Chapter 31 Island Survival (8)

Cecilia stood motionless, arms still folded across her chest, flames flickering faintly at her fingertips as she watched Arthur move. Cecilia's eyes never left Arthur's figure. The faint glow from her conjured flames reflected off her irises, lending her gaze a predatory sharpness that belied her otherwise calm demeanor. He wasn't running. He wasn't dodging. He was going straight for the kill. Even now, after everything she had seen—after witnessing each of Arthur's inconceivable leaps in power—this was still reckless beyond reason. The tension in her body was palpable; she could feel every muscle coil, prepared to spring into action if the situation spiraled beyond Arthur's control. She hated acknowledging the instinct to help him. She was not the type to rush to someone's aid, especially someone who insisted on throwing themselves into mortal peril. But the simple truth remained that she might intervene if things went catastrophically wrong. She had done her part, burning away the treant's roots, clearing a path for him. Rachel had done hers, using the Saintess Gift to push him beyond limits that any other human would have already shattered. It was a concerted effort: Cecilia, with her ruthless efficiency and devastating fire spells, had weakened the treant's defenses, while Rachel had used her divine-like power to augment Arthur's capabilities. But even with that, it shouldn't have been enough. 'Arthur will fail.' Cecilia knew it wasn't simple arrogance or condescension that made her think this way. She was an experienced combatant, well-versed in the intricacies of mana, the weaknesses of monsters, and the true danger posed by a six-star beast. She had watched Arthur fight and had seen his rapid, almost unnatural improvement over a shockingly short period. His ability to adapt in battle—faster than most experienced warriors, let alone a young student—was uncanny. He had clawed his way up to a level that should have been far beyond him, even with his considerable natural talent. Yet this foe was not a trivial monster. This was a six-star beast. An Elder Dark Treant—an entity notorious for its defensive might, regenerative capabilities, and ancient malice. This wasn't just some standard mana-infused predator lurking in the depths of the jungle. It wasn't some overgrown bear with elemental claws or a mutated wildcat. The treant's sheer size was enough to make a seasoned warrior think twice. Towering spires of twisting, gnarled wood formed its trunk and limbs, and its bark glistened with a dark sheen that pulsed like a heartbeat, evidence of the potent mana coursing through its entire being. But more importantly, it was caught in the midst of an evolution—the final stage of its metamorphosis, where its mana was shifting, rearranging, and reforging its essence into something far beyond what it had been before. In that unstable state, it was dangerous in a way that defied logic: unpredictably powerful, capable of unleashing bizarre new abilities, its vitality and mana output skyrocketing in sudden bursts. Yet Arthur was still charging in, heedless of the danger. Cecilia's gaze flickered over to Rachel, who stood beside her in relative calm. There was no fear in the Saintess's posture. Instead, there was a kind of quiet expectancy that annoyed Cecilia more than she liked to admit. Rachel wasn't watching like someone who expected Arthur to fail. She was watching like someone who had already seen the outcome. The Elder Dark Treant roared, its sound reverberating through the jungle. Vines and heavy branches rattled as nearby smaller creatures—lurking predators or opportunistic scavengers—scattered in fear. The roar felt like a catalyst, shifting the entire battlefield into motion. Energy crackled in the air, dark mana pulsing out of the treant in tangible waves. Its limbs, which had seemed almost stationary, moved with startling speed, each twisted branch cracking the earth beneath it. Roots snaked forward and lashed out like spears, thick with condensed dark mana that hissed and snapped around their tips. Arthur was right in its path. Cecilia's instincts flared, and she almost moved to intervene. She felt the flicker of crimson in her veins, mana swirling around her fingertips in readiness. And Arthur was just… Going forward. This was the moment. This was the test. Any rational mind would tell him to pull back. That was the logical choice. A wise warrior knew when to yield, to maneuver, to wait for the perfect opening. Charging headlong into a hail of dark mana-laced roots was tantamount to suicide. Even