Ivan
Everyone passed through the gate to the outside, where their eyes were struck by a barren, lifeless land stretching endlessly ahead. The ground was cracked, sandy, and swept by light winds.
The open space extended for no more than five hundred meters, followed by a dense forest with tangled trees that hid the unexpected within its deep shadows.
A massive table to the right caught Ivan's attention. a metal table standing defiantly before the desert as if it had just been placed there.
Upon it lay neatly arranged rows of weapons: long, simple swords, curved-blade sickles, bows and arrows, short knives, and even some small pistols.
As the contestants divided their attention between the table, the forest, and the ground that separated the two, the heavy sound of the metal door closing behind them echoed, sealing off the outside world.
Then Stone's voice boomed through the loudspeaker: "Prepare yourselves. The countdown will begin shortly. On your right is a table with every kind of weapon. Take whatever you want."
Ivan moved toward the table, his eyes scanning the displayed weapons quickly. But before he could reach out for one, someone slammed into him from behind with an unnecessary force.
His body jolted for a moment. He turned around, annoyed, and frowned sharply: "Watch where you're going, idiot."
The other boy turned immediately, clearly ready for a fight. His brows were furrowed, his face full, with an unusually wide forehead like a pronounced bone deformity, giving him a strange and disturbing appearance.
He was holding a massive sword in his right hand and breathing slowly and heavily, as if waiting for the moment to explode.
"What did you say, you little freak? Did you just call me an idiot?" he growled, then threatened: "Want me to shove this sword up your ass?"
Ivan stepped forward, his sharp blue eyes unflinching and fearless. He replied with calm sarcasm, "Do it, if you've got the guts."
His tone was cold but charged with challenge, like someone who wouldn't mind a fight even before the trial began.
Some of the participants started watching the situation, while others ignored it and focused on the weapons. The air was tense, and this clash seemed like the first spark in a series of confrontations, even before the real trial began.
"Fighting between contestants is forbidden. Any conflict means immediate disqualification." Stone's voice came through the loudspeaker, sharp and stern.
The two froze for a few seconds, then turned away from each other, both with angry expressions that clearly refused to yield. But they had no choice but to comply.
Ivan sighed and continued toward the weapon table without looking back.
He wasn't fond of sharp weapons. The shiny swords, neat arrows, even the short guns and pistols didn't tempt him.
He paused, letting his eyes scan the long table thoughtfully, his hand on his chin. His mind was weighing the options, looking not for a tool to kill, but something that matched his own style.
In the far corner of the table lay a dull object— simple but deadly. A short iron chain ending in a small metal ball.
He picked it up and examined it carefully, noting the weight of the explosive ball and the raw material covering it. He smiled faintly and said, "This suits me better."
He wrapped the chain around his right arm, gripping it tightly like it was an extension of his body. Then he turned to the nearby box, grabbed a few extra explosive balls, and tucked them into the belt around his waist.
Stone announced the beginning of the countdown, then followed up with a firm tone: "The trial has begun. Go!"
As soon as he finished speaking, everyone burst forward at once. They rushed across the barren land, the empty yellow field with no natural obstacles, stretching out for about five hundred meters before the dense forest began.
Leading the charge was the boy with the broad forehead— the same one who had clashed with Ivan minutes earlier. He ran like a madman, his legs devouring the ground at incredible speed, his wide mouth curled into a mocking grin..
He turned back and shouted mockingly, "Idiots! I'll be the first to reach it!" But his steps were too fast—more reckless than the terrain allowed.
His foot slid into an unstable patch, and what he hadn't anticipated happened.
A sudden explosion thundered. The ground beneath him shook violently, and shards burst in all directions, turning his surroundings into a cloud of smoke fire and dust.
Several nearby contestants were knocked down by the blast's shockwave. Others stumbled back in fear, while screams of panic echoed across the field.
Ivan suddenly froze. His eyes widened in shock—and with him, everyone else stopped.
The boy who had led the race was flung into the air, and now his body came crashing down from the sky in a horrifying scene: his leg severed from the thigh, face completely disfigured, and his right eye dangling from its socket, swaying by a bloody thread, while the stench of burnt flesh spread like a slap of reality.
A tense silence took over the field. Only one person seemed composed despite the shock. Ivan—it wasn't the first terrifying scene he had witnessed. It wasn't the first time he'd seen a human body torn apart so brutally. True, he had nearly fought that boy minutes ago, but he wouldn't have wished such a death on anyone. The scene served as a harsh reminder that this wasn't just a test, it was a slaughter.
