The moment Aeron stepped out of the Poison Land, the air of the academy felt almost alien—clean, sharp, and unbearably light. He drew a deep breath, half expecting the stench of decay to linger, but it was gone. Only faint traces of the green mist followed him, curling softly around his shoulders before fading completely.
He glanced down at his hands. The faint hue of poison still tinged his skin, but it no longer looked sickly—it looked alive. A subtle pulse of energy moved beneath his veins, quiet but potent, like a sleeping storm waiting for his command.
"Venom Heart," he murmured, flexing his fingers. "Huh. Didn't think I'd survive that."
"You didn't just survive," the book replied from its place on his desk, its voice a low murmur. "You adapted. The Poison Land recognizes you now. That power will keep evolving as long as you do."
Aeron exhaled slowly, sitting down. His muscles still ached, though his regeneration had already done most of the work. He'd grown stronger—no doubt about it—but with that strength came something else. Something heavy.
He could feel the faint thrum of the Death Law in his core, mingling with the venom's pulse. It was changing him in ways he couldn't yet define.
"Whatever's next," he said, leaning back, "it better be worth it."
"It will be," the book replied simply.
---
The call came the next morning.
A voice echoed through the dorm halls, clear and commanding:
"All candidates, report to the Main Trial Hall. The second round begins in one hour."
Aeron opened his eyes. He'd been sitting cross-legged, meditating as the last vestiges of poison energy flowed through him. He stood, rolling his shoulders.
"So soon," he muttered. "They're not giving us time to breathe."
"They don't need to," the book said dryly. "Weakness filters itself out with time."
Aeron smirked faintly.
He grabbed his cloak, slinging it over his shoulders, and left the room.
---
The Main Trial Hall was vast—an enormous dome-shaped space lined with glowing sigils and mechanical arrays. The floor gleamed like polished obsidian, and above, a faint white light pulsed rhythmically, like a heartbeat.
Hundreds of students had gathered, some whispering nervously, others standing silently with their arms crossed. Aeron recognized a few faces from the first round—the arrogant dragonkin who'd laughed at the humans, the serene elves, the stoic dwarves. All gathered again, but this time, the air felt different.
No killing intent. No tension of combat. Only a strange, humming pressure that made the skin crawl.
A figure appeared on the raised platform ahead—one of the instructors, clad in black armor, their presence quiet but commanding.
"Welcome to the second trial," the instructor said, their voice echoing through the hall. "This round will not test your combat strength… but your will."
A low murmur spread through the gathered students. Aeron frowned slightly.
Will?
The instructor gestured to the ground, and lines of light flared across the floor, forming wide circular platforms that pulsed faintly.
"This test is simple," they continued. "You will sit on your designated mark. The room will generate a gravitational field that will intensify every hour. The trial lasts for twenty-four hours. Leaving your position or falling unconscious means disqualification."
The murmurs turned into exclamations now—some shocked, others disbelieving.
Aeron tilted his head, mildly amused. "Gravitational endurance," he muttered. "Not what I expected."
"It's more dangerous than it sounds," the book murmured in his mind. "Most will break long before the halfway mark. Constant pressure on the body can crush bones, rupture organs, and shatter focus. It's not just strength—it's resolve."
He chuckled quietly. "Guess that makes it interesting after all."
He'd been itching to test his new abilities, but this wasn't the time. The Plague Aura and Venom Heart wouldn't help much here. This test wasn't about what he could unleash—it was about what he could endure.
He moved to his assigned spot—Platform 37—and sat down. The surface was cold, unnervingly smooth. Around him, other candidates settled into place. Some closed their eyes, preparing mentally; others fidgeted, already anxious.
A large timer appeared above the hall, glowing red.
24:00:00
A moment of silence passed. Then the instructor raised their hand.
"Begin."
The light above dimmed, and the air shifted.
A heavy pressure descended over the hall, subtle at first, like an invisible weight settling on everyone's shoulders. The floor vibrated softly, and Aeron felt the faint pull of gravity tugging at him, denser than before.
He exhaled calmly, lowering his center of gravity, letting his breathing adjust. The others around him began to fidget, adjusting posture or bracing their arms.
The first hour passed almost peacefully.
But then, the pressure deepened.
It didn't just push—it pressed, squeezing from every direction. Aeron felt his bones protest, his muscles tensing to counterbalance. Sweat began to bead on his forehead, not from pain but from the sheer exertion required to remain upright.
The weaker students began to falter. Some trembled. Others gasped for air.
Aeron kept his eyes closed. His breathing was steady. His aura, though faint, pulsed in rhythm with his heart. He wasn't fighting the force—he was flowing with it.
"Interesting," he murmured under his breath. "They're not testing strength. They're testing who breaks first."
"Exactly," the book whispered in his mind. "Those who panic lose control of their breathing, then their focus, then their consciousness. Endurance isn't just in the body—it's in the mind."
Aeron smirked faintly, ignoring the tightening pressure.
Let them struggle.
He had already survived decay, rot, and poison eating through his flesh. Compared to that, gravity was merciful.
Still, he could feel the strain beginning to build. The test wasn't meant to crush instantly—it was meant to wear them down, hour by hour, minute by minute, until only those with iron will remained.
The second hour mark came, and the force doubled again. The sound of grunts and cracking joints filled the air. A few students collapsed outright, their bodies twitching under the pressure before they were silently teleported away.
Aeron didn't move.
He closed his eyes once more, sinking deeper into stillness.
Every heartbeat became an anchor. Every breath, a rhythm.
He could feel it—the faint vibration of power deep within him, the quiet hum of Venom Heart syncing with his pulse. It wasn't resistance; it was balance.
He let the weight press down, let it test him, let it grind against the edges of his endurance.
This was nothing new.
He had learned the language of pain.
---
Hours blurred into each other. The light in the hall dimmed further, shadows stretching across the walls. The timer above read 18:00:00.
Aeron opened his eyes briefly, glancing around. Half the platforms were empty now. The elves still stood, poised and composed; the dragonkin leaned forward slightly, their minds seemingly elsewhere.
And yet, Aeron, a human sat calmly—unmoved, quiet, the faintest ghost of a smile on his lips.
The gravity pressed harder, the air thick enough to taste.
And still, he endured.
---
The trial had only just begun.