He moved faster than his armour should have allowed. Drawing a jagged sword from his back and swinging in a wide arc. Crow ducked beneath it, rolling to the side as the blade bit into the earth where he'd stood. The fight ignited instantly, wild and vicious.

  Without warning, Crow snatched a half-burnt branch from the fire and swung it low across the flames. A burst of sparks and hot ash exploded upward in a blinding cloud, catching the Knight full in the face. The fighter reeled back with a curse, eyes squeezed shut, armour clanking as he stumbled.

  Then he laughed, a harsh, grating sound that echoed through the trees, disturbing the stillness.

  “First blood, eh?” he said, his voice thick with amusement and a hint of irritation. “Let’s see what that gets you.”

  He charged, his heavy boots thudding on the soft earth, closing the distance with surprising speed.

  Crow vaulted back, boots skimming the damp moss as he loosed his dagger. It was aimed not at the Knight himself, but at the dirt near his advancing feet. It struck the ground with a soft impact, and immediately thick, gnarled roots surged upward from the forest floor, twisting like angry snakes around the Knight’s boots, binding his movement. The Knight stumbled, a curse escaping his lips. Then growled with effort and ripped free, sheer brute strength tearing the thick roots apart like damp twine snapping under pressure.

  “Nature tricks?” he called, his voice laced with disdain. “You're out of your depth, little woodsman.”

  A blade flashed in his hand, broad and brutal, jagged along one edge like a tool meant more for tearing flesh than cleanly cutting. He swung wide, a whistling arc of steel that forced Crow to duck low, testing his opponent’s reflexes. Crow rolled as he came up.

  This time the Knight was faster, his movements surprisingly agile for a man in full plate.

  Crow was already moving, boots scraping against dirt, he darted through the mist like a shadow, heading for the tree line. Using the trees for cover, snapping off rocks and more simple druid spells. Vines rose at his command, lashing at the Knight’s legs, thorns biting into metal. But the Knight shrugged them off with brute force, his strength overwhelming, every swing of his blade ringing out like a bell of war.

  The knight was on his heels. The young druid did his best to dodge and counterattack; however, the man was right, he had more levels and skills than him. A glancing blow caught Crow across the ribs. Another sent him sprawling. His shoulder hit a rock, and his breath left him in a sharp gasp. He rolled to his back just in time to see the Knight looming above him, sword raised, eyes full of fire.

  “This is what your balance gets you,” the Knight growled, pressing a boot to Crow’s chest. “Mud. Pain. And the last thing you’ll see before I crack that dungeon open.”

  A notification flashed for the man, he shared it with Crow. It showed that the distance to the dungeon had gotten closer. Crow cursed.

  “See?” the Knight said, waving the notification like it was divine scripture. “It’s fate.”

  He turned to face looking towards the valley floor, his cloak catching the breeze. The armoured plates on his arms clinked as he spread them wide in theatrical display.

  “I find the enterence, I crack it open, and I take everything it has. Raw cores, beast hides, relic fragments. Hell, even the dungeon moss goes for coin in the southern markets. Once I’ve wrung it dry, I’ll raze the forest around it. Clear it out. Build something real here.”

  He stepped down more, the boot on crows chest sending fire into his lungs while the other squelching in the moss. The Knight had eyes alive with the fire of a man already drunk on future wealth.

  “Farmland. Timber contracts. Maybe even a trade outpost if I grease the right hands. This is prime land; untouched, unregulated, and ready to be broken in. And once the money starts flowing?”

  He tapped his armoured chest with a fist.

  “I’m going to live like a goddamn king. Rich, drunk, and wrapped in every vice this side of the continent.”

  Crow tried to rise but he couldn’t use force, he needed to think. He had to keep the man talking, at least. “You’d carve out the heart of a newborn dungeon. Not to stop it. Not to protect others. But to bleed it dry for coin.”

  The Knight sneered. “Don’t dress it up like it’s some holy grove. It’s a dungeon. Made to be killed. Made to be conquered.”

  Crow’s gaze drifted toward the treeline where the mist had thickened. The dungeon was there, just out of sight, pulsing with tentative life. A seed. A possibility. He could feel the heart of the dungeon he thought. He pictured it as a beautiful thing. Something to be cared for.

  “This place is sacred,” he said quietly. “It’s not just stone and systems. It’s part of the balance. A new dungeon is like an infant; unstable, yes, but also alive. Connected. You slash at its roots and you could call something worse awake. Something ancient. Something angry.”

