The final day arrived like a held breath.
No fanfare. No announcement. Just a subtle shift in the air—the kind that made your skin prickle and your instincts buzz. Thalos opened his eyes before the false sky brightened. He hadn't truly slept, just drifted in and out of awareness with his blade resting across his lap.
Kirelle sat nearby, head lowered, breathing steady. Her wound had stopped bleeding, but her movements the night before had been stiff.
Thalos stretched his limbs silently and checked the system.
Status Check:
Vitality: Moderate
Blood Core: Stable (Resonating)
Fatigue: Medium
Mental State: Focused
Missions: Ongoing
His blood core pulsed steadily—a rhythm he'd grown attuned to over these past days. He could feel the faint drain from constant minor enhancements, but nothing critical yet.
Still, it wouldn't last forever.
He tapped Kirelle's boot gently. "Up. Movement time."
She groaned but obeyed, muttering something about cruel mornings and broken backs.
"Final stretch," Thalos reminded her.
"Right. Survive the last few hours, don't die horribly, maybe qualify for greatness," she said, biting into a dried fruit slice.
They stepped into the ruined street cautiously.
The city had changed again.
Where before the silence had been an oppressive emptiness, now it felt… watchful. Like the buildings themselves were waiting. Thalos narrowed his eyes. He didn't know how many candidates still remained, but the beasts and undead had grown smarter. They were no longer wandering aimlessly. They were hunting.
A test within the test.
Mid-morning came with their first real challenge.
Thalos and Kirelle were navigating a narrow merchant corridor when the ambush hit.
One moment, the street was clear.
The next—fire.
Twin arcs of red flame shot from the left and right, cornering them in a sudden inferno. Kirelle screamed and rolled back; Thalos activated blood enhancement instinctively and darted forward.
A massive figure emerged from the smoke—tall, armored in crimson plates, with a blade longer than Thalos's arm.
The noble with the flame tattoos.
"Split!" Thalos shouted.
Kirelle vanished into the smoke behind him, and Thalos parried the first blow.
The force of it shook his arms to the bone. He grunted and rolled under a follow-up slash, jabbing low toward the attacker's ankle—but the armor absorbed the hit.
Another figure moved in the shadows behind the noble—a second combatant. Thin, fast, wielding jagged daggers. Not allies—opportunists.
Thalos recognized the setup: use the brute to distract, then the dagger-user to finish. Classic double-pincer.
But they'd underestimated something.
He wasn't alone.
Kirelle's rotspore bomb exploded at the end of the corridor, the mist billowing outward. The noble staggered. Thalos lunged, feinted, then pivoted left as the dagger-user appeared—barely avoiding a throat slash.
He countered with a flat kick that threw the attacker off balance.
Blood burned in his veins. His eyes sharpened in the dark. Nocturne Blade kicked in with perfect clarity—shadows told stories, wind whispered danger.
He didn't win the fight.
But he didn't lose it either.
After three minutes of deadly dancing, both enemies retreated—coughing, scorched, bruised. One limped. The other bled.
Thalos and Kirelle didn't chase.
They had survived.
Two hours later, they found what looked like a ritual site.
A collapsed church, vines choking the altar, blood glyphs etched into shattered pews. But something shimmered in the air—residual magic.
"I've seen this before," Kirelle said quietly. "My brother mentioned Academy trial shifts. Sometimes… if too many people survive the first days…"
"Bonus round?" Thalos guessed.
"Or bonus hell."
They stepped into the ruin, blades drawn.
At first, nothing happened.
Then a low gong sounded deep underground.
The glyphs glowed.
A platform behind the altar rose from beneath the floor—metal and stone and rusted bone—and above it appeared a glowing crimson orb with ancient script rotating in slow spirals.
Optional Challenge Activated
Condition: Triggered by Multiple Survivors in Final Hours
Objective: Defend the Nexus Sigil
Time Limit: 30 minutes
Reward: Trial Score Multiplier, Blood Core Resonance Boost, Cultivation Resource Drop
Warning: Deaths in this challenge do count toward final death count. Proceed at your own risk.
Thalos stared at the glowing script.
"No way we're the only ones seeing this."
"No," Kirelle said. "Anyone near this sector probably triggered it too."
As if on cue, three more figures emerged from the ruins. Two he recognized—dagger-user and another from the Veinwalk. The third was new—hooded, tall, with glowing silver runes across one arm.
For a moment, the five stared at each other.
Weapons unsheathed.
Then one of them—a tall boy with a glaive—lifted his hands.
"Truce. 30 minutes. We defend the sigil together. We fight after."
Silence.
Then nods.
Even Kirelle grumbled her agreement.
The final hour became legend.
Undead surged from the surrounding buildings—skeletal knights, winged corpses, wraiths trailing smoky chains. One by one they attacked the defenders of the sigil.
And one by one, they were pushed back.
Thalos fought without flair, but with tireless precision. Every move conserved energy. Every cut meant something.
He used Blood Resonance to stay standing, draining fallen enemies' essence when safe.
Kirelle's illusions and traps slowed enemy advances.
The glaive-user held the center like a wall.
The dagger-user vanished and reappeared in perfect sync.
Even the silent, rune-covered stranger contributed—his arm crackling with runic bursts that disintegrated enemies in waves.
Time ticked down.
The orb's glow dimmed.
And then… stillness.
Optional Objective Complete
Reward Distribution: Pending
Candidates—prepare for extraction.
The light took them again—blinding, silent, consuming.
