What Do You Want with Me?

The four of them lay neatly in a row, white foam dribbling from the corners of their mouths, their bodies twitching as they sank into deep comas. The sight was horrifying.

"Quick, save them." Fitz was frantic. All four people who had collapsed were from the Wizard side. Several from the Warrior side had only been injured, but none were in such dire condition.

The wizards who also practiced medicine hurried forward to examine them, and the group immediately descended into frantic chaos.

Some cleaned up the battlefield, some gathered things up, and some saved the wounded. It was a complete mess.

Fitz had a headache. Every time they encountered those Hairless Monsters, they lost three or four people. Those attacks were impossible to guard against—simply terrifying. He had suffered one himself at the very beginning; it had felt as though his brain were about to explode, the pain leaving him half dead. Fortunately, that group of Hairless Monsters had not been very strong, so they had been able to handle them. Even so, their losses had been considerable.

Fitz wondered: they had struggled so hard just to resist them—how had Dole defended himself?

Fitz exchanged glances with the others, and their understanding of Dole's combat strength was revised once again.

Those monsters could only target one person at a time, and Dole was alone. How had he dealt with them? And how could he wander around inside without coming to harm?

It seemed to have become a mystery.

Before long, the four men's conditions stabilized, but they were still far from out of danger. Their mental consciousness had suffered devastating damage—an injury that struck at the very foundation of a wizard.

The three great academies had not sent just one team. They had split into many squads, advancing