Chapter 275 (Patreon)

Rin stepped through the doorway at the same time as Suri, but whatever invisible thread had bound their paths together snapped the moment they crossed the threshold. One step in, and she was alone.

The room was quiet—too quiet in a way that made it look intentional. A curtain stretched across the far end, thick enough to hide anything behind it, though not enough to erase the presence of the three figures seated beyond. Their silhouettes were faint, unmoving, like shadows that had decided to sit and watch.

“Hello, Rin.”

The voice came without warning, carrying a familiarity that brushed against memory without settling into it.

“Your role is a tank,” the voice continued, almost conversational. “But a very unusual one. You deal mental damage with your skills—highly effective against humans, less so against beasts or monsters. Particularly potent against… morally compromised individuals. Significantly less effective against those of good character.”

Rin hesitated. The words felt too precise, like someone had peeled her abilities apart and laid them neatly on a table.

“Yes,” she answered.

Another voice followed, quieter but sharper. “And your ability leaves lasting effects. Permanent mental damage. Irreversible.”

This time, Rin’s response came softer.

“Yes.”

There was a brief pause, the kind that stretched just long enough to suggest thought rather than silence.

“This presents a difficulty,” the first voice said. “We are limited to summoning monsters for this examination. Creatures against which your primary ability is… ineffective.”

Before Rin could respond, something moved behind her. A man stepped into place as though he had always been there.

“I’ll be your proctor,” he said. “Follow me.”

Rin turned, still carrying the weight of the words she’d just heard, and followed without question. They moved through a short corridor and into another room, this one far more open. The air here felt different—less formal, more practical. A private space built for testing, not discussion.

The proctor stopped. Rin’s gaze followed him, landing on a group of small green creatures ahead.

They stood frozen in place, crude axes clutched in their hands, bows slung loosely across their backs. They didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. They looked less like living creatures and more like paused moments waiting to be resumed.

“They are controlled summoned monsters,” the proctor explained. “Imitations of real monsters. Their behavior, coordination, and attack patterns are modeled closely after the originals.”

Rin listened carefully.

“Most abilities can be maintained for thirty seconds,” he continued. “Your objective is simple. Survive. Endure their coordinated attacks for that duration. Afterward, you will proceed to the next stage, where stronger creatures will be deployed. The same condition applies.”

Rin tightened her grip on her shield.

“I can’t attack them?” she asked.

“You cannot,” the proctor said. “Only defensive actions are permitted. Blocking. Deflecting..” He paused briefly. “I am aware you lack traditional defensive skills.”

Rin exhaled slowly,“So I just… hold the line.”

“Exactly.”

She nodded. Then she adjusted the straps of her shield, pulling them tighter against her arm. She tested the weight, moving it slightly, then gave it a firm shake to ensure it held. Her mace followed—a quick swing, a controlled impact against the floor, just enough to remind herself of its balance.

She nodded once.

“I’m ready.”

The moment the words left her mouth, the goblins moved.

They lunged. A dozen of them, fast and low, spreading out with unsettling coordination. Some rushed forward with axes raised, while others hung back, bows already drawn. The timing was precise—too precise to be instinct.

The first arrows came just as the melee fighters closed in.

Rin didn’t step back. She planted her feet. The first strike met her shield with a sharp, jarring impact. The second followed immediately after, angled differently, forcing her to adjust. An arrow whistled toward her side, but her shield shifted just in time, catching it with a dull thud.

She didn’t counter. Didn’t swing. Her mace twitched once in her grip, instinct pushing her to strike—but she held it back.

Blocking only. She reminded herself.

The rhythm came quickly. Impact. Adjust. Deflect. Another arrow. Another strike.

Her world narrowed to angles and timing, the chaos of their coordination becoming something she could read, piece by piece. Her feet moved almost without thought now—small pivots, subtle shifts, the lessons drilled into her by Leo and Adam rising to the surface.

She turned just enough to redirect a blow. Stepped just enough to let an arrow glance off instead of pierce.

Thirty seconds felt shorter than it should have. Then—

They stopped. All at once.

The goblins returned to their original positions, frozen again as if nothing had happened.

“You pass the first stage,” the proctor said. “Prepare for the second.”

The next group appeared without her catching her breath.

Lizardmen. Taller. Stronger. Their movements sharper, their coordination more aggressive.

They attacked with intent.

But to Rin, something felt… off. She had seen worse. Fought worse. Their strikes were heavy, but not overwhelming. Their timing was precise, but not unpredictable. She held her ground again, shield rising and falling in steady rhythm, her body adjusting faster now, more confident.

The third stage came.

Direwolves. Faster than the others. Leaner. Their movements blurred at the edges, forcing her to rely less on sight and more on instinct. A few strikes slipped closer than she liked—one claw grazing her armor, another nearly catching her shoulder.

But each time—

She blocked. At the last possible moment. Something in her sharpened with it, her reaction tightening like a drawn string.

The fourth stage shifted again. Orcs. They were known as slower but heavier.

Each strike carried weight, the kind that traveled through her shield and into her bones. Cracks began to form—thin at first, like spiderwebs stretching across the surface.

Rin noticed.

“I should have brought another shield,” she muttered under her breath.

Still, she endured. Still, she held.

Then came the fifth stage. The air itself seemed to change.

A single massive figure stood ahead. A minotaur.

Even at a glance, it carried the presence of something far beyond the earlier stages—a creature that belonged at the dungeon, a boss monster.