  The Knight barked a laugh. “Spare me the druid bedtime stories.”

  “There are consequences,” Crow said, firmer now. “Spiritual ones. Moral ones. This forest remembers. It doesn’t forgive.”

  “Balance is for the weak,” the Knight snapped. “That’s what people like you never understand. Nature doesn’t respect prayer. It respects power. If you can’t defend what you love, it wasn’t yours to begin with.”

  Crow sees movement in the shadows of the trees. Ash took a half-step forward, but the wanna-be held up a hand, his eyes fixed on the Knight.

  “You think might makes right?” he said.

  “I know it does.”

  “Then let’s test that theory,” Crow spat.

  “You’re welcome to try. But you’ll find I don’t lose to idealists. Besides, I have the high ground.”

  The forest held its breath, every shadow a silent observer. He slammed his foot into Crow’s mid-breath, the force of the impact stealing the young man’s breath and sending him sprawling across the mossy floor.

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  “Not bad,” the Knight said, his shadow falling over Crow as he loomed above him, again, his voice heavy with grim satisfaction. “But this ain’t a contest of cleverness. It’s a beatdown.”

  Crow pushed himself to his feet, his head swimming. A trickle of blood ran from a shallow gash on his temple, mixing with the dirt and sweat on his face. His hand instinctively reached to his back, strapped horizontally across his lower back. His short sword was plain and curved like a sickle, a tool for closer work. He slashed once, twice, fast, desperate arcs aimed at the vulnerable gaps in the Knight’s armour, the joints and seams where steel met flesh.

  One strike landed, a dull thud against a gorget, but it wasn’t enough to truly impede the armoured giant.

  The Knight, unfazed, grabbed him by the collar of his tunic, the rough fabric digging into Crow’s throat, and drove a gauntleted fist into Crow’s stomach. The breath left him in a strangled wheeze, his body doubling over in pain. Damage notifications flashed in the bottom of his HUD. Another punch followed a brutal blow across the jaw that sent stars exploding behind Crow’s eyes. He collapsed, face-first into the soft moss, his sword skidding out of reach, swallowed by the forest floor.

  “Still think this forest’ll save you?” the Knight muttered, his voice low and menacing as he stood over the prone figure, his jagged blade now held low, ready. “Still think some balance or old whispering god gives a damn what happens to a fool like you?”

  Crow spat blood, his head swimming, the world a blurry mess of green and brown. He tried to push himself up, his arms weak and trembling: failed. A groan escaped his lips. The air grew heavy with anticipation, the silence broken only by Crow’s ragged breathing.

  Crow groaned as he rolled onto his back, the damp moss cool against his burning skin. Every breath was a ragged struggle. His ribs screamed in protest, his vision swam in blurry edges, and his mouth was a gritty mix of blood and earth. The Knight’s silhouette, framed by the fading light filtering through the leaves, loomed above him, sword raised with a casual air, as though this weren’t a desperate duel but a tiresome chore.

  “I’ll admit,” the Knight said, his voice lazy, almost amused, the sound grating on Crow’s raw nerves, “you’ve got guts, woodsman. Shame that’s all you’ve got.”

  The broad blade gleamed, catching the last vestiges of daylight like a hungry predator’s eye.

  “And now,” the Knight continued, taking a deliberate step forward, raising his sword higher, the point aimed squarely at Crow’s chest, “I’m going to paint this moss with them.”

  He shifted his weight, preparing to deliver the final blow.

  The Knight’s boot slammed down onto Crow’s ribs. At first shock that it wasn’t the blade that stabbed him. The Knight wanted this to last he thought. Then the added pain of not being able to breathe rushed him. The boot drove the air from his lungs. The knight slammed the boot down again on the centre of his chest. The weight of iron and muscle pressed harder, grinding into his chest. He gasped, teeth clenched, the moss beneath him cool and damp but not enough to soothe the burning in his lungs.

  The Knight loomed above, one foot planted on the earth, the other crushing Crow. His sword gleamed in the twilight, lifted just high enough for menace, not mercy.

  “You should’ve stayed in your trees, boy,” the Knight growled. He then pulled the wineskin out and drank again. Laughing to himself.

  Crow’s fingers twitched. He reached inside. Not for a weapon, but for the earth itself. The last of his mana flickered like a dying ember. He whispered the word under his breath and felt the thread of nature pulse through his fingertips.

