In the shadows of the S Ranked Main character -
Chapter 62: Boss(3)
Chapter 62: Boss(3)
It started with the flowers.
Blue, gold, and violet. Sprouting from between the floor tiles of the Class B hall first near the walls, then under the benches, then directly in the open center of the dueling floor.
Eugene Trunsoest stepped away from the center ring, his boots crunching on tile as more vines cracked through the seams. He glanced over his shoulder at Marlon, who was walking in from the sparring lanes with two practice swords slung under his arm.
"You seeing this?" Eugene asked.
Marlon slowed. "Yeah."
More flowers bloomed. Fast. Controlled. No magic circles. No chant No one casting
Around them, the rest of the class started noticing too some getting up from benches, others pointing at the floor or backing away from the vines crawling along the walls.
"Is this... scheduled?" one of the students asked aloud.
"No," Eugene said
The atmosphere shifted.
The lights overhead dimmed. Not from a power failure more like the color was being pulled out of the air itself. Students turned toward the doors.
The doors locked vines wrapping around with a fury
Someone ran to the front doors and yanked the handle. It didn’t move.
Another tried a window. Sealed from the inside.
Eugene didn’t speak. He turned, moving slowly back toward the middle of the hall. He wasn’t panicked. Not yet. But his posture changed center of gravity lower, hands loose, eyes scanning.
"Marlon," he said.
"Already on it," Marlon replied, dropping the practice swords and unsheathing his real one. He stepped forward beside Eugene.
The vines spread faster now. Not aggressively—just... deliberately. They moved like they had a purpose.
That’s when the first person dropped.
A girl near the left wall staggered backward, hit a desk, and collapsed. Her hands twitched. Her eyes rolled back.
Then another fell. A boy. Same symptoms. No scream. Just collapse
"What the hell—" one of the students started.
The girl stood back up.
Eyes open. No expression. No breathing pattern. Just... standing.
She turned her head, slowly, toward a group near the center of the room.
Then sprinted straight at them.
She didn’t shout. Didn’t cast Just attacked
She tackled one of the students clean off their feet. Hands gripped the shoulders. No hesitation. No restraint The two slammed into the tile.
"Move," Eugene snapped, and he and Marlon launched forward.
They reached her first. Eugene struck low—an angled blow to knock her legs out. Marlon followed with a shoulder-check that forced her back.
The girl hit the ground hard. Unconscious. Or close to it.
But two more were rising.
Same posture. Same expression.
"Something’s wrong with them," Marlon said, holding position.
"You think?" Eugene said.
The vines moved again.
They curled up the walls and began closing off the windows. Entire panes sealed with roots, thick enough to block sight and light. The air felt heavier now Not magical. Just... thick.
The second wave came from the back of the room. Five students stood up, all at once, and walked forward no coordination, no talking, but all aimed at the same center point.
They didn’t talk.
Didn’t scream.
Didn’t blink.
Just charged.
Eugene stepped in. Marlon was already moving Neither of them hesitated. Blunt force. Non-lethal hits. Control strikes
Two down. Three more.
By the time the fifth fell, panting students were backing toward the far wall. Some were crying. Some were frozen.
Eugene turned to the room. "If you can’t fight, stay down. Don’t move unless we call for it."
Nobody argued.
Then a new noise cut in.
Boom.
Something hit the west wall. Not from the outside. From above.
Boom.
Again.
Then it dropped.
A large shape metal and fabric, humanoid, but wrong in proportion landed in the center of the hall.
It stood.
Painted armor. No visible face No identifier.
A puppet.
Level 20.
Marlon’s hand tightened on his blade. "Why the hell is that here?"
"No clue," Eugene said. "But it’s live."
The puppet moved.
Fast.
Eugene didn’t wait.
He stepped forward into the swing zone and launched a flat-palm burst to the puppet’s torso, trying to knock it back. It didn’t budge.
The puppet countered with a hard arc punch. Eugene dodged left, but it clipped his arm. He grimaced but stayed up.
Marlon moved in, striking low. Metal rang. The puppet reacted—spun, arms outstretched.
This was combat.
And whatever was controlling it?
Had to be quite fierce
---
The puppet turned sharply.
Its body whined — joints rotating with cold precision, arms snapping into position. It re-focused not on Eugene, but on the one still standing.
Marlon.
"Go," Marlon snapped, eyes locked on the puppet. "Get the others under control. I’ve got this."
Eugene hesitated. "You sure?"
The puppet surged forward.
Marlon met it.
CLANG.
Their weapons collided — Marlon’s sword to the puppet’s arm blade — with an impact that split the floor beneath them. The puppet followed with a low kick. Marlon twisted, stepped inside the arc, and slammed his shoulder into its chestplate. It stumbled one step.
