Shane returned to his dorm late that night, Aimee's words echoing in his head.
"You don't even have the Intelligence to grasp the first-year syllabus, Rothmaek. Magical science isn't for you. You'll die before you learn enough to matter."
Her contempt stung more than Varkol's fists. He slumped onto his bed, eyes on the faintly glowing runes carved into the ceiling. She was right, wasn't she? His stats were abysmal. He had only scraps of knowledge from a half-remembered life. What chance did he have of mastering an entire discipline when the trial loomed in less than a week?
He rubbed his temple—and froze.
The strange stone from the starter gift box. The one he hadn't used.
The Dream Realm Key.
He pulled it out. The screen blinked.
> Name: Dream Realm Key
Grade: ???
Description: The key to a specially created dream realm for the host.
That was it. No instructions, no hints.
Shane turned the jagged object over in his hand, wondering how to activate it. As if in answer, the "key" began to melt, searing hot liquid sinking into his palm. Shane muffled a scream into his other hand as his nerves lit on fire.
It spread up his arm, into his skull, his brain boiling and freezing in turns. Thoughts shattered, rebuilt, then shattered again. He clawed at his face until darkness took him.
The last thing he saw was the System flickering into view:
> [Unknown Energy detected within host body.]
[Existence of Mystic Energy confirmed.]
[Mystic Energy bypassing Dream Realm boundaries.]
[FAILED: ACTION RESTRICTED.]
[MYSTIC ENERGY initiating Dream Trial for host…]
Shane's mind was yanked downward, spiraling into a dream that didn't feel like a dream at all.
---
The Dream
Crack!
The sound of a whip tore through the silence. Shane's body jolted awake.
"Wake up, you piece of shit!" a voice snarled.
He blinked rapidly, heart hammering. A young boy stumbled beside him, his back striped with welts. Shane's gaze darted left and right. All around him shuffled men, women, and creatures of every shape—beastkin, humans, demi-humans—all in rags. Hollow-eyed, sunken-cheeked, bruised, and broken.
Chains linked their necks to a massive wooden cart. Every step sent agony through Shane's bare, bloodied feet.
A second lash struck. He tried to scream, but no sound came.
Looking down, he saw the same ragged clothes hanging from his frame, the same iron collar digging into his skin.
"Move, you stupid slave"
The rider's voice was harsh, and when Shane looked up, his stomach dropped. A man on horseback glared down at him, black hair streaked with white, one eye clouded, a scar running jagged across it. His features… eerily resembled Headmaster Orin.
Shane staggered forward with the rest of the slaves, the collar chafing his neck raw. Sand stung his eyes, chains dragged at his shoulders, and every step sent jolts of pain through his bare feet.
And yet, in the back of his mind, one thought kept repeating:
This is a dream, it had to be
He clenched his teeth, forcing himself to breathe evenly despite the agony. 'I used the Dream Realm Key. That means this isn't real. It can't be real'
But the welt across his back burned like fire. The hot sand blistered his soles. The iron collar dug into his skin with every tug of the chain.
If it's just a dream, why does it hurt this much?
Another lash cracked across his spine. He nearly cried out, but bit his lip instead, the taste of blood flooding his mouth.
> [DREAM REALM TRIAL INITIATED]
[Objective: Survive]
The faint System message flickered before his eyes, confirming it. This was indeed just a dream, but also a trial. He had no idea what to expect when he used the dream key, but being transported into a dream this surreal wasn't on his list.
Shane glanced up at the warden on horseback and feeling Shane gaze on himself the man barked "Move, you maggots!" the man barked. "If one of you falls, I am feeding your body to the rest!"
The other slaves turned toward Shane, hollow-eyed and hungry. Some grinned. Some licked cracked lips. He swallowed hard. 'If I die here, if they eat me… will I wake up? Or is this trial permanent?'
The desert stretched endlessly, dunes glowing gold beneath a burning sun. Hours passed in torment. Shane's throat was raw, his legs trembling, yet the chains forced him on.
At last, a voice from the front called:
"We camp here! No point walking into the night blind."
The caravan halted. Soldiers set up tents, laughing and drinking. The slaves collapsed beside the cart, still chained like cattle.
