The secondary horn of the morning watch blew at dawn, its low, mechanical resonance vibrating through the frozen limestone labyrinth of the northwestern hunting grounds. By the time the thick, ash-grey fog of the second day stabilized across the perimeter, the sub-zero temperature had turned the loose mud of the lower trenches into jagged ridges of dark, iron-hard ice. The air carried a thick, choking scent of unrefined mana crystal residue and stale blood, a clear indication that the previous night's frantic skirmishes had left dozens of candidate formations entirely fractured.
I moved through the narrow volcanic corridors alone, my boots cutting clean, silent shapes into the grey rim-frost.
The light iron shortsword remained secure inside its basic leather sheath, the cold pommel resting perfectly against my right flank. My flat twenty-five attributes had completely normalized across my physical frame after the first twenty-four hours of the trial, my muscle tissue and bone density locking into a state of weightless, explosive kinetic alignment. Every deep breath of the crisp, freezing mountain air was drawn smoothly down into my lungs, my pathways flushing clean of any residual friction as I maintained a steady, tireless tracking pace along the outer boundary lines.
Deep within my torso, the heavy internal furnace of the five-day forge continued its relentless structural torque, siphoning my mana reservoir to fuel the final development cycles of the companion entity behind my ribs. The silver-white hair framing my face whipped lightly in the northern wind, my swirling violet irises fixed on the jagged limestone lips ahead as the acoustic echoes of high-velocity steel began to reverberate through the basin.
A sudden, bright flare of crimson elemental mana split the grey fog three hundred meters ahead, accompanied instantly by the sharp, rhythmic clatter of high-grade infantry armour and arrogant, loud laughter.
I stopped abruptly, my frame melting seamlessly into the dark shadows of a basalt overhanging ledge.
Tucked inside a massive, circular quarry where the volcanic bedrock had been cleared for structural testing, a highly organized team of five candidates was currently engaging a massive, roaring predator. Unlike the panicked, unconditioned provincial commoners who had spent the night screaming inside the central ravine, this group moved with the casual, pampered security of individuals who viewed the lethal simulation as nothing more than a leisurely safari. They were clad in immaculate, polished suits of family-crested plate armour that bore the heavy silver and gold filigree of the five central lineages—the very names that had written my past life in blood.
At the front of their formation stood Julian Gale-Shred. The arrogant heir was clad in overlapping plates of white celestial steel, his large hands confidently gripping the leather handle of an expensive, high-grade broadsword lined with active flame inscriptions. To his left, Valeria Pyre-Sol stood wrapped in protected crimson silks, her delicate fingers effortlessly manipulating a low-tier fire circle in the air to direct the monster's path toward their defensive line. The remaining three heirs—representing Malakor, Vane-Tempest, and Tyr-Osiris—stood back in relaxed postures, their weapons held at loose, theatrical angles as they watched their hired proxies do the heavy lifting.
Surrounding the perimeter of the quarry were ten commoner candidates, their faces pale with exhaustion, their cheap iron shields dented and covered in deep scratches as they acted as a human wall to herd the target. The central houses had systematically drafted these provincial youths at the entrance gates, using them as disposable frontline buffers to absorb the creature's primary kinetic momentum so the pure-blood heirs could claim the final execution metrics without risking a single drop of sweat.
The target trapped inside their human perimeter was a colossal, terrifying manifestation of the valley's apex lineages.
Gorgon-Hound
Level 8
HP: 620 / 740
The raw, unblocked lines of stacked text lines pulsed briefly across my sight before dissolving back into the grey mist of the basin. The beast was a massive, low-slung predator covered in thick, overlapping plates of dark obsidian scales, its heavy tail tipped with a dense cluster of bone spikes that slammed continuously against the commoners' shields, throwing orange sparks into the chilly air.
"Hold the left flank, you useless dregs!" Julian Gale-Shred shouted, his voice carrying the sharp, grating condescension of someone who had never known the biting reality of a real rift rupture. He took a theatrical step forward, his flame-inscribed broadsword letting out a bright hiss of red elemental energy as he executed a slow, over-committed downward slash against the monster's front leg. "Keep the beast pinned in the centre of the quarry until Valeria stabilizes her secondary array! If its health pool drops too fast before the surveillance mirrors rotate, the scouts won't record the full alignment!"
