The forest was quiet.
Too quiet.
Leaves barely stirred despite the wind that should have passed through, and the wildlife had long since gone silent—as if something unseen had claimed dominion over the area. Even the faint ambient magic that usually drifted through nature felt… suppressed.
High above the forest floor, a shadow moved.
No—something moved, but it could not be seen.
Bernard exhaled slowly, the breath leaving his fanged muzzle in a controlled stream.
Good… no one noticed the last one.
Perched on a thick branch of an ancient tree, his massive werewolf form blended into the darkness beneath the canopy. His body was coiled with restrained power, every muscle taut beneath his dark fur, veins faintly pulsing with magic as it circulated through his transformed physique. His ears twitched constantly, catching even the slightest disturbance in the air, while his nose sifted through layers of scent—fear, sweat, magic residue.
Nothing close.
Nothing aware.
Perfect.
His SE outfit clung to him like a second skin.
The open-crotch over-the-knee martial arts pants revealed flashes of his powerful inner thighs with every subtle shift in posture, the cut deliberate—functional, yet undeniably provocative. Beneath it, the leather briefs hugged tightly, the tail hole allowing his thick wolf tail to sway freely behind him, occasionally brushing against the bark in slow, controlled motions that betrayed his relaxed confidence.
Leather sandals reinforced with greaves wrapped his lower legs, gripping the tree bark with ease, while vambraces encased his forearms—flexing slightly as his claws dug into the wood. His torso remained bare, save for the H-shaped harness that stretched across his chest, emphasizing the expansion and contraction of his breathing. Draped over it all was a dark, hooded sleeveless leather jacket, the hood fitted with wolf-ear slots that allowed his ears to remain exposed—enhancing his already monstrous hearing while anchoring the hood securely in place.
Overall, Bernard looked like a walking contradiction.
A predator dressed like temptation.
Sexy werewolf… and absolute death.
He grinned, sharp teeth glinting faintly in the dim light.
"Heh… if they saw me like this, they'd hesitate for half a second."
A pause.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"And that's all I need."
His SE weapon materialized in his hands—twin curved sabers, sleek and deadly, their edges shimmering with condensed magic. He gave them a testing spin, the blades cutting silently through the air with unnatural smoothness.
"…Still feels good."
With a flick of his wrists, the sabers shifted.
The hilts snapped together with a sharp click—locking perfectly into place.
Then—
A bowstring of pure magic formed instantly between the ends, humming faintly with compressed power.
The transformation was seamless.
Efficient.
Lethal.
Bernard rolled his shoulder once, settling the newly formed great bow in his grip.
"Much better."
His tail flicked once behind him.
Alright… the traps are set, the vantage point is secured, and it's time to start the hunt.
He closed his eyes.
Then his perception expanded outward.
Clairvoyance activated, and it did not feel like sight. It felt like knowing.
Within a five-kilometer radius, everything that was not actively concealed became clear to him—layered, categorized, and prioritized in an instant. Movements were tracked as vectors, heat signatures were mapped against the terrain, and magic fluctuations were color-coded in his mind. Positions locked into place, and even intent could be predicted.
Bernard's pupils thinned as time seemed to slow.
"…There you are."
A grin spread across his muzzle.
"Found you."
He drew the bow, the magic string stretching tight and humming with compressed power. A blunt arrow formed instantly—compressed magic shaped into solid force, dense enough to crack reinforced shields without killing.
He adjusted his aim by a fraction, not at where the target was, but at where they would be.
The arrow would fly at the speed of Mach 5.
He released.
The arrow vanished the moment it left the string, leaving no trail, no sound, and no visible displacement. Then it reappeared just a meter from the target's blind spot.
CRACK.
"—WHAT THE—?!"
From the victim's perspective, there was no warning—only impact. Their magic shield shattered like glass, and the force transferred directly through their skull, snapping their head back as their body lifted off the ground.
"DIRECT HIT—!"