with Rachel's power enhancing him, even with his impossible speed, Arthur could hardly be expected to break through that kind of counter. Cecilia almost sneered at the inevitability of it: the academy's protective artifact would activate, shield him from death, and Arthur would be knocked out of the fight, proving the limit of his reckless approach. Except. Arthur didn't retreat. He didn't hesitate, not even for a second. A wave of both incredulity and reluctant admiration swept through Cecilia. Her fingers curled slightly at her sides, the flames dancing at the tips. She didn't want to admit any admiration for him—but she couldn't deny the rush of adrenaline at watching someone throw everything they had into one decisive blow. It was horrifying and exhilarating all at once. He was going forward. Straight into absolute danger. Straight into certain defeat. 'You complete idiot,' she thought, an ironic twist to her lips. In the next heartbeat, something shifted around Arthur. What had initially looked like the crackle of electricity—remnants of his typical lightning-based technique—suddenly transformed before her very eyes. It was as if the very nature of his mana had changed, evolving in perfect synchrony with the Saintess Gift coursing through him. Lightning flared around him—no. Not lightning. It was something else entirely. Something brighter, something that carried the scorching purity of divinity: light magic. Rachel's Saintess Gift had woven itself into his mana, intertwining with his technique. God Flash, Arthur's prized lightning step and strike, had become something new—an amalgamation of raw speed and holy radiance. Where once the crackling arcs of electricity looked erratic, now they glowed with a razor-sharp, near-blinding brilliance. Cecilia felt the intensity of it even from her vantage point. It prickled along her skin, a tingling sensation that was at once alien and strangely awe-inspiring. God Flash had changed. It no longer felt like the destructive chaos of storm clouds. Instead, the aura around Arthur was something purer, something sharper—the overwhelming radiance of Rachel's Saintess Gift, compressed into a single, unstoppable strike. That purity clashed in the air with the treant's dark mana, bright against shadow, holy against corrupted might. Cecilia barely had time to register this transformation before Arthur vanished. To Cecilia, it felt as though the world had blinked. The air warped, and the cry of the Elder Dark Treant seemed to cut out halfway through. For a split second, there was only silence, as if reality itself had paused to witness the strike. Searᴄh the Novёlƒire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Then— Arthur cut through the treant's core in one flawless motion. A blazing line of white-gold light traced his path, leaving a flickering afterimage seared into Cecilia's retinas. The Elder Dark Treant stood tall for a moment, almost comically still, like a towering statue carved from night-black wood. Its entire form shuddered, the bark and twisted limbs locking mid-motion, as though it had been severed from the concept of movement itself. For a beat, nothing happened. The thick, cloying darkness around its aura still pulsed, as if refusing to believe what had just transpired. Then another beat passed. Then, slowly, the Elder Dark Treant began to fall. Its limbs—once unstoppable in their brutality—slumped and buckled, the enormous trunk collapsing into a cascade of splintered wood. Pieces of dark, corrupted bark crashed onto the jungle floor, sending tremors through the clearing. A sharp tang of burned wood permeated the air, and the remnants of its dark mana bled into nothingness, dispersing like wisps of black fog swept away by morning sunlight. The ground shook one last time under the dead treant's tremendous weight before settling, leaving an echoing stillness in the aftermath. Some distant animals howled in fear, and the acrid smell of death and charred wood mingled with the damp earth and lingering smoke. Arthur landed heavily, just a short distance from the creature's remains, the final embers of the radiant technique dissipating from his body. Cecilia exhaled, the sound of her own pulse pounding in her ears. The fury of the battle had been so brief, yet so intense. She had expected Arthur to fail. Over and over, she had run through the logic in her mind—the insurmountable gap in power, the chaotic nature of the evolving beast, the limitations of a young mage untested against truly apex-level threats. But he had shattered every expectation, just as he had done before. Rachel, standing