  “Mud.”

  The moss and dirt beneath the Knight’s foot gave way with a sickening squelch. In an instant, the forest floor softened, turned slick and sucking. The Knight cursed as his foot plunged down, armour dragging him off balance. His sword flew from his hand and vanished into the dark.

  Crow rolled aside just as the Knight fell forward. But the relief was short. A mailed fist cracked across Crow’s jaw, snapping his head back. Then another. The Knight was on him, mud-streaked and furious, pummeling him with brute strength.

  Crow fought back with clawing hands and wild swings, but it was like trying to tear down a wall with your fingernails. He landed a hit, maybe two, but each return blow from the Knight felt like getting struck by a hammer. Blood filled his mouth. The sky spun above the trees. The Knight grabbed his collar, and pulled back a fist, as the two rolled in the mud.

  And that’s when the growl came from the trees. Behind him cracked, a sharp, splintering sound that ripped through the tense silence. A sound like thunder, low and guttural, split the air as a blur of grey and shadow erupted from the dense underbrush.

  Ash—the wolf. Not some house-trained dog. He was the raw, primal creature. Fangs bared in a savage snarl. Eyes burning with an ancient, untamed light.

  Ash struck the Knight from behind with the force of a battering ram, a guttural snarl ripping through the misty air. He barely had time to register the shift in the forest’s mood, to turn his head, before the wolf’s immense weight slammed into his back, knocking the wind from his lungs and pulling him off Crow, hard. The Knight’s armoured body hit a stone with a bone-jarring thud, the clang of metal echoing through the trees like a dropped bell tolling his doom.

  Crow blinked, dazed and disoriented, as the Knight hit and crashed with a sickening thud. Ash was on him in an instant, never letting up. His massive paws, each the size of Crow’s hand, pinned the Knight’s broad shoulders to the ground. His powerful jaws snapped on the vulnerable gap beneath his helmet, a terrifying display of raw power.

  “Get off me!” the Knight roared, his voice muffled by the weight of the wolf, scrambling uselessly beneath his immense form but he was too slow. Too drunk. Too full of himself. Too stunned by the sudden, brutal assault.

  Too mortal to escape the fury of the wild.

  His teeth found their mark, sinking into the exposed flesh of his throat with a sickening wet crunch that echoed through the silent woods, the sounds of tearing flesh and rending metal merging into a horrifying symphony of death.

  Ash tore into the man with enthusiastic bites, his tail thumping against the dirt in a steady, happy rhythm. Each mouthful was met with a low grunt of approval, nose deep in the man’s flesh and blood, tongue slurping up every scrap of meat. Even after the two had received experience notifications. The wolf didn’t stop to chew carefully, he just gulped, licked, and dove back in like he hadn’t eaten in days. Bits of food clung to his whiskers, and when he paused, it was only to glance up with bright eyes, then return to feasting like a king on his rightful prize.

  Then, as suddenly as it began, silence descended once more.

  Ash stood over the Knight’s lifeless corpse, his massive chest heaving, breathing hard. Dark blood stained the white of his muzzle, dripping onto the mossy ground. The polished metal of the attacker’s armour steamed faintly in the cool, damp air, a testament to the violent end within.

  Crow coughed, a painful, rattling sound, struggling to push himself upright. His vision cleared in time to see Ash turn his head, his burning gaze locking onto his. He padded towards him slowly, his powerful muscles rippling beneath his thick fur. They sat in silence for a long moment, the forest around them still and watchful, the only sound the gentle rustling of leaves in the breeze.

  The Knight’s ambition had died with him, extinguished in a brutal, bloody instant but the presence of the nearby dungeon still pulsed in the air, a dark, unclaimed secret, alive and waiting.

  System Notification: [Dungeon Evolution Detected]

  New Form: Tier E — Level 0 Domain: "Highschool"

  Location: Jackass Mountain Base Forest

  Classification: Educational | Social Simulation | Unknown Threat Level

  Notice: This dungeon has undergone rapid evolution. Ecological balance is uncertain.

  The dungeon core remains unclaimed.

  Crow blinked as the glowing blue notification hovered before his eyes, pulsing faintly with shifting text.

  “…What the fuck is a high school?”

  The system didn't answer. Instead, the next prompt slid into view with a cheerful chime that didn’t match the unease curling in his gut.