The emergency system flared and forced a bail out.
Bernard didn't even look.
Next.
He had already drawn another arrow and released it. The projectile vanished, then reappeared from another angle.
CRACK.
"Another one."
This time, the target tried to dodge, but the arrow adjusted mid-flight. It vanished again and reappeared behind them before slamming into their head.
CRACK.
"Three."
His voice dropped, amused.
They're starting to react… good. But it doesn't matter. They can't track the trajectory, and even if they dodge, the arrow jumps. There's no line of sight, no origin point, and I'm firing from outside their sensory range.
His tail flicked once behind him.
Perfect.
Another arrow formed, slightly heavier this time.
He released.
CRACK.
"Four."
This one had been a shield specialist, but it didn't matter. Bernard subtly adjusted the teleport exit point so the arrow emerged inside the shield boundary.
Impact.
Instant collapse.
He shifted slightly on the branch, claws tightening against the bark as he leaned into the next shot.
"Five."
A clean headshot.
Bernard exhaled slowly, his shoulders relaxing.
"Heh… not bad for something I came up with on the fly."
Below him, chaos began to spread.
"Sniper! There's a sniper!"
"Where?! WHERE?!"
"There's no trajectory, no casting circle—nothing!"
"The arrows just appear!"
"Spread out! Don't group up!"
"Too late—AH—!"
Another participant vanished in a flash of forced bail-out light.
Bernard chuckled under his breath.
Good luck with that. You're reacting to ghosts.
He nocked another arrow, this time splitting his attention across three targets at once. His clairvoyance threaded through possibilities, overlapping angles and calculating outcomes.
He released.
The arrow split into two during teleportation.
CRACK.
CRACK.
Two simultaneous impacts struck from opposite directions.
"—WHAT?! TWO?!"
"He can multi-shot?!"
Bernard's grin sharpened.
Now they're panicking.
Then his ears twitched, and his smile faded slightly.
…There it is. Tracking magic.
Unlike the others, these signatures did not scatter—they searched.
Several presences began converging on the forest, their movements coordinated as their senses probed outward in layered sweeps.
"Tch. Already?"
He clicked his tongue, his tail stiffening slightly.
Figures… this guild isn't full of idiots. They adapted faster than expected.
Still, his grin returned, sharper this time.
"Good thing I planned ahead."
A scream echoed from below.
"—AHHHH!"
A near-invisible wire snapped tight around a runner's ankle, yanking them upside down mid-sprint.
"TRAP—!"
A delayed rune beneath them detonated, releasing compressed force that launched them straight into a tree trunk.
Bail out.
Bernard loosed two more arrows in quick succession.
He released the first.
CRACK.
Then the second.
CRACK.
"Seven… eight…"
He rolled his shoulder and shifted slightly along the branch to avoid triangulation.
"Come on… keep coming…"
Then the forest itself shifted.
Roots twisted beneath the soil as if something had taken hold of them. Branches bent at unnatural angles, and vines erupted from the ground in coordinated bursts, moving with an unnatural speed and precision that no normal plant should possess.
Bernard's pupils narrowed slightly as he took it all in.
"…Oh."
A slow grin spread across his muzzle.
"So that's how it is."
His eyes sharpened.
"That must be Carlo."
The vines lashed upward toward him, faster than anything he had faced so far in the forest, and the surrounding trees themselves seemed to shift in response—as if the entire forest had become an extension of Carlo's will.
Bernard's grin widened, equal parts excitement and caution.
"The one with all kinds of strange plants… and the ability to bend the forest to his will."
He tensed slightly.
"Yeah… this is getting dangerous."
Another cluster of thorned vines shot toward him.
Bernard didn't hesitate.
He leapt.
The branch he had been standing on was instantly crushed by a mass of thorned vines, splintering into fragments as the attack struck with crushing force.
As he moved, Bernard's eyes flicked downward briefly, tracking the battlefield.
I got five with sniping… and three more through traps.
