"Because you have lifted the Level One trial stone with all your strength and tirelessly carried it around the field, then..."
His voice was calm, yet firm.
"Today, I will rank you. This ranking is based on my observations over the past six days of teaching. So, try to weigh your own worth."
The atmosphere fell silent for a moment. But soon, murmurs began to ripple quietly through the rows of students.
"D-Did he just say we're getting ranked today...?" whispered one student from the middle row.
"For six days he just watched… stayed silent… and stared like he wanted to kill someone," another student muttered, swallowing hard.
"I thought he didn't care about ranks..." a girl commented, shooting a sharp glance at her friend beside her.
Some students stood straighter, as if ready to receive their rankings. But others lowered their heads in anxiety, their hands clutching at their sweat-drenched uniforms.
The air grew heavier when Zhen remained silent. As if every single comment hadn't escaped his ears—though his mouth stayed tightly shut.
He drew a slow breath.
"Fear is normal. But if you live only behind a number, then you're not a hunter. You're just a statistic."
He considered a different plan instead of listing the rankings. Smiling faintly to himself, he turned back toward the formation of 501 students in front of him.
"On second thought, it's too soon to rank everyone. So I'll keep it brief—I'll only name the student who's ranked highest, based on my observations."
The students let out a breath of relief at the first part of his sentence—only to feel a twinge of disappointment at the last. Emotions always felt off-kilter whenever they attended this swordmaster's class.
Zhen stepped toward the back row.
"Messy hair, pale face. Not weak, yet every move is precise. Follows instructions flawlessly and speaks little. What's your name?"
As the swordmaster described the student and stopped beside them, every pair of eyes turned toward the one he meant. Necks craned in unison, curiosity burning.
"Shen Lu."
"You're ranked first."
Zhen ended the session by returning to the front of the formation.
Some students felt disappointed that their names hadn't been called, but none dared to question the words of the swordmaster.
"Ranks can change. But there's one thing you must remember: the decision to defeat your own fear."
With those final words for the day, a faint sense of relief washed over him. He exhaled calmly as he turned to walk back toward the building.
But before he could go any farther, a voice called out from above, behind the branches of a tree overhead.
"Looks like you noticed him too."
Zhen tilted his head up slightly to confirm the presence of the speaker. Sure enough, someone was perched atop a thick branch. The figure then descended slowly, landing without a sound a short distance from where Zhen stood.
The man brushed aside his long hair that had been caught by the breeze, then offered Zhen a faint smile.
"That boy… Shen Lu," he said, as if answering an unspoken question. "He's the younger brother of Shen Hao—the Official Blood Hunter of this Region."
Zhen simply nodded once, briefly.
Xiran's gaze followed Shen Lu, who was now walking away from the training field. Just like the one standing beside him, Shen Lu walked alone.
"Since Shen Hao became an Official Blood Hunter, the sword "Mugetsu Yao" may one day be passed down to his older brother…" Xiran's voice dropped an octave. "…Shen Lu lives in a massive shadow. Not just the pressure of his family name, but a vengeance that has yet to burn out."
Zhen didn't respond. His jaw merely tensed slightly.
"I know what you're thinking, Zhen," Xiran continued, casting a probing look at him.
Zhen looked at Xiran for a moment, then turned his gaze back toward where Shen Lu had disappeared into the crowd.
"He's strong," Zhen said at last.
'And shattered inside.'
Xiran nodded in quiet agreement.
As they walked on, someone mustered up the courage to ask the question that had been gnawing at him.
"I've honestly tried to keep this question to myself, but it's been eating at me. Why don't you ever visit the cafeteria? Is it because your face is hidden behind that black cloth? Do you have a scar? Or is your mouth stretched all the way up to your earlobes?"
He leaned backward as he walked—facing Zhen while heading in the opposite direction—completely reversing his view of where they were going.
The person beside him remained silent, until the speaker finally noticed that Zhen's obscured gaze was still trained on him—waiting, perhaps, for his words to stop.
"Then take that question with you to the grave!"
Xiran returned to Zhen's side, now walking normally, facing the direction they were headed.
"Tongues truly have no bones!"
•••
"Because you'll understand it in the end. I can't tell you now."
Rusty fitted the elastic mask over Zhen's face. Before doing so, he pulled away the black cloth that had covered half of it, revealing a deliberately wrinkled expression around his brows and eyes.
"How am I supposed to drink if I have to wear this thing all the time? Got any suggestions?"
Zhen immediately recalled his own peculiar survival tactics during his time at the Western Clan Academy.
"That's easy. Go to the water spout behind this building. There's a statue that pours out clean water from its mouth. You can drink there—it's quiet."
Rusty instinctively furrowed his brows, eyes narrowing with clear disgust spreading across his face.
"How does the water taste?"
"Refreshing enough."
Though unfortunately, Zhen had seen the statue's construction firsthand. The memory of how the water source was processed—using fermented human urine in a massive barrel left to sit for a month—still made his skin crawl.
"Fine. Now how do you eat? You clearly don't sit in the academy cafeteria—I already know that. But I suppose you bring your food back to your room. So what do you eat?"
Rusty's fingers kept pressing along the edges of the mask, making sure it sealed smoothly along the skin of Zhen's neck.
"Underneath that water spout statue, there's a clear pool filled with small ornamental fish. I eat those colorful little creatures."
'That spout again! I'm sick of hearing about it!'
Rusty sighed inwardly in restrained exasperation.
He gazed at the now fully masked face in front of him with a trace of pity.
"It fits your face perfectly."
After they finished altering their appearances, Rusty gave Zhen a firm pat on the shoulder.
"Now, go! Don't forget to sneak through that dark corridor—the one rarely used, but you pass it often. You'll need to go through the cafeteria room so you don't raise suspicion, then head into the core kitchen. Think while you're in there; there are plenty of exit routes that lead to the rear dormitory. Give it a shot!"
Zhen had listened carefully to every instruction. But for some reason, he couldn't take his eyes off Rusty—who now looked exactly like him. The movements, the voice, even the look in his eyes. It was like staring at his own reflection.
"Wait," Zhen said quietly. "What will you do if they find out—"
"But excuse me," Rusty cut him off with a smirk. "I'm very skilled at things like this. You should worry about yourself instead!"
"Go."
Zhen finally opened the door and stepped out, wearing the uniform of a cafeteria staff member, along with the tight elastic mask that made his whole face feel compressed and stretched at once.
As he approached the cafeteria area with light, careful steps, his chest suddenly thumped wildly.
'Was I spotted?'
A loud shout echoed from deeper inside the corridor:
"He escaped! Catch him!!"