The first step forward was arrogance.
And Bran felt it shatter the moment he entered striking range.
He had assumed there would be a rhythm.
A shift in stance.
A tell.
Something.
There was nothing.
The man in front of him didn't prepare.
Didn't adjust.
Didn't even breathe differently.
Then—
He vanished.
Not fast.
Gone.
Bran's perception caught it too late—not the movement, but the absence. One moment the man occupied space… the next, that space was empty, and the danger had already moved.
Impact came from the side.
A fist—not wild, not heavy—but placed—drove into Bran's lower ribs at an angle that bypassed muscle and struck the vulnerable gap beneath.
Health: 100 → 65
The pain wasn't immediate.
That was the terrifying part.
For a fraction of a second, his body didn't understand what had happened.
Then—
Everything hit at once.
Air tore from his lungs.
His spine snapped backward.
His feet left the ground.
He crashed into the wall behind him, shoulder first, the impact twisting his torso awkwardly and amplifying the damage already done.
His body hadn't braced.
Because it couldn't.
"…Tch—!"
He pushed off instinctively—
Too early.
The second attacker was already there.
This time, Bran saw it.
A flicker.
A shift in shadow.
He tried to move—
But his body lagged behind his intention.
The strike landed across his upper back.
Not as precise.
But heavier.
Health: 65 → 41
His knees buckled.
"…They're… coordinated…"
His mind processed it faster than his body could react.
One disrupts balance.
One punishes recovery.
He wasn't fighting individuals.
He was inside a system.
The system pulsed.
"Warning: Opponent strength exceeds initial estimation."
"Recommendation: Immediate disengagement."
Bran didn't argue.
He turned—
And ran.
Not cleanly.
His breathing was already uneven, ribs tightening with every inhale. His left side lagged slightly—just enough to throw off his stride if he pushed too hard.
But he pushed anyway.
Because staying meant death.
He cut sharply through a narrow passage, forcing his body into a turn tighter than it was ready for. His foot slipped slightly on loose gravel—
He corrected mid-step.
That correction—
Saved him.
A blade sliced through the space his neck would have occupied.
"…They're predicting me…"
He changed pattern immediately.
No more straight lines.
Zigzag.
Short bursts.
Unpredictable stops.
Not faster—
Harder to read.
But it didn't matter.
They adjusted.
Easily.
He turned again—
And stopped.
Dead end.
The realization hit before the frustration.
"…Cornered."
Footsteps approached.
Unhurried.
Confident.
Bran straightened slowly.
Pain flared through his ribs, forcing a slight tilt in his posture.
He corrected it manually.
Not because it helped.
But because showing weakness here—
Would end it faster.
"…Fine."
His stance lowered.
Weight shifted slightly onto his right leg—his left couldn't take sudden pressure anymore without collapsing.
His breathing slowed.
Not because he was calm.
Because he needed control.
"…No more mistakes."
One of them stepped forward.
"…I'll handle him."
Bran didn't move.
Didn't rush.
This time—
He watched.
Not the weapon.
The body.
The hips.
The shoulders.
The feet.
Because speed lied.
But mechanics didn't.
The attacker moved.
Fast.
But now—
Bran saw the start.
A slight dip in weight before the step.
A micro-rotation in the shoulder before the strike.
He moved—
Late.
But correctly.
Side-step.
The blade passed his throat—
Close enough that he felt the air split.
His body screamed to retreat.
He didn't.
"Ignis."
A spark formed—
Small.
Tight.
Not for damage.
For timing.
The attacker reacted to the flame—
Just slightly.
That slight reaction—
Was everything.
Bran stepped in.
"Ignis… Ventus."
The flame twisted—
Compressed—
Not outward—
Forward.
A controlled burst.
It struck the attacker's guard.
Not breaking it.
But shifting it.
And in that shift—
The structure broke.
Bran pivoted.
Ignoring the strain tearing through his side—
And drove forward.
"Ember Strike!"
This time—
He didn't aim for center mass.
He aimed off-angle.
The attack slammed into the attacker's side, where balance was weakest mid-adjustment.
The body lifted—
Not from strength—
From timing.
The man crashed into the wall—
And didn't get back up.
Bran staggered backward.
His legs shook.
"…That worked…"
The system pulsed.
"Opponent Defeated (Higher Level)."
Reward: +10 Runic Points
He barely registered it.
Because the air—
Changed.
The remaining two stepped forward.
Together.
No more underestimation.
No more delay.
Bran clenched his fists.
His body didn't want to move anymore.
So he forced it.
They attacked.
Too fast.
First strike—
He blocked—
But his injured side gave slightly—
The force slipped through.
Health: 41 → 27
Second—
He tried to dodge—
But his foot didn't respond in time—
Health: 27 → 16
Pain exploded.
His vision dimmed.
"…I can't…"
The system pulsed.
"Critical Condition Detected."
"Hidden Condition Incomplete."
Bran's eyes flickered.
"…Not yet…?"
The attacker stepped in—
Blade raised.
This was the end.
Then—
Bran moved.
Not correctly.
Not cleanly.
But willingly.
He stepped into the attack.
The blade grazed his side—
Shallow—
Pain flaring—
Health: 16 → 9
But he closed distance.
"Ignis—!"
The flame erupted—
Unstable—
But focused enough.
His arm shook—
His balance broke—
But he didn't stop.
"Ember—!"
Impact.
The second attacker faltered—
Then dropped.
Silence.
Bran swayed.
Barely upright.
"…Two…"
The system pulsed violently.
"Hidden Condition Achieved."
"Reward: ???"
The last attacker stepped forward.
No hesitation.
No delay.
Bran's vision faded.
"…Now…"
The system answered.
"Auto-accepting reward…"
The world—
Collapsed.
And Bran—
Vanished.