Incubus Living In A World Of Superpower Users
Chapter 194: The Examiner’s Tent In Chaos

Chapter 194: The Examiner’s Tent In Chaos

Meanwhile, miles away, inside a quiet metal room lined with glowing monitors, the hum of machinery filled the air inside the outpost.

Soft at first, like background noise meant to be ignored.

Screens blinked quietly. Monitors showed peaceful stretches of trees, students checking supplies, some even sitting and talking in groups while keeping one eye on the perimeter.

Everything looked normal. Tense, but normal.

Then one screen glitched—just a flicker.

No one reacted.

A moment later, another screen went black—then two more. An alert flashed in the corner. Yellow at first. Then red.

Still, it took a few seconds before anyone noticed.

"Hey, check Zone 11. Feed’s down."

A young analyst tapped the control panel. No response. He leaned in, typing quickly.

Behind him, a few operators looked over, then at their own monitors.

"Is that... multiple drops? We just lost feeds from mid-sector ridge, too."

More alerts popped up, stacked over the map of the forest.

"Pull back the last five minutes of drone footage," someone called out.

The tent didn’t burst into chaos, not right away. But the shift happened fast. Heads turned, voices raised.

Analysts started moving with urgency. People left their stations and crossed the room to check maps and logs.

"Why are these drones down? They’re in low-threat zones!"

"Looks like something took them out—fast."

A different tech called out from the side. "I’m seeing beast convergence on three paths. They’re not supposed to be gathering there."

Another screen showed a cluster of students breaking into a run. One tripped. The others dragged her up before vanishing behind trees.

The control tent’s hum changed. Quieter now. The kind of quiet where everyone is listening at once.

More screens have changed.

"Something’s wrong," someone muttered.

A woman with a clipped voice leaned over a console. "Filter the high-activity zones. Give me live feeds from all ridge-adjacent paths."

A man near the center of the room stood up. Vice Director Hannick. Gray at the temples, suit crisp even under the field gear.

He didn’t yell. He never did. But when he spoke, people listened.

"Bring up full diagnostics on barrier sync points. I want to know if the zone rebalancers failed."

The voice on the other end crackled. "No barrier errors reported."

"Then how the hell did a bronze-tier breach the safe band?"

The screens flickered again.

This time, the camera caught something clear. A shape. Massive. Not charging, but walking. Muscles tensed. Blood spattered across its chest. It moved with focus.

"Bronze-tier confirmed," said one of the observers. "No tracker tag. That’s not a controlled release."

Someone from the Association whispered, "That thing’s outside its spawn radius. By a lot."

And in front of it—

A figure.

Alone.

No nameplate. No rank overlay. No movement log.

But they knew.

"...zoom in," the vice director said.

The screen shifted. The figure’s face filled the frame.

Ethan Nocturne.

He wasn’t running. He wasn’t even sweating.

He stood at the mouth of a wide clearing, blade drawn, posture light but grounded. The beast circled him, warier than before.

More staff gathered around the screen. No one said anything at first. Not even the ones who didn’t know who he was.

They didn’t need to.

The camera drone adjusted its focus. You could see the tension in the creature’s shoulders. The hesitation in its step.

The little twitches of its claws when it tried to charge, and stopped just short. Something was keeping it from committing.

"That pressure..." someone whispered. "Is he using a skill?"

"Don’t think so," someone else replied. "There’s no flare. No aura spike. Nothing."

Vice Director Hannick didn’t blink. "He’s doing something. That beast should’ve already attacked."

A few feet behind him, an old man with a long coat—the Association’s field evaluator—tilted his head slightly. "Or maybe it already did."

The drone feed kept running. They watched Ethan shift, not fast, but clean, one breath, one pivot, one strike.

The beast recoiled.

Not from damage. From timing.

He didn’t overpower it. He didn’t push it back. He made it miss. Twice. Then three times. Until the creature’s breathing turned ragged.

Someone gasped quietly. The drone had caught it—a brief moment where Ethan’s gaze locked with the creature’s.

Then a shift.

No magic. No light.

Just a presence.

"I thought you said he wasn’t using a skill," one of the younger staff whispered.

"He’s not," the old man said again. "That’s not a skill. That’s instinct."

The vice director stepped closer to the screen. "Put this on the main display. I want all ranking members watching.

Prioritize any feeds near Zone 11. And give me a patch through to the upper tent."

Someone hesitated. "Sir, should we notify Director Qian?"

"Yes. But not just yet."

He didn’t explain.

Instead, he watched the screen.

Ethan tilted his head.

Watched the beast flinch.

Watched the next strike—fast and sudden. Not flashy, but direct. The creature’s footing gave out again.

And still, Ethan didn’t press.

He just walked. One circle at a time. Measuring. Studying. Bleeding the beast out without making it look like he was trying.

One operator swallowed and said, "He’s... he’s winning."

The vice director shook his head. "He hasn’t even started yet."

Just then, another alert came through. A different zone. Not far from the Moonshade twins.

A squad leader’s voice crackled across the comms. "This is Unit Seven! We’ve got movement near the north perimeter—multiple creatures acting erratically. Requesting evac path confirmation!"

"Confirmed. Secondary route green. Escort the priority squad through corridor C."

"Copy that!"

The room buzzed again. More screens showed Sera slashing down a charging beast while shielding a group of half-exhausted students.

Mei was spotted gathering a cluster of stragglers and leading them down a slope, fast but calm.

More names lit up across the control grid. A few instructors. One or two bronze-tier examiners. They were all moving now.

But the focus stayed on that one screen.

Ethan moved again. One fluid cut across the ribs. The creature twitched. Swung wildly.

He was already gone.

Vice Director Hannick stepped back slightly. "Log this feed. Isolate all movements. I want a clean reel of this from start to finish."

The old man beside him finally smiled faintly. "Didn’t I tell you?"