After that, Leonardo became noticeably quieter. As though the very tail of the procession was his rightful place, he drifted there in silence, moving without a single wasted step. He never sought conversation, never raised his voice. But when a swarm of monsters appeared in their path, he fought with a violence so intense it eclipsed everyone else’s efforts. The ferocity of his attacks was such that no one dared approach too closely, afraid of being caught in the unpredictable sparks that flew from him.
Ironically, unlike before—when he had constantly worried about injuring an ally—now that he used his mana without restraint, the sharp and almost terrifying precision he once possessed was returning. Each swing, each strike, carried a control that was both deliberate and deadly.
Realizing this, Leonardo felt an odd twist of self-mockery. He could not help but wonder why he had carried such weight on his shoulders in the past, why he had poured such effort into holding back. The realization left him hollow, the emptiness gnawing inside.
The original route chosen for the procession cut directly through an active volcanic zone, but the suffocating heat soon began to take its toll. Several members struggled to breathe; dizziness set in for some.
Because of that, the leaders altered course, steering them into a dense forest where towering tropical plants and thick undergrowth offered some shield from the oppressive heat. It was riskier—concealed monsters could ambush them from the shadows—but the alternative of roasting under volcanic heat was far worse.
The 8th Platoon leader and a handful of soldiers moved ahead, hacking through vines and brush with their blades to open a passable trail.
The rest followed along the newly cleared path, their steps measured, when a sharp cry rang out from ahead—quickly followed by the heavy, jarring thud of an impact, like something being struck. Instantly, everyone tensed, eyes fixed forward.
Hugo, positioned in the center of the formation so he could keep Leonardo—still at the very back—in sight, immediately activated his radio to contact the 8th Platoon leader.
“What’s happening up there?”
— A monster attacked out of nowhere. We’ve taken it down. It’s a ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) mutant.
The moment he heard this, Hugo shot upward, accelerating toward the front with a burst of speed. The others followed close on his heels. Leonardo too surged forward, his figure cutting through the air as he gave chase.
When they reached the vanguard, they saw the 8th Platoon leader and three others standing at the very edge of a cliff where the path was abruptly severed. Before them lay an unfamiliar creature’s corpse.
Beyond it was only a pale, mist-filled void. From the depths below came a faint, periodic hissing sound, each followed by a plume of steam rising into the air.
The monster was massive—easily five meters long—with a long, serpentine neck and wings shaped like those of a great bird. Hugo stepped up to it, gripped one of the wings, and lifted. Spread wide, the wings were vast, enough to suggest this was indeed a creature capable of sustained flight. As he examined it, Hugo asked,
“Was it airborne when you saw it?”
“It was flapping, but it never left the ground.”
“Hm... first time I’ve seen one with wings on the peninsula...”
He turned his gaze to Leonardo, who had approached the corpse and was now running his hand along the long neck. From the faint frown on his face, this too was new to him.
“If it can fly, shouldn’t it have been spotted near the peninsula’s borders rather than here?”
“Logically, yes. Wings would let it travel far and fast in search of prey.”
While Hugo and the platoon leader spoke, Leonardo moved with quiet intent, studying the corpse more closely as he edged toward its torso.
The neck is long yet deceptively light, and there are bends here... Center of gravity sits in the chest, wings broad enough for lift. Definitely capable of flight.
His conclusion firm, he rose, frowning, eyes fixed on the body.
But if it can truly fly, why stay trapped here instead of leaving the peninsula?
He stepped toward its belly, knelt, drew the dagger at his waist, and drove the blade in without hesitation.
The platoon leader began to protest at him cutting open the corpse without orders, but Hugo raised an arm, silently telling her to let him continue.
Leonardo gripped the sparse feathers at the abdomen and sliced it open entirely. The split spilled its innards in a wet rush.
Flynn grimaced, but Leonardo showed no hesitation—lifting the belly’s skin, searching inside, then cutting open the stomach to peer within.
From a stomach’s contents, one could roughly deduce a creature’s hunting habits and territory.
But Leonardo narrowed his eyes.
No traces of prey.
Hugo reached the same conclusion—there was no sign it had eaten in a long while.
