"Nice guess, but I'm just a humble E-Rank Hunter," Aren replied with an easy smile, his voice smooth despite the fresh blood still steaming off his skin. His body was now fully regenerated—every nerve, every muscle freshly restored.
The Ogre Cleaver rested across his shoulder, its jagged edge glinting with residual mana, as if hungering for more.
"No way in hell you're an E-Rank with an ability like that…" the Fighter growled, eyes narrowing into slits. His grip tightened around the handle of his hammer until his knuckles went white, mana coiling around the weapon like a stormcloud waiting to break.
"He's mocking us…" the Mage hissed, mana crackling from his staff. A sphere of raw energy hovered at the tip—unstable, trembling, as though ready to explode at the slightest provocation.
"What…? Wait, wait, wait…" Aren raised a single hand in mock surrender, his posture casual, his smile more amused than apologetic.
"I just wanted you two to stop fighting," he added with a light chuckle, as if this wasn't a standoff with B-Ranks in the middle of a ruined street.
"What do you mean?" the Fighter barked, glancing briefly at the Mage, not even acknowledging Aren's words.
"He's saying we're less skilled than an E-Rank," the Mage said, jaw clenched tight, pupils dilating. His staff was now fully raised, aimed at Aren's heart. "It's mockery disguised as humility. He's clearly an S-Rank trying to discredit us."
"Huh? That's not my intention at—"
Thwack!
Aren's sentence was interrupted—brutally. The Fighter lunged forward with no warning, his hammer swinging down with savage force. It struck Aren clean across the head.
In an instant, his skull was shattered, neck torn apart as the impact dismembered him with horrifying ease.
His head hit the asphalt with a wet thud.
"Bastard!" the Fighter bellowed, face twisted with rage and pride. His breath came in ragged bursts, and yet there was no satisfaction in his eyes—only panic lurking beneath the bravado.
The Mage winced, letting out an awkward laugh as he side-eyed the body. "You know… we saw him heal, but we still don't know his limit. He might actually die, you know?"
The Fighter spat to the side, frustration boiling over. "If you're right about him being an S-Rank, then he should be able to handle that much…"
A heavy silence hung for a moment.
Then—
"I'm not lying, you know?" Aren's voice returned, low and eerily composed.
Flesh rippled. Bones snapped back into place.
His decapitated head rolled slightly before lifting off the ground as if pulled by invisible strings. It hovered momentarily—then reattached with a soft click, skin knitting together in a swirl of regeneration.
Both Hunters stepped back instinctively, expressions contorted in disbelief.
"What the shit… Even just seeing it twice, I still can't believe that skill," the Fighter muttered, his earlier confidence bleeding away. A single drop of sweat rolled down his cheek.
Meanwhile, back at the café…
The shattered window framed a perfect view of the street—a smoldering battlefield now buzzing with tension and frayed tempers. Raven remained seated at her corner table, one leg crossed over the other, fingers idly twirling what was left of her straw. She stared at Aren with a look that was equal parts exasperation and reluctant amusement.
"He's trying to diffuse the situation," she murmured to no one in particular. "And failing... spectacularly."
She let out a soft sigh, resting her head on her palm as the distant shouting continued. "Those two B-Ranks... I think they're part of the Spider Fang Guild."
Her lips quirked. "I wonder how he'll deal with them."
But just as she leaned back, about to sip from her now-empty cup—
A hand touched her shoulder.
No sound. No warning. No mana signature.
Her body moved on instinct—fingers flexing as her nails sharpened, ready to slash out.
But she froze mid-motion as her gaze locked on the face behind her.
"Rein?" she said, eyes narrowing as she relaxed, hand dropping. The tension in her shoulders faded—but only slightly.
The man standing before her offered a faint smile. Another S-Class Hunter—young, powerful, and annoyingly persistent.
More importantly, the one who had tried flirting with her more times than she could count.
Raven exhaled sharply, reclining into her seat again. "I could've killed you, you know? Don't sneak up on me like that."
Rein chuckled and took the seat opposite her without asking, his movements confident and casual, like a prince visiting familiar territory. He looked her over briefly—black hair slightly tousled, eyes dark with a mischievous gleam, lips curved in a too-charming grin.
"I've seen the news… congrats," he said, gaze drifting toward the shattered window where Aren stood facing off against two furious B-Ranks.
Raven rolled her eyes, unimpressed. "I know you're not here just to congratulate me. Out with it."
Rein leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table, his face now closer—his expression unreadable.
Then, voice low and steady, he said:
"Break up with him."
His tone was flat. No teasing. No jokes. Just quiet seriousness, sharp as a blade hidden in silk.