The silence of the slumbering city filled his mind with ease. The distant neon lights flickering below the hill grew blurry as beads of sweat trickled down his forehead and into his eye.

"Ah..."

His breath, cold and white, dispersed into the surroundings as his muscles arched and tensed, bulging.

"10..."

Whispering softly, his gaze focused on the silver blade in his hand, his palms firmly wrapped around its hilt, tightening along with his muscles as the coldness of the steel penetrated his skin.

"10..."

Like a command, he whispered once more, his shoulders growing stiff, his feet tightening as he raised the blade with pure focus and discipline—only to bring it down in a clumsy and awkward swing.

"....11."

Paying no heed to his imperfect swing, he raised the blade up once more, his breath growing steady and his sapphire eyes gleaming with burning determination.

"12," he repeated.

"13... 14... 15..."

Unlike before, where he paused to catch his breath, the next three swings were done in quick succession. They were flawed—too imperfect—and enough to make most swordmasters facepalm. But Art didn't care. He was the only one here.

Here, he could cut loose, be himself—his imperfect self. So he didn't care how bad his swings were, how undisciplined his stance was, or how tired he was. He continued to swing. From fifteen, he reached twenty. From twenty, he reached forty. And once his body had grown hot, his muscles strained to their limit, and his heart pounded uncontrollably, he stopped.

"....pant... fuck..."

He fell on his butt in exhaustion, his breath erratic and his body drenched in sweat.

It has been almost a full week since he awakened his intent and a day since he was made the Gatekeeper for the upcoming rank games.

It was currently a Saturday—quite early, to be exact—and he found himself on a hillside within Academia City.

He had come here for two particular reasons: to train with the sword and to hunt a mana beast.

"I'll rest for some time and hunt those pricks later."

Laying his head on the soft ground of the hill, his chest rose and fell while his hair, scattered back from his position, fluttered lightly under the caress of the soft midnight breeze.

Sword training was hard—particularly for him, who had no background in wielding weapons. He wasn't talented like Trish, who naturally had an affinity for swords due to her genes, nor did he have time like Grim, who had trained for years to become proficient in many weapons.

Judging by how long Villier was taking to return, it meant he had made contact with someone he shouldn't have—meaning him being the first boss was still a possibility.

Since he was the only one who knew of the future betrayal, Art wanted to be strong enough to kill him before he brought any harm. But...

"It's true I need strength to defeat him, but what if...? Yes, that might actually work."

He wasn't much of a schemer—mainly because the information he had of the game's world was still not fully recovered—but that didn't mean he couldn't take some creative liberties.

If Villier made contact with someone he shouldn't have, Art was confident he would know because his mannerisms would change. So if he ever did, then Art would have to take a few pages out of Grim's book.

A slow death.

And as Villier's assistant, he was confident he could pull that off. The best part about poisoning was the ability to control its dosage—hence, the time of death.

"Keep it slow enough that he wouldn't die until he pulled off the betrayal... Then, when he's weakened, eliminate him."

Having formulated the first of two plans to deal with Villier, he realized he was being quite like Grim, making him wonder how just a few days of interaction had done this to him.

Thinking and thinking and getting nowhere, he soon sprang up once he was full of energy and took up the silver blade that lay beside him.

"There should be a beast den around here."

Surveying the forest expansion that lay behind him, he tried circulating aura throughout his body to improve his senses as his glowing gaze pierced deep through the cracks in the forest.

Taking note of the trees and their branches, the leaf-filled grounds, the streams of water bodies, and the massive caves all ahead, he shrugged, his breath soft to the ears.

"Combat experience."

Muttering coldly, he stepped forward, commanding the golden aura that cloaked his figure to die out.

He was going to hunt a mana beast—that was his main objective for coming to this desolate place at this hour.

After his fight with Grim, he had done a bit of reviewing and came to the realization of one major fact about himself.

No, it wasn't that he didn't know how to use a weapon—but something even more important.

He lacked real-life combat experience.

He had only engaged in spars so far, and a real fight was completely different from a spar.

For instance, if his fight with Grim had been real combat, her coating wouldn't have been focused on her fists but rather her fingernails.

Real combat had two outcomes: defeat and death.

For defeat, she would have primarily focused on breaking his spirit by bombarding him with her intent.

Ultimately, he would have been broken from the sheer gap in strength. But unlike in the spar, where she gave him time to think it over, she would have then focused on knocking him out before he could overcome the feeling of inferiority.

Then came scenario two: murder—which Grim was really good at.

Since she was superior but also lacking a proper weapon, she would have used her fingernails, sharpened and enhanced by aura.

For a painless death, she would have slit his throat. For a painful and slow death, she would have accumulated cuts on his body and allowed the loss of blood to deal him the finishing blow.

This would have been Grim's combat strategy.

Ruthless and lethal.

This was something he could only predict because he knew the character so well. But living beings go through something known as "change" , and that could factor into their fighting style—making all his predictions useless.

Right now, he didn't need clairvoyance—he needed his own combat sense, which could only be built from real combat experience.

He needed to know how to fight, how to maintain his composure, and how to be unpredictable to his foes. And what better way to do that than hunting the invasive species accumulating in the forest?

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