All My SSS Beasts Are Cute but Invincible!

Within that half‑second, Gwendolyn sprang off the ground. Her blue‑and‑white form cut through the sonic waves and lunged straight at Victor. She exhaled a burst of frost, yet Victor reacted with astonishing speed. His dark‑purple bat spread its wing‑membrane before him. The silvery markings across its surface blazed bright. Most of the frost slammed into the membrane and deflected away, only thin wisps of ice mist drifting past Victor’s cheek.

Victor stepped back. His smile remained, yet it had faded, as though brushed by the freezing mist.

"—Enough," he ordered.

The bat swarm ceased their sonic assault all at once. Resonance upon the platform ebbed like a receding tide. Silence returned, broken only by heavy gasps and the faint ringing of tinnitus lingering in everyone’s ears.

Freddy stood at the beam’s edge, chest heaving violently. Turner huddled trembling in his arms. His face was deathly pale, yet his feet held firm; he had not fallen.

Victor glanced at Freddy, then at Cecil, before his gaze settled on Gwendolyn. The corner of his mouth tugged upward a little more.

"...Interesting," he admitted, sounding as if he had uncovered something he had failed to account for. "You have a spirit beast capable of countering sonic attacks. I have used that trick many times. This is the first time it has been partially broken."

He stroked the head of the dark‑purple bat perched on his shoulder. Its threatening growl softened into a rumble akin to a purr.

"Still, I was merely greeting you. Had I truly intended to kill you, I would have driven you all over the edge long ago." Victor jerked his chin toward Freddy. "Proof being that big fellow is still standing on that beam."

Freddy’s complexion paled further. "...Could you stop calling me big fellow?"

"Tell me your name then."

"Freddy."

"Very well, Freddy big‑fellow."

Vera pushed herself up from the stone platform and brushed dust off her knees. Her amber eyes fixed on Victor, colder than before. "Your way of greeting is terribly rude."

Victor shrugged. "A man trapped for nearly two weeks has little politeness left to preserve. I admit I overdid it just now, but I needed to test whether you are worth cooperating with."

"Cooperation?" Emon’s voice echoed from beside the wall, still hoarse as he regained his breath. "You nearly shook us off the ledge, and now you speak of cooperation?"

Victor’s smile softened into something halfway between amusement and sincerity. "If I had asked for cooperation straight‑up, would you have believed me? No. You would suspect hidden schemes. I have proven I could send you plummeting whenever I wish — yet I chose not to." He spread both hands. "That gesture speaks louder than a hundred words claiming I mean no harm, does it not?"

Silence draped over the platform. Cecil glanced toward Gwendolyn. She crouched at the edge, her blue eyes locked on Victor’s dark‑purple bat, her tail lying flat.

"...His bat is injured," Gwendolyn spoke suddenly, quiet yet loud enough for everyone to hear. "There is a tear beneath its left wing‑membrane. It strained the wound blocking my frost strike. After landing, its claws dug three times harder into his shoulder than normal."

Victor’s smile froze. He glanced down at his bat. Its dark‑purple wing membrane trembled faintly, its claws gripping the fabric of his shoulder so hard its knuckles whitened. He paused for two seconds, then gently brushed a finger across the concealed gash under its left wing.

"...You observe closely," Victor said to Gwendolyn. For the first time, his air of total control wavered.

Gwendolyn’s tail swept across the stone. "Dragons see wounds. If you want cooperation, tend to your little friend first before we talk business."

Victor stared at her. The fine golden flecks within his dark‑brown pupils glowed faintly. Slowly his lips curved upward again. This smile felt far more genuine than any prior one — part surprise, part relief at being seen through.

"Fine," he said. "You win. Let us get down to real talk."

Victor lifted the bat from his shoulder and cupped it in his hands. The dark‑purple creature folded its wings against his palms. The tear beneath its left wing‑membrane was faintly visible in the dimness, a faint dark seepage welling along the edge of its silvery markings. Victor studied the wound with no excess emotion, then carefully set the bat down inside a small wall indentation on the platform. The stone there seemed slightly warmer. The bat nestled inside, its breathing growing calmer.

He stood, brushed dust off his hands, and swept his gaze across the seven people.

"I have found the Trial Grounds," he said casually, as though commenting on pleasant weather. "Not some random monster den — an actual trial ground with a matching system. It assigns opponents suited to your power level. Beat your current foe, and it advances the difficulty. Lose, and you will not be killed, but teleported straight back to the starting point." He paused. "My bats only cover one element. Fire‑type bats against water foes are like throwing torches at water — nearly useless. That is why I need your cooperation."

Quiet fell once more.