Leonardo’s thoughts deepened.
With wings, finding prey should be simple. Why nothing? Degeneration?
His eyes flicked back to the wings.
No... survival would be easier in another region entirely. Monsters cluster here—elsewhere there would be far less competition.
Come to think of it, others are strange too. Even if they can’t go inland because of humans, why don’t the aquatic ones head into the open sea? Why linger here at all?
Hugo, watching him, called out.
“Leonardo.”
The golden eyes lifted, sharp and cold, yet absent of the earlier fury.
Hugo opened his mouth—then Leonardo suddenly thrust his arm forward. Sparks exploded from his palm, and a savage beam tore through the air toward Hugo.
Hugo twisted aside in an instant, the beam grazing past his face before vanishing into the mist beyond.
“Commander—!”
The 1st Battalion reacted instantly, swords drawn, tips leveled at Leonardo.
The beam seemed lost in the fog—until a distant impact echoed, followed by a hollow detonation and the shrill death-cry of some unseen creature.
Lowering his arm, Leonardo smirked.
“What’s lurking there?”
Hugo turned, eyes cold, to meet his provoking gaze.
Steel points surrounded Leonardo, yet he stood without the faintest trace of fear.
Hugo’s expression didn’t waver as mana began to surge around him, chilling the air. Leonardo’s brow lifted in surprise before he slowly rose to his feet, knees straightening.
“Shall we?” he asked, voice edged.
Hugo’s smile was almost pleasant.
“As if.”
With a gesture, he ordered the others to lower their blades. They exchanged glances, then obeyed.
Leonardo’s smirk faded into a thin frown.
Rational to the end. Leisurely to the end.
Once the weapons were lowered, Hugo turned his back on him, focusing again on the mist beyond the cliff.
The mana gathered, condensing into a small, clear sphere. Leonardo’s eyebrow rose—it was still, too calm for an attack.
Without any movement from Hugo, the sphere drifted into the mist and vanished. Leonardo took a couple of steps back and raised a barrier.
Hugo conjured a massive barrier at the cliff’s edge without lifting a hand. Before Leonardo could study the technique further, a loud detonation split the air and a violent wind ripped through the area.
The mist tore away, revealing a sheer cliff across the chasm, streaked with thin streams of lava. Nestled between its ledges were hundreds of creatures identical to the one at their feet.
Below, lava poured into water, churning thick clouds of steam.
The soldiers tensed for battle, but Leonardo’s focus sharpened on something else entirely.
No hands used. And... precise. Only the mist was moved, not the monsters.
His thoughts confirmed what he suspected: Hugo’s mana was subtle, precise, and unreadable—its depth impossible to gauge.
I still don’t know this man’s true power.
Hugo turned back, meeting his stare. The unspoken message in those eyes was clear enough.
Just then, the monsters on the far cliff took flight, wings beating toward them. As the first closed in, Leonardo vanished in a flash, reappearing in midair.
Hugo’s gaze followed him calmly.
Leonardo’s hand clamped around the long neck of the lead creature. It choked, thrashing, as he swung it like a living club, smashing others from the sky.
When it clawed at him, he pinned its neck beneath his arm and drove his fist into its head again and again until bone collapsed and the skull caved entirely.
Even with the head gone, he kept punching, blood splattering across his face and staining the ivory folds of his mage’s robe.
He slung the limp corpse over his shoulder—a weapon fashioned from his kill.
The monsters hesitated in the air. Leonardo’s golden eyes burned.
“I’m in a foul mood.”
They couldn’t understand him, but they understood the bloody example in his grasp. They faltered, wings shifting, and began to pull back.
Cracking his neck with a sharp motion, he growled,
“Let’s end this quickly.”
He hurled himself into their nests, shattering the cliff. Lava sprayed in all directions.
The 8th Platoon leader’s eyes darkened at the carnage. She turned to the Commander.
“Shall we back him up?”
Hugo watched the crimson and molten light erupting like fireworks, the golden blaze raging in the heart of it, and shook his head.
“For now, let him have it. Getting close right now would only get in the way. We’ll focus on the ones that try to escape.”
