Socrates was a bit slow and also lost, his thoughts lagging behind the chaos unfolding before him. He had no idea why Mr. Jaggers had screamed at the top of his voice or why the middle-aged man had suddenly exploded forward with such urgency, his figure vanishing like a shadow tearing through the night, not until he heard a familiar sound ripple through the air—
HOWL!
The sound echoed with a savage clarity, reverberating across the dark terrain, and he recognized it immediately—it belonged to his first foe, the Bermutha Wolves, the very creatures that had once pushed him to the brink of death.
'They've gained on us… How? Are they here for us?' Socrates' thoughts spiraled uncontrollably as a cold tension seized his chest, his entire body reacting before his mind could fully process it, his legs pushing off the ground as he dashed in the direction Mr. Jaggers had taken, dry leaves crunching beneath his feet as the wind brushed harshly against his face.
"You can't escape here." Candidate 223 was the first to block Mr. Jaggers' path, his figure emerging like a wall in the darkness, his presence steady and . He was also a Peak Apprentice, his speed not inferior in the slightest, his aura faintly distorting the air around him as he stood firm.
"I don't have time to deal with you." Mr. Jaggers gritted his teeth, irritation flashing across his rugged face as he abruptly shifted direction, his boots scraping against the ground as he attempted to break through another path, only to find it blocked once more.
Candidate 12 appeared like a phantom, another Peak Apprentice, his stance relaxed but his intent unmistakable as he sealed off the escape route completely.
Socrates' path of retreat was also blocked by three aspirants whose greedy eyes lingered on his combat suit, their grips tightening around their weapons, while the remaining aspirants turned their attention toward the approaching wolves.
Aren't they just wolves? What's the point of being afraid…
The same thoughts ran through their minds, arrogance laced with ignorance, as each and every one of them activated the weapons in their arsenal, metal clicking, energy humming faintly as they prepared to engage.
HOWL!
The howling came again, but this time it wasn't just sound—it carried force.
A terrifying wind tore through the island, ripping across the battlefield with violent intensity as it surged toward the aspirants' direction, kicking up dust, leaves, and loose debris into a spiraling current that distorted vision.
Most of them dispersed instinctively, their bodies reacting to the incoming force, while some were caught directly in the wind, their forms lifted and swept away helplessly, crashing into the ground with heavy thuds.
One of the aspirants quickly threw a frost grenade at a wolf, the device spinning midair before detonating on impact, instantly freezing the creature completely within a concave prison of jagged ice, mist curling from its surface.
In the next moment, another wolf burst out from behind, its massive form lunging forward with lethal intent, jaws wide open, only to be shut down by coordinated fire from nearby aspirants, bullets tearing through its body without hesitation.
In less than five minutes, the aspirants made short work of the Bermutha Wolves, their corpses littering the battlefield, dark blood seeping into the cracked earth of Bermutha Island before the victors slowly turned back toward Socrates and Mr. Jaggers.
"Those wolves are not even enough for warming up."
"I only used two rounds of bullets…"
"Look at 212, getting swept away by a gust of wind."
"That's more understandable compared to the middle-aged man running with all his might because of these weak creatures."
"160 and 220 know what they're doing… They wanted to use the commotion to escape."
"They wanted to make fools out of us…"
"Haha… They thought we are weak… Surprisingly, we finished off the wolves before they could escape."
The aspirants discussed among themselves, their voices overlapping in low, mocking tones as they stared at Socrates and Mr. Jaggers with hungry gazes, like predators that had already decided their prey.
To them, the fact that those two had been running from Bermutha Wolves painted a clear picture—weakness. And the golden token they carried? Nothing more than something acquired through sheer luck.
"I still don't get why you look eager to flee from this place." Candidate 12 arched a brow, his lips curling slightly as his gaze locked onto Mr. Jaggers.
"Or were you trying to depend on those wolves… Unfortunately, you can't…" Candidate 12 added, his voice laced with ridicule before he suddenly charged forward, his figure blurring as he closed the distance in an instant.
But before he could reach his target—
Mr. Jaggers moved.
Without hesitation, he pulled out the glowing token from his pocket, the golden light reflecting sharply against his hardened expression, and flung it toward the east with a decisive motion, the object cutting through the air like a streak of light.
"What? He threw away the token…"
"Look at the golden glow… It's really the token…"
"Come quick, let's go catch the token… Whoever takes it, it belongs to—!"
The shift was immediate.
The aspirants abandoned everything they were doing, their priorities flipping in an instant. Even the notion of attacking Socrates for his combat suit vanished as all eyes locked onto the blazing golden light soaring through the distance.
Candidate 12, who had charged at Mr. Jaggers, halted midway, his instincts screaming at him. He was one of the strongest present, and that meant he held a significant advantage in acquiring the token.
If he continued forward, he would lose that advantage to Candidate 223.
That single thought made his decision for him.
He stopped, turned sharply and rushed toward the token without hesitation.
Mr. Jaggers didn't even spare them a glance. The moment the path cleared, he took the opposite direction and zoomed off instantly, his figure disappearing into the darkness like a streak of shadow, not a single word given to Socrates who remained standing there, momentarily frozen.
What should he do? Socrates was conflicted. Why are they giving up the token?
The question burned in his mind, heavy and unresolved, rooted in something deeper than logic.
He had suffered, he had bled, he had nearly died.
All for that token.
So why… Why would they just give it up?
His jaw tightened as he bit his lips, his fists clenching so hard that the veins along his arms stood out, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. The thought of others claiming what he had risked everything for stirred something raw within him.
These people…
They didn't suffer even half of what he faced.
Why should they be the ones to gain the token?