His grin returned.
Eight total. Not bad.
But then his expression sharpened again.
But I'm not pushing my luck against this one.
He twisted mid-air, landing on another branch without a sound before immediately springing away again.
Time to disengage.
---------------------------------
Carlo stood amidst the shifting forest, calm on the outside even as the terrain around him twisted under his command. The ground responded to him like a living thing—roots coiled, soil parted, and branches leaned as if listening for his will.
His hand rested lightly against a flower blooming at his side, its petals glowing faintly with magic. Through that flower, he extended his senses into the surrounding plant life, forming a wide, interconnected network. Every vine, every root, every leaf became an extension of his awareness, feeding him information in steady, layered pulses—like ripples spreading across a still pond.
And right now, every ripple pointed to Bernard.
Carlo narrowed his eyes slightly as he tracked the disturbances. They were faint, irregular, and constantly shifting, as if something was slipping through the forest faster than the environment could react.
Vines slithered across the ground like serpents, roots burrowed and resurfaced in snapping arcs, and thorned branches bent at unnatural angles in an attempt to intercept the invisible werewolf moving through the trees.
But Bernard was too fast.
Carlo frowned as another vine shot upward with precise timing, only to slice through empty air as Bernard blurred away before it could close.
Fast… far too fast.
A root cage erupted where Bernard had been a heartbeat earlier, snapping shut with enough force to crush stone.
It caught nothing.
Carlo adjusted his glasses slightly and exhaled through his nose, the sound quiet but thoughtful.
"That Bernard…"
His tone remained calm, analytical rather than irritated.
"I have to admit, the newcomers recruited by the boss really can't be underestimated. Their physical talents are immense, and it only becomes more pronounced when they transform into werewolves."
He stepped lightly over one of his own creeping roots as it recoiled and redirected, never once losing awareness of the moving target.
"And that one in particular is especially troublesome. He is not just fast—he is crafty. His speed combined with his maneuverability makes it impossible for my plants to catch him, even when I can sense exactly where he is."
Another set of vines burst violently from the undergrowth, snapping toward a distortion in the air that marked Bernard's path.
Bernard twisted around them effortlessly, his movement precise and almost mocking.
Miss.
Carlo clicked his tongue softly, a small sign of genuine frustration breaking through his otherwise composed demeanor.
"Even when I predict your path… you slip through. Impressive."
A brief pulse traveled through the forest floor as Carlo catalyzed his magic again, and this time the response was immediate and far more elaborate. Clusters of strange plants burst into bloom around him in layered rings, each one unfolding with a distinct purpose and magical signature. Some released a slow, sickly mist that clung to the air like poison fog, while others produced viscous, glittering sap that hardened on contact, ready to bind or weigh down anything it touched. One particularly large bloom opened like a carnivorous flower, its inner core packed densely with reactive spores that pulsed with latent energy.
Each plant was different, but together they formed a system.
A network of debuffs, traps, and counters designed to overlap and reinforce one another.
Poison to weaken.
Paralysis to halt movement.
Confusion to disrupt perception.
Decay to erode defenses.
And layered over all of it—countermeasures, cleansing effects, and resistances tailored to neutralize incoming interference.
Carlo's expression softened slightly as he observed his own setup taking shape.
"Still… I suppose this also highlights my weakness," he said quietly.
He glanced to the side as another interception failed, roots snapping shut on empty space where Bernard had already moved on.
"Speed."
A small, self-deprecating smile tugged at his lips.
"That's a bit disappointing."
He let the thought linger for a moment before shifting his focus again.
"Although…"
A thorned bulb at his feet pulsed once, sending out a refined cleansing wave that spread through the surrounding mana like a controlled ripple. It washed over his defensive layers, stabilizing them and reinforcing their resistance to external effects.
"At least his surprising amount of debuff arrows can't do anything to me," Carlo continued.
Almost as if to test that statement, another arrow struck.
