A few hours after arriving, young Lancer was low-key terrified. The vibe Scarlett Rise gave off was straight-up apex predator—there was honestly no better way to put it.
Setting that aside, Mark caught himself wondering which of his superiors would be running his RCT (Real Combat Test).
Right on cue, Grettel Morningstar called out and motioned for him to follow. He fell in line, tailing her through the freakishly futuristic facility.
When they reached their destination, most of the higher-ups they'd arrived with were already waiting, kicked back in the bleachers of what looked like a miniature stadium. Everyone was there except one person: Jack Foulstep…
An intimidating voice echoed across the arena the second both rookies stepped inside:
—Don't sleep on the jester. He might just be the most dangerous guy in the entire realm…
It was Grimmoire's voice, officially kicking off the "medieval show"—which was exactly what Jack had decided to name his personalized RCT.
As the fight commenced, the tension hanging over Mark and Grettel was so thick you could cut it with a knife. On the flip side, the jester at the other end of the arena was completely unbothered.
Then, he spoke up.
—Keep in mind, this is more of a high-stakes training session than an actual fight. Oh, and one more thing before we start…
The jester said, reaching down to scoop up a piece of cardboard off the floor. Someone had scribbled all over it with a marker:
[Jack the Marvellous Foulstep
Age: Perfect
Virtue: Peak badassery
Aura level/Karma: Divine
Rizz: Unmatched
Status: God on Terra / Ultimate aura farmer
Condition: Special]
That's what the sign read—though that last line was definitely written by someone else. Not that it mattered much.
Because with his next words, the match was officially on.
—Remember: all you gotta do to win is land a single hit.
That was all the jester said before the cardboard in his hand literally evaporated into thin air like it was never there.
And just like that, the Real Combat Test was live.
Instantly, a cluster of metal chains shot straight toward Jack.
He didn't even flinch.
A split second later, the chains shattered into pieces and hit the floor.
Grimmoire's voice boomed over the speakers again:
—Due to the extreme difficulty of this test, it has been ruled that for every 15 seconds the participants stay conscious, they'll earn a hint. During these intervals, combat will pause, giving you a chance to catch your breath and reset.
With this new piece of intel, Mark already had a game plan forming in his head.
Step one: do not, under any circumstances, get close to the jester, unless they wanted to end up sliced like those chains. So the play was simple: keep moving, hold the distance, shoot from afar, and stall for time. Once they gathered enough hints, they'd be able to land at least one solid blow.
Solid plan.
Too bad it meant absolutely nothing to the jester.
In the blink of an eye, Jack had already closed the distance on Mark—the guy he was casually referring to as the enemy team's "tank."
A kick, thrown just a fraction slower than his previous speed, came flying straight for the young Lancer's head.
Pure instinct took over, and Mark threw up a block. He felt the bones in his wrist crack from the force.
Turns out the jester wasn't holding back as much as they'd hoped…
—Phase one of the fight: basic Aura control… —Jack said with terrifying composure—. First up is learning Aura Enhancement. Basically, infusing your body with it. The more refined your Aura, the cleaner the resonance. This is the absolute bare minimum, so don't mess it up.
—It's literally just channeling your energy into your body. It ain't that deep—Jack added, trying to sound motivational.
His movements kept picking up speed. Every kick was landing harder than the last, putting Mark under suffocating pressure.
Meanwhile, Grettel was doing whatever she could to back him up, though it wasn't helping much. For starters, it clearly looked like Mark's turn to take the heat, and on top of that, hand-to-hand combat wasn't her strong suit. To make matters worse, her main move—throwing chains—was completely rendered useless by Jack.
Kick number twenty-three slammed hard against Mark's right arm. The poor guy was on his last legs.
But something shifted.
His instincts were finally steering him in the right direction: this time, the kick felt slightly lighter, less painful… and a faint blue glow began to illuminate his arm.
—Congrats, Sparky. You managed the absolute basics… Now hold tight right here until it's your turn again.
Looks like it was time for the emo girl to survive the powerful, handsome, successful, filthy rich, famous, ultra-chad and sexy jester…