He took a step forward, then another.
Drawn toward the direction where the aspirants had gathered, where the golden light still flickered faintly in the distance like temptation made real.
But just as he was about to take the third—
He pivoted.
His body turned sharply, almost instinctively, as if something deeper than thought had taken control, and in the next moment, he dashed in the opposite direction, chasing after the path Mr. Jaggers had taken.
"The old man's judgment has always been right… Following him has taken me this far." Socrates muttered under his breath as he sped forward, his figure cutting through the night with renewed resolve.
That muttering… that single decision…
Was the only reason his life was saved.
Because as soon as Socrates left the area, a terrifying pressure overwhelmed the aspirants that were chasing after the golden token, pressing down on their bodies like an invisible mountain, distorting the air and making even breathing feel heavy and strained.
They arrived at the token's location almost at the same time, their movements slowing unconsciously as their instincts screamed warnings they could not fully comprehend. The golden token was pinned to the ground, its radiant glow now calm and steady, no longer darting through the air but resting there as if waiting.
But none of them moved forward, not a single step.
Their bodies refused.
Their eyes remained locked ahead, pupils shrinking as they stared at what sat behind the token.
A Bermutha Wolf.
This one was different.
It was slightly larger than the ones they had just slaughtered, its frame more imposing, muscles coiled beneath its thick fur like tightly wound steel cables. From its forehead protruded a single horn, curved and dark, faintly glowing with a dull crimson hue that pulsed in rhythm with its breath. Its posture was relaxed—too relaxed—yet that calmness carried a suffocating dominance.
Its eyes were lazy… but aware, watching, judging, waiting.
A faint, scorching heat seemed to radiate subtly from its body, warping the air around it as though the atmosphere itself bent to its presence.
"Just one wolf…" someone muttered, though the dryness in his throat betrayed his unease.
Another aspirant tightened his grip on his weapon, forcing confidence into his voice. "We've handled worse… Don't hesitate."
Still—
No one stepped forward first.
The wolf exhaled slowly, its nostrils flaring as it sniffed the air, drawing in the lingering scent of blood that stained the battlefield. Not just any blood—its kin's blood. The recognition was immediate.
Its eyes shifted, from dull to bloodshot.
"Grrrh…" The low growl rumbled from deep within its chest, vibrating through the ground itself, carrying with it a murderous intent that made several aspirants instinctively retreat a step.
Then—
It moved.
Without warning, the wolf leapt forward, its body cutting through the air with terrifying precision before landing directly in front of the token, positioning itself between the prize and the crowd as if declaring ownership.
"Attack!" one of the aspirants finally shouted, forcing action where hesitation had taken root.
Those equipped with long-range weapons reacted instantly, fingers tightening around triggers as bullets tore through the air in rapid succession, streaking toward the wolf with deadly intent.
But the wolf didn't move, It stood there, calm and unshaken.
For nearly a full minute, it endured the barrage, bullets striking its body with sharp metallic sounds, sparks flickering at the points of impact as if they had collided with reinforced steel rather than flesh. Not a single round penetrated its hide.
Not one.
A subtle shift occurred in the atmosphere.
Then—
HOWL!
The wolf released a deafening shriek, the sound erupting with such force that it distorted the air in visible ripples, crashing into the aspirants like a wave. The sheer intensity immobilized nearly half of them instantly, their bodies locking up as their hands flew to their ears in a futile attempt to block out the sound.
Their defenses collapsed, their awareness shattered.
And that—
Was when the wolf struck.
It vanished.
Not completely—but fast enough that the human eye failed to track it.
In the next instant, it reappeared amidst them, its claws sweeping outward in a blazing arc, each strike carrying faint traces of fire that trailed behind like burning streaks in the night.
Flesh tore open.
Blood sprayed.
Bodies were ripped apart before they could even react, the wolf moving through the crowd like a storm given form, leaving destruction in its wake.
Panic erupted.
"Retreat!"
"Fall back!"
"Regroup—!"
But their voices overlapped into chaos, discipline crumbling as fear took hold.
And the wolf wasn't done.
It opened its mouth slowly, almost deliberately, as if savoring the moment. The air around it began to shift, particles of energy gathering from both its body and the surrounding environment, converging toward a single point just above its jaws.
A fireball formed.
Dense.
Compact.
Yet terrifyingly volatile.
The heat alone distorted the space around it, casting flickering shadows across the ground as the glow intensified, turning the wolf's bloodshot eyes into twin infernos.
Then—
With a single breath—
It released it.
The fireball shot forward at high speed, spinning violently as it tore through the air before slamming into the center of the aspirants' formation.
BOOM!
The explosion swallowed everything.
Fire erupted outward in all directions, a violent bloom of destruction that engulfed the battlefield entirely, devouring bodies, weapons, and screams alike in a single overwhelming blast.
The ground cracked, the air trembled.
And in mere seconds—
Silence followed.
The only ones who managed to escape were Candidate 12 and Candidate 223.
With their Peak Apprentice strength, they had reacted just fast enough, their bodies propelled to their limits as they fled the explosion radius, their forms rolling across the ground before stabilizing at a distance, chests heaving heavily.
Their expressions had changed.
Gone was the arrogance, gone was the ridicule.
What remained—
Was realization.
Before now, they had laughed at Mr. Jaggers. Mocked his urgency, doubted his judgment.
Now—
They understood.
The wolf before them wasn't just any wolf.
It was an Alpha.
And not just an Alpha—
A fire-attributed Alpha.
Their throats went dry as the beast slowly turned its gaze toward them, embers flickering faintly around its horn as heat radiated outward in suffocating waves.
At that moment—
They both knew.
They were as good as dead..