The impact shattered one of the outer plant barriers with a sharp crack, but the follow-up effect—the debuff embedded within the projectile—was immediately intercepted. The surrounding plants reacted in sequence, absorbing, filtering, and neutralizing the foreign magic before it could take hold.
Carlo remained standing, completely unaffected.
"I am a debuff master myself," he said, adjusting his glasses with a faint look of satisfaction. "I have all kinds of strange plants with debuff effects, and more importantly, I have developed ways to counter them."
He glanced toward where the arrow had come from, even though he could not see Bernard directly.
"So that part of his strategy is effectively wasted on me."
Another vine lashed upward in an attempt to intercept Bernard's path.
It missed.
Carlo exhaled slowly, the sound carrying a hint of resignation.
"Even so… even when catalyzed with magic, my plants simply cannot grow or react at the speed of sound. And Bernard clearly operates at that level of mobility."
He paused, reflecting on the repeated failures.
"I really thought I had a chance at catching him too…"
Another root formation surged upward behind Bernard's fading trail and snapped shut with crushing force.
Nothing.
Carlo shook his head slightly.
"But none of my gardening toolkit—my SE weapon—can catch him."
He fell silent for a moment, allowing the entire forest network to report back. Every failed interception, every missed opportunity, every delayed response fed into his awareness.
Then he let out a quiet breath.
"Well, there's no point chasing something I can't catch."
As he withdrew his focus, the forest around him gradually stilled. The aggressive growth slowed, the plants relaxed back into a controlled state, and the network shifted from pursuit to observation.
His hand returned to the glowing flower, and through it he extended his senses outward—this time toward the plains.
The network shifted focus smoothly, routing perception through a distant cluster of wildflowers that swayed under the shockwaves of battle. Carlo did not see with eyes; he received impressions—movement, impact, pressure, mana density—translated into a clear image inside his mind.
A reflection formed.
And in it—
Logan.
Logan, in his werewolf form, was performing a massacre.
Carlo watched as axes rose and fell in brutal, efficient arcs. Every swing carried enough force to distort the air, and every impact scattered opponents like leaves in a storm. Bodies were sent flying, barriers shattered, and carefully constructed formations were ripped apart by sheer, unrelenting power.
A team tried to stabilize—earth rose, water curved, wind redirected—but the moment they aligned, Logan broke them again with another crushing advance.
Carlo narrowed his eyes slightly, studying the rhythm.
"…Pure force," he murmured. "No hesitation. No waste."
He tracked the flow of rage magic radiating from Logan's body. It did not just amplify strength; it bled outward, pressuring the battlefield and eroding the opponents' composure.
"And it affects the mind as well," Carlo added quietly. "That is… troublesome."
Another exchange unfolded. Two opponents attempted a flanking maneuver, but Logan pivoted mid-stride and intercepted them with a cross-swing that collapsed both their defenses at once.
Carlo exhaled softly.
"Direct confrontation would be inefficient," he concluded. "My plants would take time to establish control, and he would not grant that time."
He considered alternatives for a brief moment—layered immobilization, terrain entanglement, airborne spores—but each scenario ended the same way: disruption by overwhelming force before completion.
Carlo's expression flattened.
"…Yeah, I'm not going near that."
The decision was immediate and absolute.
Bernard might have been difficult to catch, but Logan was something else entirely—a storm of brute force and rage magic that Carlo had no interest in confronting directly.
"Different problem classes," he said under his breath. "One is a hunter. The other is a disaster."
He severed the connection with a small exhale, letting the distant image collapse back into the quiet pulse of his plant network.
"I'll pass," he added.
He turned away from both Bernard's fading trail and Logan's battlefield, refocusing on the forest around him where his advantages were greatest.
"I'll move on and ambush someone else in the forest instead."
------------------------
On the plains—
The air was thick with violence, heavy with the clash of magic and steel, and every breath tasted faintly of heat, dust, and raw mana discharge.
