As time went by, the group kept moving forward, and the vanguard kept changing, but at no point did they manage to catch up with the instructor. He seemed like an unattainable mirage—if he didn't occasionally cast a few discreet glances back, they might truly have thought the instructor was just an empty shell powered by magic.
"Of course, it's possible he really is just a magic-powered shell. Magic seems capable of all sorts of things," thought Phaistos as he took the role of vanguard for the first time. Nevertheless, his instincts told him that the instructor standing before him was indeed physically present.
As he took on the role of vanguard, he immediately realized that Kibi and the comrade who had gone before him were maintaining a strong front to avoid discouraging the others. Even though there were about ten of them, and their powers might have seemed impressive from a normal person's perspective, in the face of this environment, they were nothing. The wind seemed able to cut through the layers of elemental protection and slip into Phaistos' clothing. His skin was burned directly beneath his garments, forcing him to channel all his mental strength just to use his magical power properly to resist the wind. Little by little, he began to handle his magic more effectively, but the gap between the environment's assault and his defense was astronomical.
Turning his head, he spotted other trainees who had chosen not to join the main defensive line. Among them, some were clearly overestimating themselves—it showed in their gradual collapse and their near-magical disappearance from their previous spots. But others seemed to be strolling as if they were in a pleasant park. One in particular had drawn a spear and was using the formless pressure to regulate his body.
Seeing them, Phaistos' psyche screamed a single word: "Danger." From their aura alone, he understood that if he had to fight any of them with his current abilities, he would lose instantly.
As his minute of suffering finally came to an end, he moved to the back of the line. He wanted to speak about the strength of the winds and the formless pressure on his body, but he realized his mouth seemed sealed. He could talk about anything else—but not about what he had just experienced. So instead, he said to Kibi, "We have to keep going. It's the only path we can see for now."
Kibi, still shaken from his time at the front, placed a trembling hand on his burned arm. His gaze met Phaistos'—just for a fraction of a second, but it was enough for them to understand each other without speaking a word. No one was really holding out. They were just surviving for a few moments before being replaced.
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The scorching winds continued to lash their bodies relentlessly. Every second spent on the front line was torture—a constant struggle against an overwhelming force.
Phaistos, despite his efforts to wield his magical energy more effectively, knew his progress wasn't enough. The environment itself was like a living entity, far stronger than anything they could muster. His breathing was short, his skin bruised beneath his clothes.
The vanguard rotated at a frantic pace, and each new student who stepped forward was brutally confronted with the abyssal gap between their power and that of the infernal wind.
Yet, despite their suffering, they moved forward. Slowly, painfully, never reaching the instructor. And eventually, it was Phaistos' turn again to take the lead.
The wounds from his first round reopened under the pressure. His body protested, struggled in vain. Forty-five seconds. That was all he could endure.
When he gave in and stepped back into the column, his mind was foggy, his breathing erratic. He had never felt so weak.
But that wasn't what worried him most.
His eyes scanned the plain, searching for those who had refused to join the line of defense. Many had vanished. Some had collapsed and disappeared, as if wiped from the landscape. Others, rarer, continued forward with terrifying ease, as if the pressure was nothing more than a minor inconvenience.
The young man with the spear—the one who danced with the wind—didn't even look tired. He moved fluidly, his silhouette starkly contrasting with the students on the brink of collapse.
"Danger."
That word still echoed in his mind. Phaistos knew it. There was a difference—an immense fracture—between them and those few individuals.
His instincts screamed it: in his current state, he wouldn't last a second against them.
But why?
Why were some disappearing? Why did others seem to glide through the ordeal without the slightest difficulty? His mind wanted to find an answer, but he couldn't piece everything together. He could feel the spark of some kind of magical understanding begin to form within him, but it was as if his body wasn't ready to receive it.
Lost in thought, Phaistos suddenly heard a dull thud. For the first time since the trial began, the first student in their defensive line had fallen. The remaining students went pale. One student down meant one less moment of respite.
As this thought crossed his mind, a new wave of scorching wind slammed into the group—more violent than the previous ones. Phaistos, still in the rear, watched the new vanguard struggle under the sudden pressure. That person was Zara.
Seeing her, the four companions immediately remembered that she was the physically weakest among them, along with Miki. However, Miki was used to regular physical training, giving him greater resilience to pain. For Zara, it was the first time she would face such a situation. Her ability to endure it would shape the course of her life.
As they watched Zara confront the pain for the second time, she didn't act immediately. She first took the time to calm herself and assess the situation. After a few moments, a faint light seemed to flicker. In the heat of the moment, she hadn't even thought of summoning Al-Maari—especially since her magical power was sealed by the ring on her finger. Since forming a bond with him, she had always believed she could only summon him through her magic, though in reality, she could do it without it. Unfortunately, she had received no education on the matter.
When Al-Maari appeared, he reacted instantly and erected a wall of water in front of himself and Zara. "He can apparently use his magic freely," someone observed. As the situation seemed to stabilize and everyone sighed in relief, Zara turned into tiny points of light.
[Zara Ibn Malik has completed the first trial. As the first to do so, she receives a bonus point.] A mechanical voice rang out in the air.
A wave of astonishment rippled through the ranks as Zara vanished before their eyes, her body dissolving into sparkles of light. The first trial… completed?
Phaistos and the others, still gasping from their battle with the wind, exchanged troubled glances. Why her? Why now?
The mechanical voice echoed again, like an unrelenting sentence:
[The first student to complete the trial has been identified. The others must continue.]
The wind seemed to change in nature. It no longer blew with blind intensity—it was as if it were adapting, becoming more selective, more precise.
Kibi hissed through his teeth. "That's not good… It's like it's reacting."
Phaistos watched the phenomenon. It was no longer just a crushing force—it was a conscious adversary, a filter sifting through those who could pass and those doomed to fail.
The instructor, still impassive, crossed his arms and watched them. His gaze was heavy—he was waiting for something.
And suddenly, Phaistos understood.
They couldn't "defeat" the wind. They had to understand what it demanded of them.
The question was no longer just who could endure the longest—but who would grasp the true nature of the trial before being swept away.
A chill ran down his spine. They had to act fast.
But then—how was it possible that the boy with the spear hadn't yet completed the trial? Could it be that he simply didn't care about passing it first—or at all? Phaistos wondered.
As he observed the young man with the spear, another blast of scorching wind tore through the column. Stronger. More targeted.
Phaistos saw Miki buckle under the gust—he, like the others, had already served on the front line, and his physical strength clearly lagged behind the group average. Their endurance was crumbling faster than before.
And yet, the other—the one who danced with the wind—still seemed untouched. He moved with disconcerting fluidity, detached from the surrounding chaos.
Phaistos felt the young man's gaze on him. As if he were waiting for Phaistos to understand.
Why hadn't he completed the trial yet?
Suddenly, a brutal and unsettling thought struck him.
What if this student wasn't here to "complete" the trial… but to understand something else entirely?
Like an observer. Someone testing his own limits—not to win, but to learn.
Phaistos clenched his jaw. If that was true… then this student knew far more than any of them.
But his attention snapped back to the present as another student, a few rows ahead, let out a muffled scream and collapsed. Her body dissolved into fragments of light.
Another one gone.
They had to understand. Now.
He drew a deep breath, blocking out the pain tearing through his muscles, and observed.
If the wind was a trial… then what was the real condition for passing it?
The instructor, still distant, was waiting. Time was running out.