Vera spoke first, her tone sharp with distrust. "What exactly does this ’cooperation’ entail? We fight the trial grounds for you, and then what? What do we get out of it?"

Victor’s lips twitched. "Benefits for both sides. The trial grounds grant completion rewards. Even the lowest‑tier prize is a high‑grade crystal that can directly recharge spirit beasts. Reach the middle stages, and rewards include shards of portal keys. Gather enough, and you unlock the exit leading to the outside world."

Emon stood, bracing himself against the wall. Silver‑Eye settled back onto his shoulder, its pale‑gold eyes watching Victor warily. "You have been here two weeks. If you found these trial grounds, why have you not cleared them alone?"

Victor’s smile dimmed. "As I said, my element pool is too narrow. The very first trial spawned a giant water serpent. My bats could fight it, yet both of us came away wounded. If the second stage throws another water‑aligned foe at me, I will not survive." He rolled up his sleeve, revealing two thin, partially healed scars across his forearm. "These are souvenirs from my last attempt. It took me four days just to reach the trial entrance before I got thrown back."

The group exchanged glances. Martha loosened her grip on her axe‑hilt, yet her expression remained guarded, listening without full belief. Lena rose from her crouch, her butterfly returning to rest in her braid. Her eyes flicked back and forth between Victor and Cecil.

Gwendolyn crouched at Cecil’s feet, her tail sweeping slowly across the stone. She said nothing, yet Cecil could tell she was tracking the injured bat’s breathing, judging whether Victor told the truth.

Cecil spoke, his voice soft yet audible to everyone. "Earlier you implied we cannot escape without your help. Are you referring to the trial‑ground exit, or something else?"

Victor turned toward him, the golden flecks in his dark‑brown irises glinting. "The maze’s true exit is linked directly to the trial grounds. It took me two weeks to piece that structure together."

He smiled again, certain, as if knowing they had not yet realized how close they were.

"That door over there is the trial‑ground entrance. Step forward, and it reads you. Then it assigns your opponent. Win, and the next gate unlocks. Lose, and you get sent back to the start." He spread his hands. "This maze is circular. No matter how you wander, you will always loop back to some starting chamber. The only real way out lies through the trials."

Silence hung heavy. Faint wind whispered up from the abyss, brushing across the rough stone beam.

Freddy broke the stillness. His throat was still rough, yet he had recovered from his panic. "So we are already right at the door. But we have to fight to open it."

"Precisely. And it cannot be just any fight." Victor held up one finger. "It uses power matching. Your seven spirit beasts —" his gaze travelled from Gwendolyn to Martha’s rock bear, Silver‑Eye, the colourful butterfly, Ivy, Turner, and Martha’s axe‑hilt "— together you possess far broader elemental coverage than I alone. With proper assignment: who fights, who supports, who handles tactics, clearing the first trial will be simple."

Vera leaned back against the wall, arms folded. Her gaze still held heavy suspicion, yet calculation had crept into her expression. "What can you give us besides showing the way?"

Victor tugged at his cloak collar and pulled forth a thin silver chain. Hanging from it was a thumb‑nail‑sized dark‑gold fragment etched with fine patterns, glowing softly in shadow.

"A portal‑key shard. I already obtained one. The second‑stage trial also rewards one. Fit them together —" he tucked the fragment back inside his collar "— and the exit gate opens."

Everyone watched the silver chain vanish beneath his cloak, remaining quiet for a moment.

Vera nodded and faced Victor.

"There are seven of us. With good planning, we can attempt the trial grounds. But you must agree to two conditions first."

Victor raised an eyebrow. "Speak."

"First. Once we assemble the complete key and unlock the exit, everyone leaves together. You cannot take the key and escape ahead of us."

Victor answered without hesitation. "Agreed."

"Second —" Vera paused. "If the trial mechanics demand sacrificing any person or spirit beast for victory, we reject that option. Every single one of us makes it out alive."

Victor’s gaze lingered on Cecil for two seconds. Tension tightened subtly across the platform during his silence. Then he let out a short laugh, lighter this time, like ice clinking inside a cup.

"Alright," he said. "Everyone survives. That was my intention all along."

He bent down and retrieved his dark‑purple bat from the wall niche. Its breathing was steady now, wings folded against his palms. He turned and jerked his chin toward the far side of the stone beam.

"Let us go then. The trial‑ground entrance lies beyond that door. I will go first." He glanced sideways at Freddy. "Big‑fellow goes last, so he does not tremble on the beam again."

Freddy’s face flushed deep red in the dim light, yet this time he did not retort. He pulled Turner tighter inside his arms and muttered under his breath: "...I will make you drop that nickname sooner or later."

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