beside her, let out a soft breath. It was a tiny exhalation, barely audible, but the satisfaction in her expression was clear as she smiled slightly. There was no triumphant cheer or ostentatious celebration from her—just that gentle, knowing smile. Cecilia sighed, her earlier annoyance curdling into a mixture of grudging respect and continued irritation. She hated being wrong, and, more than that, she hated how right Rachel had been about Arthur's potential. Arthur wasn't normal. Rachel turned toward Cecilia, her gaze measuring and intent, as though she wanted to see every subtle shift in Cecilia's expression. "You weren't expecting that, right, Cecilia?" she asked. Her voice carried a soft undertone of amusement, but also genuine curiosity, as if she truly wanted to hear how Cecilia would explain the phenomenon they had both just witnessed. Cecilia didn't respond. She let her silence convey her complicated emotions—a swirl of disbelief, frustration, and a reluctant sense of awe at Arthur's ability to transcend his own boundaries time and again. In the clearing, Arthur—too exhausted to even stand upright—took a shaky step toward them. His entire body seemed to quake from the strain he had just endured. His hair clung to his damp forehead, and sweat streamed down his face, mixing with a few streaks of dark sap from the treant's remains. He lifted his head, opening his mouth to speak. "I did i—" he managed to croak, voice barely above a whisper. Then his eyes rolled back, and he collapsed. Cecilia clicked her tongue, the flames at her fingertips flaring for a brief instant as she caught him effortlessly. A surge of crimson mana enveloped Arthur's body before he could hit the ground, forming a web of magical force that gently cradled him. With minimal effort, she guided him to a safe resting position, her control over her mana refined to near-perfection. "Idiot," she muttered, feeling the weight of him, hearing the rasp of his shallow breaths. Despite the exasperation in her voice, she held him with care, ensuring his injuries wouldn't worsen. Her crimson mana glowed warmly in the dark clearing, the luminescence contrasting starkly with the lingering, inky blackness that still emanated from the treant's corpse. She looked at Rachel, who stood quietly to the side, an air of serene calm surrounding her even amidst the battlefield's devastation. Cecilia's scowl deepened as she noticed the faint, knowing smile still gracing Rachel's lips. "I hate idiots like him the most," she said flatly, exhaling a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. There was truth in her statement—she despised reckless individuals who threw themselves at insurmountable odds without a shred of caution. But deep within, she also recognized that sometimes it was only that sort of person who could reach heights that others would never even dream of. Rachel didn't say anything in response; she only watched, her eyes warm yet focused, as if seeing something in Arthur that went beyond mere potential. Cecilia glanced down at Arthur's unconscious face, her expression now unreadable. An observer might see the faintest flicker of concern in her eyes, quickly replaced by her usual cool indifference. "At this point, he isn't even interesting anymore," she said quietly. Her voice was measured, but there was a hint of bitterness in it. "He's just an idiot who doesn't know his limits. Or the absolute limits of his talent." Rachel stayed silent, her soft gaze flicking from Arthur to Cecilia. "He charged all the way up that thing without a care in the world," Cecilia sighed, shifting his weight slightly in her mana's grasp. "He's a complete idiot." Rachel's lips curved into a small smile. There was relief in her posture, though she didn't crow about it or gloat. The Saintess Gift might have amplified Arthur's abilities, but it was Arthur himself who chose to stake everything on that final, deadly charge. "Yeah," Rachel murmured softly, her eyes glowing with an affectionate pride that was impossible to hide, "he is." As she spoke, a faint breeze rustled through the clearing, carrying the scent of scorched earth and damp greenery. The jungle around them began to calm, the wildlife slowly returning to a semblance of normalcy now that the devastating presence of the Elder Dark Treant had been subdued. Broken branches littered the ground, and the remains of the treant were already starting to crumble in on themselves, the last vestiges of its corrupted power vanishing into the night. And so, the Island Survival completed early for the Mythos Academy students.