The Level 8 Gorgon-Hound let out a deafening, wet roar, its obsidian-plated torso twisting violently as the fire circle scorched its flank. It slammed its massive hindquarters into the frozen stone, its explosive strength driving it forward in a frantic, low-angle lunge that shattered the balance of two commoner shields on the left. The provincial youths tumbled backward into the dark gravel with sharp cries of pain, their core vessels vibrating from the raw kinetic shock wave as the monster threatened to break their perimeter net entirely.
"Miserable commoner trash," Valeria Pyre-Sol sneered, her fingers twitching as she dropped the crimson silk line to re-align her element. "They can't even hold a basic kinetic base against a standard charger without breaking their posture. Julian, finish the sequence before the beast shifts toward the high ridge."
Julian laughed arrogantly, lifting his white steel broadsword for another flashy, high-angle strike, completely blind to the fact that the Gorgon-Hound's center of gravity had already adjusted for a lateral counter-swing.
I watched the entire display from the shadows of the basalt overhang, my expression locked behind an unyielding, freezing wall of absolute contempt. To my historical knowledge, their movements were entirely full of holes. They over-extended their shoulders, broke their defensive chains for theatrical flare, and relied entirely on the blood of commoner meat shields to maintain their artificial trial scores. These were the exact tactical blunders that had cost humanity millions of lives during the true demonic invasions of my past life, yet here they were, playing the part of masters inside a rigged arena.
A stray gust of sub-zero wind suddenly caught the edge of my woollen cloak, causing the fabric to snap sharply against the limestone wall.
Julian Gale-Shred's ears twitched, his head twisting toward the shadow of the ledge with a sharp frown. His arrogant gaze passed across the dark stone before locking straight onto my pristine silver-white hair and the swirling violet starlight of my irises. The flashy flame broadsword in his hand dipped by a fraction of an inch, his brow furrowing as he recognized the nameless orphan who had openly dismissed Viscount Corin's ledger at the outpost gates.
"Well, look what the frontier storm dragged in," Julian sneered, his voice loud enough to draw the attention of the remaining four heirs, who turned their heads with cold, amused smirks. He didn't drop his combat posture against the monster, but his chin lifted with petty aristocratic malice. "The white-haired commoner who thinks a light shortsword is enough to navigate the high crags. Tell me, orphan, did your formation break in the ravine? Are you here to beg for a spot behind our shield wall before the night frost destroys your pathways?"
The ten commoner proxies looked over with wide, exhausted eyes, their knuckles white against their dented shields as they maintained the perimeter against the roaring Level 8 beast.
I didn't reach for my hilt, nor did I alter the relaxed weight of my stance against the basalt shelf. I simply looked at the five heirs, my violet irises carrying an absolute, unreadable stillness that cut through the quarry like a winter blade. I didn't waste my breath on a loud argument or a theatrical declaration of revenge. My veteran combat memory already knew the exact day, hour, and minute of their family's eventual execution—and a commoner playground was not the venue to clear that blood debt.
"Keep playing with your pet, Julian," I said smoothly, my voice flat, carrying a cold, quiet weight that caused the arrogant smirk to freeze instantly on his face. "The Starlight Apex recruiters are watching your micro-angles from the observation decks. Try not to break your ankles when the beast rotates its base."
Before Julian could find his voice to scream an aristocratic insult, I turned my back on the entire quarry, my leather boots cutting clean, silent shapes through the grey frost as I walked off into the deep volcanic chimneys of the northwest perimeter.
"You miserable commoner bastard!" Julian's enraged shout echoed off the limestone walls behind me, followed instantly by the sudden, heavy roar of the Gorgon-Hound as my prediction verified itself. The beast violently pivoted its massive torso, its bone-spiked tail smashing directly into the white celestial plate of his right shoulder with a hollow, resounding clang that sent his white broadsword clattering into the frozen dirt.
I didn't look back. I let them have their fun within their rigged, theatrical simulation, my frame already moving with fluid, weightless velocity toward the higher peaks. The true apex hunting grounds were waiting in the dark crags above, and the scouts on the high pavilion deck were about to see exactly what an independent predator looked like when the steel cleared the sheath.