When Thalos blinked next, he stood once more on the obsidian platform of the Academy's central terrace.
He was alone.
And yet, not alone.
All across the plaza, survivors reappeared—wounded, weary, but alive.
Kirelle reappeared across the square. When she spotted him, she lifted a hand and gave him a tired salute.
Thalos returned it with a nod.
Status Update:
Phase I – Combat Survival Trial: Complete
Candidate: Thalos Valen
Condition: Stable
Trial Score: Compiling…
He took a long breath and looked out across the city below.
The plaza atop the obsidian terrace was quiet—but heavy with tension.
One by one, the surviving candidates stood blinking against the dim, steady glow of the Academy's eternal dusk. There were fewer than thirty. Out of hundreds who had entered the trial across different city sectors, only a handful had made it to this point.
Thalos stood still, breathing slow, eyes scanning the others.
Some were fresh-faced. Others had blood-caked clothes and wild eyes. A few stood tall, without injury, not a hair out of place—those were the dangerous ones.
Kirelle appeared nearby, leaning on her broken spear like a walking stick. She spotted him quickly, made her way over.
"We survived," she said, voice hoarse.
"Yeah."
"And apparently didn't suck."
Above them, a wide screen of magic light shimmered into existence in the sky, displaying a list of names and symbols. The title at the top read:
Duskhaven Academy – Phase I Combat Evaluation Results
Score and Rank Do Not Reflect Final Admission
Rows of names scrolled beneath, each accompanied by a sigil representing performance brackets—bronze, silver, gold, obsidian, or unranked.
Thalos scanned until he found his own:
Thalos Valen — Silver Rank
Evaluation Tags: Tactical Efficiency | Controlled Aggression | Moderate Kill Count | Resourceful
"Silver," he murmured.
Beside him, Kirelle groaned. "Bronze. But I'll take it. Most people I knew didn't even survive."
Some of the others were visibly furious, especially a tall girl with glowing green eyes who had been expecting gold. A few muttered under their breath. Others simply slumped in relief.
The highest visible rank on the board?
Obsidian. Only two names carried that weight.
Ravyn Drastel — Obsidian Rank
Tags: High Combat Output | Group Control | Dominant Solo Kills
Maelor Thorne — Obsidian Rank
Tags: Specialized Magic | Area Denial | High Survivability
Both stood near the center of the plaza—clearly aware of the attention. Ravyn, a tall, dark-haired girl with obsidian armor etched in runes, held her sword with casual arrogance. Maelor looked younger, thinner, almost sickly—but his eyes burned with magic.
Thalos didn't feel envy.
He felt measured.
Like the world had just shifted, reminding him how far the ladder still reached.
And how high he could climb.
A hush fell over the crowd as a new presence arrived.
She walked out from the inner sanctum of the terrace like a blade in motion—tall, severe, wrapped in ceremonial robes embroidered with runes and blood-threaded glyphs. Her hair was tied high in a triple-knot, her eyes burning crimson behind a visor of spectral glass.
A whisper rippled through the crowd.
Head Instructor Vaedra.
One of the Twelve.
She raised her hand. Instantly, silence fell.
"You have survived your first threshold," she said, voice carrying without force. "For that, you may consider yourselves exceptional. For now."
No one dared speak.
Vaedra paced slowly, eyes scanning them all.
"Phase One tested your survival instincts, combat proficiency, tactical aptitude, and adaptability under pressure. But this"—she gestured to the list above—"is not the end."
The screen shimmered and collapsed.
"Phase Two begins in three days," she said. "Rest. Heal. Prepare. Your next test will not be solo."
Several heads lifted in surprise.
"Phase Two is a cooperative trial," Vaedra continued. "Group strategy. Resource sharing. Psychological resilience. Team formation will not be of your choosing."
Murmurs rose. Forced teams meant unbalanced power splits—and tension.
"Any who believe themselves unfit may withdraw now," she said flatly.
No one moved.
Vaedra's mouth twitched—almost a smile.
"Good. Your reward crates will be distributed shortly, according to performance bracket. You may use the Academy's lower rings for rest and preparation."
With that, she turned and walked away.
Just like that, the moment passed.
As the crowd began to break apart, Thalos remained still, processing everything.
Silver.
Cooperative trial.
Unchosen teams.
It wasn't just strength they were testing anymore. It was adaptability—and trust.
"You think they'll pair us up again?" Kirelle asked.
"Doubt it," Thalos said. "They'll split effective duos. Too convenient."
She sighed. "Guess I should start talking to strangers."
A nearby boy overheard and smirked. "You'll need more than talk to survive Phase Two."
Thalos gave him a look. The boy didn't stick around.
Later that evening, Thalos received his reward crate—a box of dark stone wrapped in enchanted silver chain. It opened with a pulse of blood signature, clicking softly as the locks dissolved.
Inside were:
A minor blood refinement elixir
A combat knife forged with shadowsteel
A training token good for one week's access to the Academy's lesser cultivation chambers
A parchment titled: "Guide to Basic Cultivation Paths – Blood Core Edition"
Thalos ran his fingers over the contents.
Simple.
Precious.
A beginning.
He stowed the items carefully, especially the booklet. Knowledge was rarer than blades here. More dangerous too.
That night, he stood atop one of the outer balconies of the dormitory sector, looking down at Duskhaven's endless lights.
Three days until the next test.
Already, he could feel the fatigue in his blood. But beneath it—drive. Something sharp and steady.
He wasn't a prodigy.
But he had survived beasts, undead, and people stronger than him.