It moved. The first swing of its axe was slow—

But powerful. Rin met it head-on. The impact rang through her entire body, her shield trembling under the force. She deflected it, barely, redirecting the blow just enough to survive it.

Again. And again.

She held. Twenty seconds passed.

Then—

A crack. Her shield shattered.

The force of the next strike broke through what remained, splintering it into useless fragments that fell at her feet.

For a fraction of a second—

Rin stood exposed. The minotaur swung again.

No shield. Just instinct. Rin moved. Her mace rose, meeting the descending axe head-on. The impact jarred her arms, pain sparking through her grip, but she held it there—pushing back, refusing to give ground.

Again. She struck. Again.

Ten seconds. That was all she needed.

When the time ended, the minotaur stopped, returning to its original position as though nothing had happened.

Silence followed. Rin lowered her mace slowly, her breath steady but deeper now.

Then she turned her head toward the proctor. “Does that count as a block?” she asked.

The proctor studied her for a moment, something like disbelief flickering across his expression before it settled into his usual stoic face.

“You are the first to reach this stage,” he said. “We will consider it a valid defense.”

He paused, then added, almost thoughtfully, “We will also advise future participants to bring… additional shields.”

Rin let out a quiet breath, some of the tension easing from her shoulders.

“There is a possibility,” the proctor continued, “that if too many candidates pass this stage, a sixth stage will be introduced.”

Rin glanced at him. “A final evaluation,” he said. “A duel. Between the top-performing tanks of your year.”

……

“The one on this side is the monster that will receive your buffs,” the proctor said, his tone steady as he gestured toward a section of the arena where a group of creatures stood waiting. His hand lingered there for a moment, as if to make sure she understood that this side—this responsibility—was hers.

Yuri followed the direction of his hand and nodded once, her expression settling into quiet focus.

Support role.

For this test, the conditions were clear. Both sides would be given identical sets of modified summoned monsters. The only difference—the deciding factor—would be her. Her buffs as a support role.

Victory would not be measured by strength alone, but by getting your set of assigned monsters strengthened through your buffs.

There were two criteria—how quickly her side could end the fight and how much damage they sustained while doing it.

Yuri exhaled slowly, centering herself as she evaluated her options. She had more skills at her disposal—several, in fact—but using all of them would be wasteful. Mana was not infinite, and this was only the beginning. She still had another test ahead, one that would demand far more from her.

So she chose carefully.

[Greater Enhance Speed]

[Focus Mind]

Nothing more.

Her skills settled over her assigned monsters like an unseen current, subtle at first, then immediate in effect. Muscles tensed. Movements sharpened. Their posture shifted, no longer idle constructs but something closer to coordinated fighters.

Across from them, the opposing same monsters stood ready.

Orcs. Large. Durable. But slow. Yuri’s eyes narrowed slightly.

This would be quick.

The moment the test began, the difference became obvious. Her side moved first.

The buffed orcs surged forward with unnatural swiftness, their heavy frames no longer a limitation but a weapon. Every movement carried intent, guided by the clarity granted through [Focus Mind]. Their strikes were no longer wild or delayed—they were timed, precise, almost calculated.

The opposing side barely had time to react.

Blows landed.

What followed could hardly be called a battle. It was a collapse.

The enemy orcs fell one after another, unable to match the speed or coordination of Yuri’s enhanced units. Not a single strike landed in return. Not one.

When it ended, it ended completely.

Yuri lowered her hand slightly, the faint glow of her magic fading as the last of the enemies fell.

Silence followed. Then the proctor nodded, already writing something down.

“That is likely the fastest completion time so far,” he said, almost to himself. “Minimal to no damage sustained.”

He looked up at her. “Next stage. Long-range offensive capability. Follow me.”

Yuri gave a small nod and stepped forward.

As they walked, her thoughts drifted briefly—not to the test ahead, but to how she had reached this point.

The skill book. Looted from a mid-high level dungeon. Kana had been the one to give it to her without hesitation, as though the decision had already been made long before the offer was spoken.

Her reasoning had been simple. Yuri understood chaos. Understood movement, positioning, the flow of a battlefield that most people only reacted to. The skill would not just strengthen her—they would strengthen everyone.

Kana had told her to focus on precision not power.

So Yuri trained. Again and again.

Under her mother’s guidance, refining control until each cast, each strike was intentional. No wasted motion. No wasted mana.

By the time they reached the next room, Yuri was ready. She didn’t wait for instruction.

Her hand lifted slightly as she hold her staff. Mana gathered.

[Ice Spike]

The air in front of her shifted, then hardened—crystallizing into sharp, gleaming spikes of ice that formed in an instant. With a flick of her control, they launched forward, cutting through the air with clean, precise trajectories.

Each spike found its mark—head, neck, vital points—striking with accuracy that spoke more of discipline than raw force. The monsters barely had time to react before they fell.

The proctor watched quietly, then nodded once more, satisfaction clear in his posture.

“Your offensive capability lacks raw destructive power,” he said,“However…”

He glanced at the fallen targets.

“With this level of accuracy, your attacks will remain highly effective. If not as a primary source of damage, then as disruption.”

Yuri lowered her hand, the last traces of frost fading from the air.

She didn’t smile. But there was a quiet certainty in the way she stood.

That was enough.

Post note:

Not going to show all of them(Just per class assessment)

What will Toby do? 😂

Their best records only broke the first year, the third and fourth students didn’t take it yet.Hope you enjoy the chap! 🙂

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