The cheers were thunderous.
Gabe had barely stepped back toward his classmates when the boys swarmed him first—clapping his shoulders, shaking his hand, pulling him into rough embraces and playfully knocking their foreheads against his in mock battle tradition.
"You madman!" one shouted. "Did you see yourself out there? That defense—you looked like a fortress!"
"Bro, bro, bro! You're coming to the dungeon with us now, no excuses!" another laughed, grabbing Gabe around the neck.
More voices piled on.
"We're finally complete!"
"Our team has a front! No more relying on summoned golems, thank heavens!"
A group of girls arrived next, more reserved but no less enthusiastic.
"Gabe, you were amazing."
"Truly impressive," said a tall girl with long indigo hair. "I thought you were going to be a burden forever."
"Hey," Gabe muttered with a weak laugh.
"I'm just being honest," she said, arms crossed but a smile playing on her lips. "Now you're almost worth putting on my party roster."
They teased him mercilessly, but there was affection behind every word. He was part of their circle now—not just by title, but by merit. And that meant everything.
Meanwhile, Wesley watched from the sidelines, leaning slightly on his mop. He saw everything. The shift. The way the air changed around Gabe. The expressions, the welcomes, the joy.
He's one of them now, Wesley thought, not with envy, but with something deeper—curiosity… and maybe a little disbelief.
Instructor Heiron stood with his arms behind his back, allowing the students their celebration before he raised one hand and spoke with the voice of a man who commanded both attention and respect.
"Gabe's display today proves more than his advancement," Heiron said. "It proves the worth of mastering a domain that many overlook. A good defense is not merely reaction—it is the backbone of survival. Gabe will make an exceptional front for any formation. With discipline, his presence can become an anchor on the battlefield."
The students clapped. Some whistled. Others shouted Gabe's name like he'd already won a tournament.
Then came the invitations.
"Join our party!"
"No, he's mine—we need a shield!"
"Wait, wait, I called dibs last week!"
"Gabe, we'll triple your loot share!"
Gabe scratched his head, laughing awkwardly, clearly overwhelmed by the sudden popularity. "Can I… uh… think about it?"
Amid the uproar, none of the students noticed the shift of energy beside Instructor Heiron. His wand pulsed once, softly. Then, without a sound, a green glow unfurled like mist across the arena floor.
A massive silhouette rose.
It was a plant—but not just any plant. It was a monstrous, towering mass of tangled roots and tendrils, with several enormous heads shaped like carnivorous fly traps. The kind that legends whispered about, where careless travelers vanished screaming into moss-covered mouths.
Each fly trap opened wide.
And from each mouth, green flames poured.
The flames whooshed out like controlled jets, igniting the air with a heat that distorted the ground below. The already-exhausted Spearopion, lying motionless on the arena floor, twitched once. Then the flames reached it.
There was no scream. No last attack. Just the sickening sizzle of magical fire cooking flesh and carapace alike.
Wesley stepped back instinctively, his breath caught.
The beast didn't even get the chance to thrash.
It was over in seconds.
Then came the sound of crunching.
The fly trap heads closed in unison—CHOMP. CHOMP. CHOMP.
Piece by piece, they devoured the burnt remains, tearing it into nothingness. No bones. No tail. No poison. No trace.
Gone.
And just as quickly, with a flick of Heiron's wand, the massive plant tilted its heads toward him as if in respect, then collapsed inwards, folding itself into the floor like a curtain drawing shut.
Silence.
The students were too distracted by their revelry to care. But Wesley—Wesley and the other cleaners—were left stunned.
"That was…"
"What the hell…"
"Did that just…"
"Did you see that?!"
They whispered among themselves, some wide-eyed in terror, others simply shaken. But a few—those rare, strange few—were unbothered. Calm.
Wesley looked at them in confusion. Weren't we all just janitors? Why are they so calm?
He didn't have time to ask.
Instructor Heiron turned toward them.
"You there," he said, voice carrying effortlessly. "Cleaners. Prepare your tools. The arena floor must be spotless before the next round."
The other cleaners scattered to begin, pulling mops, rags, and brooms from enchanted toolkits. Wesley, still frozen, blinked in surprise.
And then it came.
DING!
New Mission: Clean 47 Designated Spots. Time Limit: 15 minutes.
→ Tier I – Clean for 14 minutes: 6 silver coins and Basic magic spell (Nature Blitzing Fury)
→ Tier II – Clean for 11 minutes: 9 silver coins, Basic Spell, and Basic Knight Skill (Spear Flash)
→ Tier III – Clean for 8 minutes: 13 silver coins, Basic Spell, Basic Knight Skill, and basic magic spell experience points
→ Tier IV – Clean for 9 minutes: 17 silver coins, Basic Spell, Basic Knight Skill, Magic Spell XP, and Knight Skill XP
Wesley almost dropped his mop.
Seventeen silver coins?!
His last job paid him bronze. Mere bronze! But this… This wasn't just a mission—this was a leap. Spells? Skills? Experience points?!
He stared at the mission screen like it was a miracle falling out of the sky.
"This is… insane," he muttered, heart pounding.
Wesley's eyes glazed over. He nearly wept in joy. This was more than a jackpot—it was proof. Proof his system wasn't just some quirky cheat. It scaled. It rewarded risk. The harder the scenario, the greater the payout.
But then reality hit.
His eyes scanned the arena.
Forty-seven designated spots? In fifteen minutes? That was madness. That wasn't just speed—that was borderline teleportation.
Most of his previous missions had only asked for a handful of dirty spots, maybe four to seven, and with no time limit this brutal.
But now?
He had to clean a battlefield. Fast. Efficiently. Thoroughly.
This is impossible, Wesley thought.
Yet he gripped the mop tighter.
Because impossible or not… the rewards were staring him in the face.
Basic magic spell: Nature Blitzing Fury. He didn't know what it did, but it sounded awesome.
Knight Skill: Spear Flash. A direct combat technique—something real. Something that could be used in actual fights. He didn't need to pretend anymore. With that skill, he'd look like someone trained. Someone dangerous.
Suddenly, Wesley would pause. Wait… is this the Spearopion's skill from earlier?
Wesley looked at Basic Magic Spell and thought, "What the hell, is that the attack of the plant beasts that Instructor Heiron summoned? The green flame?"
And experience points—those meant progression. Growth. Evolution.
"Fuck it," Wesley whispered to himself. "Let's go."
He adjusted his grip on the mop, narrowed his eyes, and surveyed the arena.
He wouldn't lose to time.
Not now.