Looking at the hideous Rank I monster, Adam took a step back, leaving Zev to face the human-faced tarantula.
He had brought him here precisely for that reason: to confront him with the unknown, to force him to bleed, to move, to think.
His performance in the hallway had made that clear. He had reacted well, but he thought slowly.
He lacked sharpness.
Adam didn't blame him. It was natural. True experience cannot be learned from books or cultivated.
You win by risking your life.
He leaned against the wall of the room, took an apple out of his leather bag, and began to bite into it calmly.
His gaze was not fixed on the creature.
It was fixed on Zev.
He was ready to intervene if his life was truly in danger.
...
Zev, his eyes vacant and his body covered in wounds, was breathing heavily. His fingers, numb and trembling, clenched tightly around the hilt of the sword, feeling the cold metal against his sweaty palm.
He took a few deep breaths to relax his body.
