The moment frigid air burst from his knuckles, a silvery‑white crust of ice quickly spread over the jackal’s snout. It let out a short, frozen whine, throwing its whole head backward. Its four paws scrabbled wildly against the ground, trying to tear the frost off its face with its foreclaws.
Part of the ice shell shattered under its scratching, yet the residual cold had already seeped into its nasal cavity and around its eye sockets. Its vision turned blurred and murky. Staggering two steps backward, it crashed into a dead tree trunk behind it, toppled over, and never rose again.
Cecil clenched his right hand. His fingers had turned pale, though not completely numb. He shook his wrist to dispel the lingering chill, then turned toward the last threat — the alpha jackal stood four paces away, body low, tail drooping, its tawny‑yellow eyes reflecting his figure.
It did not pounce.
It watched him. Studied his right hand, the rusted blade in his grip, and the four companions who had retreated to safety behind him. Its gaze swept over each person, pausing briefly on every Spirit‑Beast, before settling back onto Cecil’s face.
Slowly, it straightened.
This was no predatory lunge; it abandoned its attacking stance. One step back, then another. Its movements were slow yet resolute, as if to say I remember you.
It turned away, its gray‑black fur flashing amid the shadows of dead trees, and within moments, it vanished deep inside the withered woodland. Footsteps faded, until even the rustling sounds died away.
Silence fell over the dead forest. The wind still blew, yet the oppressive pressure of being surrounded by six pairs of tawny‑yellow eyes had completely lifted.
Cecil stood there, the rusted knife hanging at his side, his chest heaving. He could hear his heartbeat thudding inside his ears, throbbing against his eardrums.
He glanced down at his knife‑holding hand — his knuckles were white, and a shallow bleeding scratch marked the base of his thumb, torn open by the jackal’s fangs. Tiny beads of blood welled up from the wound.
Slowly, joint by joint, he loosened his fingers from the hilt. The rusted blade clattered softly onto the ground.
"...It left?" Freddie’s voice came from behind him, dazed after narrowly escaping death. "Did it really leave?"
"It’s gone." Lydia’s voice trembled too, but she had already knelt down and lifted up the cowering Ivy from the grass. The emerald vine‑snake coiled tightly around her wrist like a taut green cord. "Ivy’s alright. She’s just terrified."
Oliver whistled. Robin dove down from a dead branch and landed on his shoulder. Its grey feathers were ruffled, three tail‑feathers missing, yet its eyes burned bright. He gently stroked its plumage with his finger and murmured, "Good girl. You did wonderfully."
Edwin knelt to pick up Rust. The copper‑shell beetle flipped itself over, its two antennae standing straight upright, as if announcing to the whole world I’m still alive. He turned the beetle over in his palm, checked that there were no cracks across its hard shell, then let out a long breath and sank down onto the ground.
Cecil bent to retrieve the rusted knife and wiped dirt and rust off the blade with the hem of his robe. A small section of metal had been polished bright during their earlier clash; pale‑grey steel glinted coldly beneath the dim daylight.
Gwendolyn sauntered over from his right side. Her front leg limped slightly, her blue‑white scales smudged with dirt and blood — most of it belonged to the jackals; she herself was unhurt.
She crouched at Cecil’s feet, tilted her head upward to glance at him, and offered no comment on his battle. She simply said, "Your control over the cold in your right hand is passable. Better than last night."
Cecil looked down at her. She seemed worn‑out, yet the icy‑blue glow in her eyes burned brighter than usual. Beneath the scales on her belly, the bulge of that dark‑red shard jutted out more noticeably than before they had set out.
"Did you finish off the one on your side?" he asked.
"I froze it. Not dead, but it won’t be moving for at least half a day." Gwendolyn swept dirt aside with her tail. "It won’t get far."
Cecil nodded and was about to speak when Edwin suddenly jumped up from the ground.
"—Look over there!" He pointed deep into the dead woods where the jackal pack had hidden. "There’s something!"
All five of them turned their heads. Half‑buried objects littered the ground deep within the forest: half a rusted iron buckle jutted out from a pile of rubble; something glinted at the roots of withered bushes; a bulging dark‑brown cloth bundle lay tucked among the grass blades.
They walked forward to investigate. Wrapped inside the cloth bundle were several items: a palm‑sized glass bottle sealed with a cork, filled with dark‑red semi‑solid liquid; a thin old booklet with a parchment cover, its edges eaten away by insects; three silver coins and a handful of copper coins scattered within the folds of the cloth.
The iron buckle was embedded in the stone wall beside them, the leftover fragment of a long‑collapsed ancient doorway, with a broken leather strap tucked underneath it.
Freddie knelt down and rummaged through the loot, whistling softly. "—This bottle is Intermediate Healing Compound. It costs at least two silver coins on the market. And this booklet..." He flipped open the parchment cover to faded brown handwriting. "...Looks like notes left behind by some predecessor. The ink’s too faint; we’ll need to read it under a lamp back at the academy."
Lydia counted the scattered currency. "Three silver coins, twelve copper coins. Exactly enough for all of us to eat in the cafeteria for a week."
"Plus that healing compound," Oliver added. "We’ll split it five ways, use it as we need."
Edwin knelt in front of the stone wall to examine the iron buckle, running his fingers over its smoothly worn edge. "This was probably a doorway once. The jackals have been using this place as their den, so these items must be things they dragged here from somewhere else."
Cecil stood to one side without speaking. His gaze fell on the old booklet. Faint gilded marks dotted the parchment cover. Almost worn away, yet he could make out the rough outline of a single letter — something like a V, or a W. He could not see it clearly, for Freddie had already closed the booklet and tucked it inside his coat.
"Let’s head back first." Freddie stood up and brushed dirt off his knees. "This place isn’t safe. What if the alpha jackal comes back with more of its pack‑mates —"
"It won’t return," Gwendolyn said.
The other four all turned to stare at her.
"It remembers you." Gwendolyn’s eyes locked onto Cecil. "When you faced it just now, it smelled something on you. Not blood — something else. It retreated not because it feared fighting all five of us. It backed away because it recognized something inside you. As for what that thing is —"
She paused.
"—I don’t know yet. But it won’t come back."
The four exchanged glances, none of them pressing her for more answers. They looked at Cecil with brand‑new eyes — a gaze completely different from when they had met in the hallway that morning.
Back then, they had only seen another Group‑B companion, another bearer of an ordinary Spirit‑Beast trapped in the lowest‑ranked class. Now there was something new in their stares.
Cecil could feel the weight of that gaze.
"...Let’s go." He slipped the rusted knife back through his belt, bent to pick up the cloth bundle and shook off the dust. "We’ll divide up these supplies back at the academy."