Then it retaliated with a piston strike straight for his head.
Marlon ducked. His hair singed.
"Sword Magic: Crescent Arc."
A flash of silver tore across the puppet’s chest — a horizontal wave of pure cutting force. Sparks flew. The puppet staggered again, but its arms never slowed.
It lashed out in a wide cross-strike.
Too fast.
Marlon raised his blade to block, bracing with both hands—
BOOM.
The force sent him skidding backwards ten feet, boots carving two lines through the tile. His arms trembled, blade vibrating in his grip.
It was stronger than he was.
But strength wasn’t everything.
The puppet lunged again linear, calculated.
Marlon sidestepped, eyes narrow, breath tight.
He whispered, "Sword Magic: Edgeflow."
His blade shimmered the metal liquifying along the edge. The puppet’s next strike came down. He met it not head-on, but with a curve. His blade slid across the impact, absorbing and redirecting the force like water down a slope.
He spun low, dragging the liquid edge behind him.
Then struck.
"Sword Magic: Spinal Break."
The shimmering blade slammed into the puppet’s back, cutting through the spine casing with a burst of recoil force. The puppet twitched — one arm going limp — but still turned, one blade still raised.
Marlon grit his teeth.
Too slow.
The remaining arm slammed down and punched him in the ribs.
Hard.
He flew backward — smashed into a row of desks — and gasped as breath tore from his lungs. His sword clattered across the floor.
He didn’t get up right away.
The puppet advanced, footfalls mechanical, even.
One blade.
Still deadly.
Marlon pushed to one knee.
Blood dripped from his lip. "Okay..." he muttered. "Fine."
He extended his hand.
The sword shook, then lifted, flying back to his grip.
"Let’s finish it."
He rose — slow but steady. The silver in his blade shimmered again. The flow wasn’t defensive this time. It howled.
The puppet lunged.
Marlon didn’t dodge.
He ran straight in.
Clash.
The puppet’s arm blade came down. Marlon parried once, narrowly. His own blade nicked the puppet’s leg.
Another slash.
He blocked it overhead — but only barely. The puppet followed with a side kick that cracked his shinplate.
Marlon roared and responded in kind.
"Sword Magic: Festive end
His blade flared a full-body, high-output casting. Silver light bloomed around him in petals of raw pressure, accelerating his next move tenfold.
He vanished for a beat.
Then—
SLASH.
SLASH.
SLASH.
Three clean cuts.
All inside the puppet’s guard.
One through the neck. One through the core casing.
One through the knee to drop it.
The puppet seized.
It took one last step forward.
Then—
Collapsed.
Twitching.
Sparking.
Dead.
Marlon dropped to one knee again, panting, blade jammed into the floor to keep himself from falling flat.
From behind him, Eugene shouted, "Status?"
Marlon coughed once. Then smiled, breathless.
"Puppet’s down."
He didn’t mention the blood in his mouth.
Or the way his sword arm wouldn’t stop shaking.
---
Eugene stepped over a half-collapsed desk, brushing ash from his sleeve as he approached the center of the hall.
Marlon was still on one knee, chest heaving, sweat dripping from his brow. The puppet lay behind him twitching, cracked, leaking soft sparks from where its limbs had been professionally dismantled.
Eugene let out a low whistle.
"Gotta say," he remarked, "that wasn’t bad."
Marlon blinked, still catching his breath. "Thanks?"
"I mean it," Eugene said, inspecting the wreckage with a nod. "Clean kills. Controlled strikes. Minimal collateral. Good footwork. Above-average tempo."
He paused, considering.
"...for someone without innate talent or affinity
Marlon’s brow twitched.
"I do have an affinity," he muttered.
Eugene nodded absently, squatting down next to the puppet and poking the core with a gloved hand.
"Sure, sure. You’ve got ’sword skill not as good as June though " He stood again. "It’s impressive. You looked competent out there. Honestly, if you, me, and June were all ranked"
"Don’t," Marlon warned.
"I mean, clearly I’m first," Eugene said with absolute confidence, brushing hair back from his forehead. "Then June, because his whole ’mana heart Bs"
He looked at Marlon with a completely serious expression.
"But you’d be an incredible third...if we excluded Rose
There was a beat of silence.
Marlon stared.
"...Thanks," he said slowly.
"No problem," Eugene said, clapping him on the shoulder. "I genuinely mean it. That puppet would’ve flattened half this room without you. Especially Class B. They’re not exactly known for their talent."
Marlon exhaled through his nose. "Your compliments are always so... enlightening."
---
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