Shane sank to his knees, every muscle screaming. His chest heaved, desperate for breath. He told himself over and over, "This is a dream. This is a dream"
The scarred warden dismounted, spitting in the sand. "Tsk. You useless lot better sell for a good price, or I'll slaughter half of you myself, for wasting my time, and losing me coin."
Before Shane could react, a beastkin ahead of him sagged sideways and stopped moving. Dead.
The warden cursed loudly, furious. "Damn it! That's profit gone! Why did it have to be just before we entered the city? You worthless trash should have waited till I sold you before dying," the man continued to unleash curses on the dead slave and his entire 7th generation for making him lose money.
He stormed into his tent, only to emerge with a heavy butcher's knife. With a sneer, he tossed it to one of the chained slaves, a gaunt older man with greasy hair and slightly better rags than the rest.
The man's grin spread wide, ear to ear, teeth yellow and sharp. Without hesitation, he dragged the corpse closer and began carving into it. Flesh tore, hot blood soaking the sand red.
The other slaves leaned forward, eyes shining with hunger.
Shane's stomach twisted. His pulse thundered in his ears, yet again reminding him that his was no ordinary dream. This was a trial, and if he didn't survive here, there was a possibility that he wouldn't wake up at all.
He forced himself to close his eyes, to think. This isn't reality. It's a dream. And if it's a trial, then there are rules. Trials always have rules.
He focused on his breathing, steadying himself despite the stench of blood.
>[ Dream trial 1st scenario]
[Hint: Survive until Dawn.]
[Note - the blood from the butchered slave has invited a few creatures to seek the source of the smell]
[Warning: Survive till dawn to advance to the second scenario.]
Shane's eyes snapped open. The System flickered faintly in the corner of his vision. Survive until dawn… That's it. That's the trial.
And because of the butchering, hostile creatures were closing in on their location, even knowing that, his body still trembled as the older slave hacked meat from the corpse, tossing bloody chunks to the others. Chains rattled as desperate hands fought before he could warn the camp of the impending danger. Different growls could be heard around the camp.
The low growls grew louder, rumbling beneath the desert floor. The warden stiffened, his scarred eye narrowing, and he felt the hair on his body stand to its end.
"Form up!" he barked. "Weapons out, now! Protect the goods!"
The guards scrambled, pulling blades and spears as they rushed to the edges of the firelight. The caravan wasn't small, four heavy slave carts, each dragging five shackled captives. Around them, nearly twenty armed guards formed a loose perimeter.
But they were too slow.
With a violent eruption of sand, the first beast broke through, its body lean and muscular, fur matted with dust, jaws filled with jagged teeth that glowed faintly under the moonlight.
"Dune-dogs!" the warden roared. "Hold the line!"
The ground shuddered again. Three more burst free, then five, then a dozen. They didn't attack the soldiers first. Instead, the creatures lunged straight at the nearest slaves, tearing into flesh and bone. Screams split the air as chains rattled and blood sprayed across the sand.
Shane's heart hammered. His cart was at the far end of the caravan, further from the initial eruption. He staggered to his feet, chains dragging, eyes wide as chaos unfolded before him.
The soldiers struck back, spears piercing through fur and sinew, but for every dune-dog that fell, two more seemed to rise from beneath the shifting sands. The air filled with snarls, steel, and shrieks.
A soldier was dragged down just meters away, his throat ripped open before his scream could finish. Another beast vaulted over his corpse, crashing into a cart of slaves and tearing a man in half.
Shane gagged at the sight but forced himself to stay alert, his brain working at its best to try to figure out a way out. He knew he just had to survive till dawn. His chains clinked as he pressed back against the wooden cart, eyes darting to the guards and the other captives. The other slaves were panicking, thrashing in their bonds, some even trying to shove their fellow prisoners toward the beasts to save themselves.
A dune-dog snapped its head toward Shane's cart, nostrils flaring, drawn by the scent of blood. Its glowing eyes locked on him.
Shane's breath caught, his eyes caught sight of the blade the Butcher had used, lying not far from him,
The dune-dog's low growl vibrated in Shane's chest. Its glowing eyes flicked to the bloodstained butcher's blade lying in the sand, then back to him.
No, no, no… Shane's mind screamed, but his body was frozen, pinned by terror.
