"What sort of monster have you created, Stacy!?" Dean and Grandmother shouted at the same time, their voices overlapping in perfect outrage. The echo rang through the hall like thunder. Amari, meanwhile, was still frozen in a daze, her eyes wide and unfocused, lips parted as though she couldn't quite process what she'd just heard.
"She doesn't even have a class," Granny pressed on, her tone aghast. "And yet her stats are already that high. Normal people don't even unlock their class until their stats reach two or three hundred!" She shook her head slowly, almost disbelieving, as though her words offended her sense of order.
Mom, unfazed, folded her arms and asked the question I'd been dreading. "How are you only level 27 after killing seventy people last night?" Her eyes narrowed. "Albeit, they were just uncommon classes. The highest level among them was around 500. Excluding the commander that you took care of, of course." She rattled off the facts as though reading a ledger, her tone flat, but the weight of the words filled the room like smoke.
"Seventy people?" My voice came out thin, almost disbelieving. A cold shiver crawled up my spine. "Did I kill everyone last night?" I knew I was involved with the destroyed mansion, but I hadn't considered that not everyone had been killed.
"You don't remember?" Stacy's brows knitted together in confusion.
"No." I shook my head firmly, clutching at the fragments of memory. "From the moment I kicked Dizzy out of the mansion, everything got… hazy. The last thing I'm certain about is looking down at you in my fox form." My voice dipped lower, carrying a faint tremor of unease.
"I see." Mom studied me carefully, her expression unreadable. Then she straightened. "Let's take that break first. Then we'll talk about all this." She turned toward Daren, her eyes narrowing dangerously. "And we're going to make this look like it never happened."
Daren's mouth opened as if to protest, but the weight of her gaze pinned him down. With a stiff nod, he accepted the order. One by one, the others began filing out, cleaning and straightening the room as though nothing had transpired. The heavy atmosphere lifted only slightly.
"I will never get used to this family," Amari muttered, shaking her head as she trailed out of the hall.
"Kitsuna, do you want to have a spar?" The voice startled me. Surprisingly, it wasn't Mom who asked—but Dean.
I blinked at him, caught off guard. "...We can. But not a long one."
He gave me a single nod and, without another word, started walking out. I followed, my footsteps echoing in the hall. Behind us, Mom and Granny also fell in, silent observers to what was about to unfold.
The Training Grounds
The crisp air outside hit me first. Then the noise—the clamor of shouts, the clash of weapons, the steady rhythm of drills. The training grounds sprawled out before me, alive with movement. Soldiers sparred, jogged, or honed their techniques under watchful instructors.
A quick glance told me there were easily around a hundred people here, scattered across the field. Their disciplined formations stood in stark contrast to the chaos of the mansion.
"Why are there so many people training here?" I asked, curiosity pricking at me. "At the border mansion, I never saw anyone else train besides us."
Dean walked with steady steps toward a raised platform, answering without looking back. "That's because it's too dangerous there. Most of the people you see here are privates or corporals. Their instructors are, at most, sergeants. Gray is the only exception."
"Ooh, I see," I murmured, taking in the sight.
Dean suddenly cleared his throat. "Cough. Listen up!"
His voice cracked across the grounds like a whip. Immediately, every soldier froze mid-motion. Dozens of heads snapped in his direction. Silence fell.
"I am going to spar with my daughter really quick," Dean announced casually, as if stating the weather. "Clear out the field. You may watch the spar if you like."
For a moment, there was silence. Then a man with short gray hair and sharp black eyes, wearing an instructor's uniform, stepped forward. "Dean, wasn't Amari a mage type?" His tone was puzzled and skeptical.
Dean smirked. "Yes, she is. I'm talking about my other daughter."
The words dropped like stones in water. Shock rippled through the field.
"What!?" Half the soldiers erupted at once, their disbelief carrying across the grounds.
Dean raised a hand for silence. "She was adopted three years ago. She lived with Stacy at the border until yesterday."
The murmurs spread quickly—surprise, whispers, curiosity. The instructor, however, didn't waste time. "I see. Okay, everyone! Earth users, make an arena! Make it big enough so we can all watch the spar!"
At his command, the soldiers sprang into motion. Mana churned through the ground as earth users molded the terrain, raising sturdy walls and shaping a wide ring. Others began clearing debris, setting benches, or taking positions along the edges.
Watching the bustle, I turned to Dean, raising a brow. "What's going on?"
His wry smile said it all. "I'm sorry. I didn't want you to meet them like this. Sigh… Gray sometimes takes everything too seriously."
I followed his gaze to the instructor. He was already striding toward us with brisk, purposeful steps.
"But this is important," Gray said firmly as he approached. His voice carried authority, calm yet heavy. "All of us need to know who is part of the house."
He stopped in front of me, his height almost matching mine. Although his expression softened slightly, he continued to study me carefully with his eyes. "My name is Gray. No surname."
I grinned, tilting my head. "Yo. My name's Kitsuna. And before you ask—I'm the same age as Amari."
His brows rose slightly. "Ooh, you're really tall for your age."
"Yeah. There's something… special about my race," I said with a shrug.
"Not a normal demon fox, then?" Gray chuckled. "I'm excited for your spar." His laughter was warm, not mocking. Then he glanced at the nearly complete stage. "Do we need to prepare any weapons for you, young miss?"
I shook my head. "No need. And no formalities with me."
"Understood." With a nod, he turned and walked back toward the stands.
Dean tapped my shoulder. "The stage is done. I'll formally introduce you to everyone another time."
I nodded back and stepped onto the freshly raised platform.
