Lola didn't see an attack, but her instincts, honed over years of life-or-death contracts, screamed at her to move. She threw herself to the side, landing in a crouch as the ground behind her erupted.

A deep, ten-foot-long trench was gouged into the ground, a clean slice as if an invisible giant had swung a massive blade. Dust and pebbles sprayed outwards.

Lola stared at the fresh scar in the road, her heart giving a hard thump against her ribs.

'What the hell was that?'

She looked back at Nox. The vibe around him was heavy now, a palpable weight in the air. He stood there, the dark scar on his chest pulsing faintly, and then he was gone. There was no blur, no shadowy flicker. One moment he was twenty feet away, his sword held loosely. The next, he was directly in front of her, his blade raised high, coming down in a brutal, one-handed chop meant to split her in two.

Surprise jolted through her, but her body reacted before her mind could fully catch up. She brought both daggers up in a crossed block, the impact jarring her all the way to her shoulders. The kid was strong, far stronger than he had been moments ago. The force of his blow drove her back a step.

She twisted her body, using the momentum to kick out, her boot connecting squarely with his chest again.

He flew backward, but this time he didn't crash. He hit the ground, rolled, and was back on his feet in an instant, his movements unnaturally fluid. He charged again, the Blade a wild, unpredictable arc.

Serian could only watch, her sword half-lowered in disbelief. The human who had been on the verge of death was now pressing a high-level mercenary. His technique was a mess—he was all rage and force, no finesse—but his speed and sheer resilience were terrifying.

'How is this possible?' she thought, her mind struggling to reconcile the reckless boy from minutes ago with the relentless force now on the attack. 'He's fighting like a cornered beast.'

Lola parried another wild swing. 'He's fast, but he's all over the place. No form, just rage.' She sidestepped a clumsy thrust that left him wide open and sliced a shallow line across his ribs with her right dagger.

He grunted but didn't slow down, the new wound already starting to darken and seal over, just like the one on his chest.

'He's healing as he fights? No, that's not it. It's cruder than regeneration.' It was like his body was just forcibly stitching itself back together, ignoring the normal rules of anatomy. This was wrong. This kid was a monster.

"Stand still, you little freak!" she snarled, her professional calm cracking. She was faster, more skilled, but he just wouldn't stay down. Every time she landed a cut that should have slowed an opponent, he seemed to barely notice, his cold, empty eyes still fixed on her.

Nox felt a disconnect, as if he were watching someone else control his body. The pain was a distant throb, easily ignored. There was only the cold, clear objective: hurt her. He saw an opening as she dodged another of his swings. He didn't bother trying to change his attack's direction. Instead, he let his own momentum carry him forward, deliberately taking the tip of her left dagger high in his shoulder.

The blade sank in, and he grunted but the move had been a trade. His left hand, now free, shot out and grabbed her wrist, the one holding the dagger embedded in his shoulder. His grip was like a steel trap.

Her eyes widened in a flash of alarm. 'He took the hit on purpose.'

Before she could pull free, his right hand brought the blade around in a savage, horizontal slash. She tried to yank her arm back, but his grip was absolute. The blade bit deep into her left shoulder, grating against bone.

Blood sprayed.

She screamed, an infuriated sound of pure pain. She wrenched her arm free, her own dagger pulling from his shoulder with a wet tearing sound, and stumbled back, clutching her gushing wound. The front of her leather armor was soaked.

"You crazy son of a bitch," she hissed, her face pale. The fight was no longer a game, no longer a simple contract. This was real.

Nox stood there, panting, the dagger wound in his shoulder already starting to close, the flesh knitting together in that same unnatural, dark way. He felt a wave of dizziness wash over him. The power was still there, but it was costing him. He could feel it draining him, a deep-seated exhaustion setting in beneath the cold rage.

'This is taking too long,' he thought.

Lola looked from her ruined shoulder to Nox, who was swaying slightly but still standing, still ready. She was a mercenary, not a zealot. She weighed risk versus reward. The contract with Gorok was good, but it wasn't worth losing an arm, or her life, to some unknown, self-healing monster in human skin.

"You know what, kid?" she said, her voice tight with pain. "You can keep the damn princess."

She didn't wait for a response. She threw a small pellet onto the ground. It exploded in a thick cloud of black smoke, instantly obscuring the street. By the time the smoke began to clear, she was gone.

The cold energy that had been fueling Nox vanished as soon as she disappeared. The rage receded, and the pain came roaring back, ten times worse than before. His legs gave out from under him. He fell to his knees, his body screaming from the half-healed wounds and the sheer exertion. The Blade dropped from his hand with a clatter.

"Nox!" Serian was at his side in an instant, her hands hovering over him, unsure of where to touch. "You are… are you alright?"

He just knelt there, head bowed, trying to catch his breath. His body trembled uncontrollably. "Yeah," he rasped, the word barely audible. "Just peachy."

A series of quiet notifications appeared in his vision.

[Mission: Survive the Mercenary Lola - COMPLETE!]

[Time Elapsed: 4 minutes, 18 seconds.]

[Bonus Objective: Opponent Retreated. Mission upgraded to Defeat.]

[Reward: 25,000 EXP, +20 Stat Points, 1x Unique Skill Box, Title: Mercenary Hunter.]

[Level Up!]

[You are now Level 17!]

[Level Up!]

[You are now Level 18!]

[You have 10 unallocated stat points.]

[Total Unallocated Stat Points: 30]

He stared at the messages, his vision blurring. He'd won. He hadn't killed her, but he'd made her run. He'd won. He let out a shaky laugh, a sound that was half relief and half pure exhaustion, before he pitched forward onto the dirty street, unconscious.