Logan roared, the sound ripping across the battlefield like a shockwave.
"Awooooo!!!"
His massive werewolf form towered over his opponents, easily dwarfing most of them by sheer presence alone. In this state, his SE outfit completed the image of a barbarian werewolf. Furred linings framed his physique and emphasized the breadth of his shoulders, while an armored metal girdle rested securely over a furred loincloth. Metallic greaves and vambraces reinforced his limbs, and an X-shaped harness connected to steel shoulder armor anchored everything in place. Everywhere else, his body was left bare, exposing dense, corded muscle that moved with terrifying efficiency.
Overall, Logan was rocking that barbarian look—or at least, that was what he believed. After all, Bernard kept eyeing his body more often whenever he wore this outfit, and Logan was not oblivious to that.
"Heh… guess I really do look that good," Logan muttered to himself with a confident grin.
Even as he said it, he was already moving.
He did not wait. He did not plan.
He simply attacked.
His twin axe SE weapons carved through the air in wide, brutal arcs as he wailed on everything in sight.
CLANG.
His axes slammed into a reinforced barrier, and the impact alone sent visible shockwaves tearing across the ground, kicking up dirt and cracking the earth beneath his feet.
Unlike Bernard, Logan did not rely on fancy tricks, clever angles, or complicated magic systems. His fighting style was simple, direct, and brutally honest. He combined exquisite magical martial arts with dual axe weapon arts, and layered it all with rage magic that pushed his already monstrous werewolf body far beyond its normal limits.
"No tricks… no nonsense… just fight!" he growled, baring his fangs.
He vaguely remembered the boss mentioning that his build was of high purity. Logan did not really understand what that meant in a technical sense, but he had a feeling it was something good—something that made him strong.
"Yeah… whatever that means," he muttered.
Right now, that kind of thinking had no place in his mind.
There was only one thing in his head.
Fight. Fight. Fight.
That single instinct drowned out everything else, pushing him deeper into a battle frenzy where hesitation simply did not exist.
He threw himself forward again, charging straight into the clustered group of opponents without the slightest regard for defense. To Logan, distance was meaningless. Positioning was meaningless. There was only the next target, the next clash, the next impact.
Despite how overwhelming he looked, he had only managed to eliminate three people so far. The remaining opponents had formed a tight, disciplined group, clearly experienced enough to recognize that facing him alone was suicide. Instead, they moved as one, layering their magic and covering each other's openings.
"Hold the line!"
"Don't let him break through!"
"Keep your formation!"
Their voices overlapped, tense but controlled.
Fire surged forward in controlled waves, not to burn him, but to disrupt his momentum. Water curved and coiled around his strikes, redirecting the angles of his swings. Wind compressed into focused bursts to push his body off balance, while earth rose in reinforced layers to absorb the brunt of his attacks.
They were not trying to win.
They were trying to survive.
Logan tilted his head slightly as he watched them endure his assault.
"Heh… not bad," he said, his tone almost approving.
He rolled his shoulders as if warming up, completely unfazed by their combined efforts.
"You guys actually know how to fight. I'll give you that."
They really do deserve to be seniors at the guild, he thought, a flicker of respect passing through his otherwise battle-focused mind.
Even so, his grin widened, sharper and more excited.
"But it's not enough."
He stepped forward again, and the ground beneath his feet cracked and sank slightly under the sheer weight of his force.
"Boss said I've got the highest physical strength below S-rank…"
He cracked his neck, the sound sharp and deliberate.
"Let's see if that's true."
His aura flared violently as his rage magic surged to life, flooding through his body like a second heartbeat. Muscles swelled, veins pulsed, and his already monstrous strength climbed even higher as the magic pushed him past his natural limits.
"Then come on!"
He launched himself forward again.
BOOM.
This time, the impact was different.
His axes did not just collide with their defenses—they crushed into them. The layered elemental barriers buckled, cracked, and partially collapsed under the sheer force of the strike, sending shockwaves rippling through the formation.