The Sparring Match
The arena was simple but sturdy—stone walls rising waist-high, the ground hardened for impact. Soldiers crowded the elevated edges, their faces a mix of curiosity and anticipation. Every eye was locked on us.
I rolled my shoulders, exhaling slowly as Dean stepped onto the stage opposite me. He stood five meters away, a greatsword resting in his hand, his stance deceptively loose. But the sharp gleam in his eyes betrayed his focus.
Taking my eyes off him for a moment, I scanned the crowd. Their expectant stares only added pressure. My lips twisted into a faint smile.
"Sigh… Let's make this a good show, shall we?" I muttered under my breath.
"Are you ready?" Gray's voice rang out from the edge of the arena.
Dean and I both nodded.
"Good. Start!?"
The sudden shout caught me off guard. Dean was already moving, charging forward with surprising speed.
I didn't flinch. Instead, I conjured a set of ice daggers with a flick of my hand and hurled them low, aiming for his legs. He weaved through them effortlessly, a small frown tugging at his mouth as he closed the distance.
At two meters, I conjured a scythe and swung in a wide arc. Dean stepped back just in time, the blade slicing through the air in front of him. I pressed forward immediately, swinging again, but he stepped in close, ducking under the scythe's sweep.
"As a scythe user," he said calmly, swinging his sword in counter, "you need to understand its weaknesses."
Smirking, I let the scythe dissolve, replacing it instantly with two short swords. One intercepted his greatsword, the other thrusting forward toward his gut. His eyes widened briefly, surprised by the sudden switch, before he leapt back out of reach.
I didn't give him breathing room. The two blades left my hands in a flash, spinning through the air. He dodged sideways, smirking—until the ground exploded beneath him. A warhammer slammed down where he had been a heartbeat earlier. He rolled aside, just barely avoiding the crushing blow.
As he steadied himself, two more daggers whistled through the air toward him. His sword came up, deflecting them with practiced ease. When he looked up, I was already standing with another scythe resting casually on my shoulder.
"Tsk. You really are like Stacy," he muttered.
"Haha. Mother taught me well," I answered with a grin.
From the sidelines, Mom's delighted voice rang out. "What!?" Her grin stretched so wide it almost split her face. I'd never seen her look so proud.
Dean and I both chuckled, understanding perfectly why she was so ecstatic.
"Let's continue," Dean said, charging again.
This time, I shifted my scythe into a katana. Steel met iron as his greatsword clashed against my blade. The impact rang out across the arena, sparking cheers from the crowd.
"Staying like that?" Dean asked, testing the weight of the clash.
"You wanted to see how good I was, right?" I shot back, pushing off and slashing again. Our blades collided, ringing again and again as we exchanged rapid blows.
After a flurry of strikes, Dean leapt back, his eyes glinting. "You're excellent. For a thirteen-year-old."
"Thanks," I said lightly, rubbing my cheek.
His stance shifted. "Okay. I'm going to do something now. I hope you can block it."
I nodded, tightening my grip. He lifted his greatsword and began infusing it with mana. Flames licked across the blade—but they weren't normal flames. They burned heavier and hotter. Lava. The air shimmered with oppressive heat.
My stance shifted instantly, preparing for defense. Flash Step remained my trump card if things went bad.
Dean vanished in a blur, reappearing right in front of me. His sword descended like a fiery mountain. I braced, my katana intercepting the strike. The impact jolted my arms, but I held. What I couldn't hold off was the heat. My hoodie and scarf caught fire instantly, flames devouring fabric.
"Aah, shit!" I hissed, Flash stepping back. In one swift motion, I tore off the burning clothes and flung them aside. My bandaged chest was exposed, the special wrappings thankfully untouched by flame. My skin, marked and cursed, drew gasps from the crowd.
Someone whistled. "Whistle. Holy crap, she's one hot and scary babe!"
"Yeah, look at those muscles! That six-pack's unreal," a girl shouted breathlessly.
"Un, by her body alone she looks stronger than half of us. And those curses… damn, even they make her look intimidating," another soldier muttered.
I blinked, dumbfounded. "...You're not bothered by me being cursed?"
"Huh? "No," one man called back casually. "There are so many cursed people in Black Ops; it's normal. Curses aren't that bad unless they affect others. And yours don't look like the kind that hurt anyone else." He shrugged.
I dropped my stance, staring at them in disbelief. "That just made me more confused."
"Haha, you're new here. You'll get used to it," the girl added, laughing.
Dean smiled faintly at me. I shook my head and exhaled before using Flash Step again to reengage.
Appearing in front of him, I slashed sideways. He ducked low, sweeping at my legs. I leapt over, rolling as I landed. His sword whistled down from behind, but I spun, blocking it at my back. Our eyes met briefly—his narrowed, mine smirking.
Then his gaze flicked down. His expression shifted. "Shit."
My tail had coiled tightly around his leg.
With a sharp jerk, I flung him across the arena.
Boom! The impact shook the ground, a plume of smoke rising.
I stepped forward slowly, scythe in hand, ready to help him up.
"Clap! That's enough!" Granny's sharp voice rang out as she clapped her hands together. The signal cut through the tension, halting the match.
I relaxed, lowering my weapon. But before I could move toward the smoke, Mom's laughter pierced the air.
"HAHAHA! You were just outplayed!?" Her voice rang with unrestrained delight.
As the smoke cleared, she was revealed standing on top of Dean, pointing down at him and cackling.
"Woah, the new miss isn't bad."
"Yeah, she's powerful," voices called out from the stands, admiration buzzing through the crowd.