every sidestep, every claw that came within a hair's breadth of tearing him apart—it all carried the same rhythm. Deliberate restraint.
"Do you see it?" Lisa whispered beside her, her hand tightening on the haft of her staff. "That beast… it could've ended him five times already. It's toying with him, Mia. Just like the devil wants."
Mia didn't answer at once. Her gaze followed Vance as he staggered back from another exchange, his shoulders heaving, sweat pouring down his brow. His arms shook, but his eyes—his eyes burned with stubborn pride.
"I see it," Mia said finally. Her voice was calm, but there was a tension in it, as though weighing more than one truth. "The wolf is holding back. That much is clear."
Lisa frowned. "Then why isn't he dead yet?"
"Because the devil doesn't want him dead," Mia replied, her tone sharp. She turned slightly, her eyes flicking to the figure seated in the shadows at the far end of the chamber. The devil still hadn't moved, still hadn't spoken since the fight began. But the weight of its presence filled the air, heavy and suffocating, like an invisible chain tightening around them all.
It was watching. Measuring.
Not just Loren. All of them.
Sylvia stood a little further back, her arms crossed. She didn't look worried, not exactly, but there was an edge in her expression. "This isn't just a fight. It's a theater. That devil is using the wolf to… test us. Or maybe entertain itself. Look at him." She tilted her chin toward the seated figure. "He's not even blinking."
Zion, leaning on his spear at the back, gave a quiet grunt. "Tests… or bait. Wolves don't play with prey. They kill. This isn't the wolf's idea—it's the devil's. He's the one who wants to see how far Vance will go before breaking."
The words carried weight. Everyone knew Zion wasn't one to exaggerate.
Lisa looked back to the fight, her lips pressing tight. Loren had just unleashed another sweeping arc of his Pride Hunter Style, sparks showering the floor as his blade met claw. He roared with triumph, mistaking survival for dominance.
"Then he's already failed," Lisa muttered. "Because he doesn't even realize he's dancing to the devil's tune."
But Mia's eyes narrowed at that. She saw something the others didn't.
"Not failed," she said, her voice almost too quiet to hear at first. Then, louder: "Not yet."
The others glanced at her, confusion and doubt clear on their faces.
Mia kept watching Loren, her sharp gaze cutting past his bravado and sweat. "He's not just flailing. Look closely. Every time the wolf lunges, he's adjusting. His Pride Hunter Style—it's adapting faster than I expected. He's still standing not because the wolf is holding back alone, but because he's meeting the beast's rhythm step for step."
Lisa blinked. "You mean…"
"I mean there's more in him than we've given credit for," Mia said firmly. "I don't like his arrogance. I don't trust his pride. But right now—here—he's proving he can fight. Maybe not like Hiro, maybe not like Misha. But in his own way."
Sylvia raised an eyebrow. "You think he can win?"
Mia's answer was slow, deliberate. "I think… he can endure longer than any of us thought."
The words carried weight, and for a moment silence hung over the group, broken only by the clash of sword and fang.
Loren's voice echoed across the chamber, loud and brash as ever:
"Today, my name shall be etched into the record of heroes."
He launched another strike, sweat dripping from his jaw, eyes blazing with defiance. The wolf twisted, dodged, and shoved him back with a casual swipe of its paw. Dust billowed. Loren coughed, spat blood, then grinned through cracked lips.
The group's reactions were mixed. Zion shook his head, unimpressed. Lisa winced, muttering a quiet prayer under her breath. Sylvia exhaled slowly, clearly unconvinced but not dismissive.
But Mia—she kept her eyes steady.
What the others saw as arrogance, she read as desperation wielded like armor. What they saw as foolish bravado, she recognized as the spark of something that, under different circumstances, might one day burn into strength.
She didn't deny the truth: the wolf was toying with him, and if it chose to strike in earnest, Loren would not last a heartbeat. But until that moment came, every second he survived was proof that he wasn't entirely the fool they believed.
"Maybe that's the devil's true test," Mia murmured, half to herself. "Not whether he wins, but how long he can resist before breaking."
Her words hung in the air, unsettled but heavy with meaning.
For deep down, she knew—whether Loren Vance realized it or not, whether the others wanted to admit it or not—he did have more in him than empty titles and arrogance. And if he could endure this trial, even in failure, then perhaps he had a place among them after all.
The fight raged on, sparks and growls filling the chamber. The devil's gaze never wavered. And Mia's heart, steady as steel, kept searching for the truth buried beneath Loren's pride.
Because if she was right… then maybe he wasn't the only one being tested. Official source ıs 𝕟𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕝✶𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕖✶𝕟𝕖𝕥