He thought to himself as he moved cautiously, eyes scanning the ground intently: "Mines? Now I get it… That's why they made this land barren and cleared the trees. So we can't leap over or avoid them."
While some contestants stood frozen in horror, contemplating the disastrous scene, others kept moving forward, driven by recklessness, stupidity, or maybe denial. They gave no thought to what they had just witnessed, as if death hadn't just fallen from the sky.
Those rash ones sprinted as if outrunning blind fate. Then another explosion echoed. One by one, new mines erupted from the earth, devouring bodies mercilessly. Screams, blood, limbs flying through the air, and the stench of death thickening in the sand. It felt more like a mass execution ground hidden beneath the guise of a trial than an actual racecourse.
Some made it, not because they were smarter, but because they leapt long distances, minimizing their contact with the ground. Luck alone saved them this time—no strategy, no insight. Others couldn't replicate the trick and fell, victims of blind confidence or bodies too sluggish to dodge.
But amid the chaos, Ivan's attention was drawn to contestant number 15. His movements were different—neither hesitant nor random. He wasn't recklessly leaping nor crawling in fear. He moved with an eerie precision, as if the ground whispered to him. Every step he took was calculated, suspiciously safe.
Ivan whispered to himself, eyes narrowing with curiosity: "That's odd... There's no way every one of his steps is a coincidence. He doesn't look like he's gambling with luck—but more like he sees something we can't."
Then he furrowed his brows and added, "This trial appears to test luck on the surface, but there's no way our fate depends entirely on chance. There must be a way to detect the mines... They explode too fast to be dodged by speed alone. It's not just luck, it's about understanding a trick in the terrain or the pattern."
As Ivan scanned the barren land for any hint or pattern, a large fly landed on his hand. It moved slowly, as if drawn by something. It clung to the small iron ball chained around his wrist. He was about to brush it off, but stopped. He stared closely, his brows tightening suddenly. "Wait... Isn't this a sandfly?" he said, half-audibly, as if talking to himself.
He brought the insect closer to his eye, staring at its wings, body shape, and the strange glint in its eyes. "Yes, it's a sandfly." He looked forward again, watching the ground. He noticed that in certain spots, flies gathered conspicuously. Specific areas only, they didn't move away, circling in a tight ring, as if something unseen was pulling them to stay. Then his eyes lit up. A spark had struck his mind. "I've got it."
But before he could say anything, contestant number 47 sped past him like the wind, her hair slicing the air, her strides confident and flawless, covering half the distance without hitting a single mine. She suddenly stopped and turned toward the crowd. Raising her voice confidently, she said, "Avoid the areas where the flies gather! Sandflies are drawn to hidden heat in the ground, especially the kind coming off buried metal objects. Like mines."
A moment of confusion spread among the contestants, then movement resumed. Everything changed. Crossing was no longer random, and no longer a foolish charge into the unknown.
Every contestant now watched the ground, calculated their steps, moved only where there were no insects, trying to survive with their mind, not their feet.
Ivan, who had been about to say the same thing, frowned, then smiled with half his face and muttered sarcastically: "Nice… you stole the spotlight from me."
Ivan began to run, his pace quickening with every meter he covered. He now knew exactly what to look for and where to place his feet, as if his mind had memorized the movement pattern, his body responding to danger without thinking.
He was now running with a confidence he'd never felt before, his eyes fixed on the horizon, and his right arm gripping the metal chain tightly.
He looked at the watch on his wrist. It read 26:37. "Only four minutes?" he said between breaths, half in surprise, half in satisfaction.
"This was just the first obstacle, and it only took four minutes." Then he added, "If I keep this pace, I can finish the whole test in twenty minutes."
In front of him, the sandy ground began to fade gradually, disappearing beneath his feet, replaced by dark, damp soil scattered with decaying leaves and exposed root.
The forest was there, standing like a dense wall. Towering trees intertwined with one another, their trunks twisted, and branches like closed mouths.
He stood at the edge, scanning in all directions, trying to sense what awaited him inside. there were no human sounds—no screams, no noise, only birdsong and the rustle of wind slipping between the branches. "The open ground is over... the chaos of explosions has ended," he said, then added in a low, serious tone, "Now begins a different kind of chaos."
He stepped forward into the forest. the ground was slightly slippery, a mix of mud and roots, demanding a new level of focus and a different kind of balance. everything had changed—the view, the texture, and the smell.