The beast lunged.
Shane hurled himself sideways, chains biting deep into his neck as the iron collar yanked him short. The dune-dog's claws raked across his shoulder instead of his throat, tearing flesh. Hot blood spilled down his chest as he hit the sand hard, coughing.
The creature whipped its head around, snarling, already gathering itself for another strike.
Shane's eyes locked on the knife. He crawled, chains clattering, fingers digging into the sand. The beast sprang again. Shane rolled, pain screaming through his body as its jaws snapped inches from his leg. He slammed his hand down on the hilt of the knife, yanking it free.
"Stay back!" His voice cracked with panic as he slashed wildly.
The blade caught the dune-dog's snout. It howled, recoiling as black blood sprayed across the sand. Shane scrambled to his feet, knife trembling in his grip, chest heaving.
Around him, chaos reigned. Slaves shrieked as they were dragged down, soldiers fought desperately, and the warden bellowed orders that were drowned out by snarls and screams. The air stank of blood and burning fur.
The dune-dog circled him, lips peeled back, unfazed by the shallow cut. Shane's breath came ragged, his hands slick with sweat and blood. He had no stance, no training, nothing but desperation.
When it lunged again, Shane thrust the knife forward with both hands, praying it would be enough.
The blade sank into the creature's throat.
Its momentum slammed into him, knocking him to the ground. Hot, foul-smelling blood gushed over him as the dune-dog thrashed, then finally went limp, collapsing on top of him.
Shane gasped beneath the crushing weight, shoving the corpse off with all his strength. His arms shook as he staggered upright, soaked in gore.
The System flickered faintly before his eyes:
[Dune-dog defeated.]
[Trial progress: Survive until dawn — 6 hours remaining.]
Shane's heart plummeted. Six hours…
A fresh chorus of growls erupted around the camp. More shapes burst from the dunes, their glowing eyes multiplying in the dark.
The nightmare was only just beginning.
Shane staggered back, panting, the dead dune-dog at his feet. His arms trembled from the weight of the kill, his body screaming in pain.
Then a roar cut through the chaos.
While soldiers struggled in pairs to bring down a single beast, the scarred giant waded into the fray alone. In one hand, he swung a long sword with brutal precision; in the other, a short polearm snapped and stabbed like an extension of his will.
The first dune-dog to leap at him was cut clean in half at the waist, blood spraying in an arc. Another surged from beneath the sand, fangs bared. The warden spun his polearm downward, impaling it through the skull before wrenching it free and kicking the corpse aside.
"Stay sharp!" he bellowed, his voice carrying over the battlefield. "These bastards hunt in packs!"
Shane flinched at the command, even though it wasn't aimed at him.
"They don't just come from the front!" The warden's scarred eye gleamed as he stomped down, splitting open a patch of sand. A dune-dog erupted from beneath, only to be cleaved in two by his sword. "They move under the dunes! Watch the ground!"
The soldiers rallied at his words, forming tighter lines, stabbing downward whenever the sand rippled. Still, the beasts kept coming, jaws snapping, claws tearing, relentless in their hunger.
The warden fought like a man possessed. Each strike of his weapons carried not just raw strength, but the surging energy of IRA, his body glowing faintly as power coursed through his veins. When his sword struck, it carved deeper than steel alone should allow. When his polearm thrust, it carried the crushing force of a battering ram.
Shane watched in a mix of awe and terror. Compared to his own clumsy struggle for survival, the warden was a storm of violence, cutting through the dune-dogs as if they were nothing more than weeds in his path.
Yet even he couldn't kill them fast enough. For every beast that fell, more emerged, sand trembling as packs tunneled beneath the surface. The soldiers screamed warnings, jabbing spears into shifting dunes, sometimes skewering a hidden foe, other times dragged under with blood spraying in fountains.
The camp was collapsing into chaos. Firelight danced across the sand, illuminating snarling maws and flailing chains.
And still, the warden stood firm, carving through the pack with grim efficiency.
Shane's grip tightened on the bloodied knife. His throat was dry, heart racing. He knew one thing with absolute certainty: if not for the warden, they would all already be dead, the man was craving through the dogs like they were nothing, although the pack seemed to have the number advantage, the warden was like a one-man army .