"Push back!"
"Don't let him overwhelm us!"
They struggled to stabilize, reinforcing their positions as quickly as they could.
Logan laughed loudly, the sound filled with exhilaration.
"That's it! Fight back!"
He pressed forward relentlessly, each swing heavier than the last. His movements were not wild, but they were overwhelming—each strike flowing into the next with brutal efficiency.
"Fight!" he shouted as his axe came crashing down.
The impact forced two of them to their knees.
Another swing followed immediately, faster and from a sharper angle.
"Fight!"
Their wind barrier shattered.
Then a third swing, driven by the full weight of his rage magic.
"FIGHT!"
The earth beneath them cracked as their defensive formation nearly broke.
His rage magic surged to its peak, spilling outward from his body and saturating the battlefield. It was not just power—it was pressure, emotion, instinct.
The air trembled under its influence.
The opponents felt it immediately.
"W-what is this…?!"
"I feel—angry—!"
"Focus! Don't lose control!"
Their voices became strained as the magic began to affect them directly.
Too late.
Logan's rage seeped into their minds, amplifying frustration, irritation, and aggression. Their coordination began to break down as they lost the calm precision that had been keeping them alive.
One lashed out too early.
Another overcommitted to an attack.
Their formation faltered.
Logan's grin turned feral, his eyes gleaming with excitement.
"That's it… lose yourselves…"
He raised both axes high, ready to bring them down and finish the fight in one decisive blow.
"And I'll—"
Before he could bring his axes down, a high-pitched, dizzying sound cut sharply through the battlefield.
It wasn't just noise—it was a concentrated wave of interference that drilled straight into the senses.
"—ngh?!"
Logan's body faltered for a split second, his footing slipping as his vision blurred and the world tilted unnaturally. The sound clawed at his mind, distorting his balance and throwing off his perception of distance.
For the briefest moment, his swing lost its certainty.
What the hell was that?
But Logan's instincts were faster than the effect itself.
His rage magic surged violently, flooding through his body like a raging current. It burned through his nerves, forcefully stabilizing his senses and overwhelming the foreign interference.
The distortion shattered under the sheer intensity of his magic.
Logan exhaled sharply through his fangs and rolled his shoulders, regaining his stance in an instant.
"Tch… that almost got me," he muttered, his tone more impressed than annoyed.
The opponents in front of him hesitated, unsure whether to press the opening or retreat.
Logan didn't even look at them anymore.
His attention had already shifted.
A slow, eager grin spread across his face, stretching wide and feral.
"Awoooo~"
His green eyes gleamed with excitement as he lifted his head slightly, sniffing the air and listening past the battlefield.
"So I'm being ambushed, huh?"
His voice carried a note of anticipation rather than caution.
He paused for a brief moment, letting his heightened senses pick apart the direction of the attack. The lingering trace of the sound, the intent behind it, the way it struck precisely at a critical moment—
Recognition flickered across his expression.
"…That should be that fellow Matthew."
He let out a low chuckle.
"Heh… trying to interrupt my kill, huh?"
Logan casually spun his axes once in his grip, the heavy weapons moving as if they weighed nothing at all. The motion sent a low hum through the air, as if the axes themselves were eager for the next clash.
"Good."
His voice dropped into a hungry tone, thick with excitement.
"I was getting bored just smashing through defenses."
He took a step back instead of forward, deliberately giving space, his posture lowering as his muscles coiled with restrained power. His tail swayed once behind him, slow and deliberate, signaling the shift from mindless assault to focused anticipation.
The remaining opponents instinctively retreated, sensing that the target of his attention had changed.
Logan ignored them completely.
"Come on out," he called, his voice carrying clearly across the battlefield.
He tilted his head slightly, eyes scanning for the unseen attacker.
"Don't tell me you're going to hide after taking a shot like that."
A wolfish grin spread across his face, sharp and eager.
"Let's have a real fight."