As the action died down, each student took a breather, breaths ragged and shoulders slumped. The air hung thick with smoke, the scent of scorched fur and singed bark lingering in their noses. Reactions varied—some students sat on the ground in silent awe, others trembled at the sight of blood and motionless wolf corpses, while a few stared blankly, numbed by adrenaline and disbelief. For some, this was their first true brush with death. For others, it barely scratched the surface of their fear.
Silas, perched atop the undead bear's back, casually patted its matted head. The creature rumbled low, its exposed ribs expanding like bellows. He watched the students with a lazy sort of amusement, as if he were a judge at a festival rather than a peer who had just led them into battle.
"I give you a ten out of ten," he said with exaggerated cheer.
The students turned to him, their expressions mixed with irritation and disbelief. A few raised eyebrows; others frowned outright.
"You didn't even try to help," someone called out, their voice edged with accusation.
The student who had launched the powerful punch spell—runes still faintly glowing along his arms—stepped forward, his expression sharp and unimpressed. He spoke aloud what most of them were thinking.
Silas leapt down from the bear in one fluid motion, landing with a dancer's grace. He straightened, bowing slightly in a mocking gesture.
"Oh come on… I'm sure none of you wants to get babied by a fellow classmate, right?"
He brushed imaginary dust from his shoulder, flashing a smirk.
"I mean… what does that say about all your skills if you can't even handle a pack of wolves?"
The punch-slinger's grin turned feral. His eyes narrowed, glinting with challenge as he stepped in and grabbed Silas by the collar, yanking him forward until their faces were inches apart.
"You got some guts, eh?" he said, voice low and threatening.
Silas met his gaze with a calm, irritating smile that barely reached his eyes.
"You sure you want to keep talking…?"
He jerked his chin upward slightly, drawing attention behind his challenger.
The undead bear loomed over them both now, casting a long, ominous shadow. Its jaw creaked open slightly, exposing jagged yellow teeth as a growl vibrated deep within its ribcage. Its eyes, glowing with faint necrotic light, were locked onto the student's every twitch.
The student scoffed, but let go, backing off with his hands in his pockets.
"Ah, screw it," he muttered, rolling his eyes. "I don't wanna die yet."
He stepped back into the crowd, still watching Silas warily, waiting for the next bit of wisdom on how to survive the Forest of Trials.
Silas cleared his throat dramatically, then leaned against the bear's side as if it were a familiar piece of furniture.
"Second lesson—build a fort. All of you will have quite a terrible night if you don't."
His tone was casual, almost bored, but the implication behind the words drew a ripple of unease through the group.
From the crowd, Cynthia raised her arm, one hand resting on her hip. Her expression was curious, but a flicker of her earlier lightness had returned.
"And why is that…?" she asked, her voice carrying clearly through the clearing.
Silas shrugged, his expression turning playfully evasive.
"What's the fun in saying? You're all supposed to learn, aren't you?"
Cynthia raised an eyebrow at Silas' response, her expression a mixture of incredulity and fatigue. She exhaled slowly through her nose, rubbing her temples before speaking again.
"You're aware that your grades are also affected by this, right…?"
Silas crossed his arms over his chest, his posture relaxed and his gaze distant. The comment rolled off him like rain off stone. He was always at the bottom of his class back on Earth—before he became an assassin. Academia never held weight for him, and it certainly didn't now.
"You underestimate how much I do not care at all," he said dryly.
A smirk curled on his lips as he snickered, the glint in his eyes daring anyone to challenge him.
Cynthia lowered her hand slowly, her face contorting with disbelief and resignation. Her shoulders slumped just slightly, like someone realizing the futility of arguing with a brick wall.
"Ehh…?" she muttered, blinking a few times in visible confusion.
She scratched the side of her head awkwardly, fingers rustling her hair as if trying to dislodge a coherent comeback. Nothing came.
"Well… okay, I guess," she said at last, her voice trailing off in defeat.
The other students stood nearby, watching the exchange like spectators at a play. Most didn't speak, but the air around them buzzed with questions none of them bothered to voice—at least not toward Silas. By now, they all seemed to understand he wouldn't answer directly.
"Let's get ready, I guess," one student finally said, stepping forward with a sense of weary initiative. He rolled up his sleeves and gestured toward the treeline.
"That one's not talking, but the trees might if we don't move."
The group began to move, the rustle of leaves and shifting equipment filling the silence as they prepared to build shelter.
Silas watched them with quiet amusement, his expression unreadable for a beat. Then his gaze turned downward, softening as he looked at his undead bear beside him.
"Let them hate me," he muttered under his breath, his voice low but calm, almost thoughtful. "They'll switch up eventually."
He reached up and scratched gently beneath the creature's chin, right where the fur gave way to exposed bone. The massive beast rumbled contentedly, leaning into the touch like a house pet. Its jagged teeth showed in a grin-like snarl, but it's posture remained docile, almost affectionate under his hand.
Silas smiled faintly, the moment strangely tender amid the lingering tension.