The clearing was chaos. People cried out loud. Others muttered frantic prayers. Some shoved, grabbed, and clung to anyone they knew.
They wanted safety in numbers. Dante watched. Alone, like always.
Everyone kept staring at the glowing door where Liora waited. No one moved. They all looked at each other, waiting for someone else to step forward.
So he did.
The noise stopped. Every head turned. He felt their stares like tiny insects crawling on his skin. He ignored them and walked straight to the door.
He pushed it open without a word.
Inside, the room glowed warm and soft. Liora stood there, calm as if everything made sense. She smiled with tired kindness.
"Come forward, hero," her voice slipped into his mind, clear and direct. "I will grant you your skill."
Dante stepped close. When she put her hand on his head, something exploded behind his eyes. White-hot pain shot down his spine. It felt like every nerve was stretched tight. He gasped. Gulp. Then it stopped just as quickly.
"It is done," Liora said softly. "You have been given a skill. Necromancer. You can raise the dead. Any creature you kill can be brought back to serve you. They will obey you completely. But every power has limits. You will discover them as you go."
She moved back. "Now ask your one question."
This was part of his plan. Dante did not hesitate. "Goddess," he said steady, "how many of us will make it out of this forest alive?"
Liora's smile was small and tired. "Straight to the point," she replied. "Only six of you will survive. There are six kingdoms in this realm. Each will receive one champion. That is all I can tell you. No more questions. I have many others to see."
She turned away with a small wave. The room smelled of old light. Dante walked out.
The heavy door clicked shut behind him, sealing the fate of those outside.
When he returned, the scene had worsened. Panic had hardened into groups.
One cluster of at least forty people huddled together like frightened animals, convinced that numbers would save them. They went silent when he appeared.
Their looks were a mix of curiosity, jealousy, and fear.
Necromancer, he thought. Powerful, but useless without soldiers. I have no army. I can't fight head-on. Right now I'm one of the weakest. He needed pawns. He needed options.
He had read too many stories like this, and none of them ended well for the soft-hearted.
He stepped into the center and spoke loud enough for everyone to hear. "I know what's waiting for us," he said. His voice cut through the air. "I know the hell ahead. And I know how to survive it."
Some faces closed with doubt. Others opened with hungry hope.
"These teams you've made," he pointed at the cluster of forty, "are useless. Holding hands will not stop monsters. Most of you will die thinking your friends will protect you."
He added, quiet and hard, "And that friendship will be the thing that kills you."
He pushed the point. "Forty people is a huge number. Only a small portion will survive. Chaos and betrayal will come first. Teams will turn on teams. People will not hesitate to kill for survival. That is how it works here."
Murmurs spread. Someone shouted, "How do you know that?"
"It does not matter how I know," Dante replied, locking eyes with the boy who had yelled. "What matters is this: my team will have the best shot. The rest of you will die in these woods."
A cold hush fell. He was not bluffing. Only six would live. He was planning to be one of them.
"I am forming a team," he announced. "I need nine more. Before you ask why ten, listen. The trials will be brutal. People will die. I am not building a group of friends. I am building a unit that can take hits and keep going. Some of you will act as shields. That is the trade. If you want a chance to survive, stand with me now."
The silence that followed felt heavy, final.
A girl stepped forward first. Erica, quiet in college, hands shaking. "I… I'll join," she whispered.
Masha, student council president, moved up next. Confident, steady. She placed a hand on Erica's shoulder. "Where she goes, I go," Masha said simply.
That broke the barrier. Talia, the fencer with short silver hair and sharp eyes, moved up. Rina, the top biology student and quiet thinker, joined without fuss.
Five boys followed in quick order: Jin, who trained in martial arts; Edgar, an engineering student with fast hands and faster ideas; Juno, the quiet artist clutching his sketchbook; Eric, whose stamina outlasted most; and Neil, a nerd with survival notes and old sci-fi know-how.
They lined up behind him, faces set and unreadable.
'This is weak', Dante thought. 'But that is the point. Ten now. Six will survive. I cannot let attachments get in the way. The weak will be cut. That is the rule here.'
No mercy. No long goodbyes. Survival first.
Other students returned from the goddess in waves, each with a new power and a private look. Some were stunned. Some proud.
A few had wasted their one question on whether they could go home. They knew the answer now.
His choice had an unexpected effect. A dangerous idea spread like fever: ten might be important. Maybe ten champions, not six. Maybe he had asked for other way.
Groups reshaped themselves around that number. Arguments flared. Friends yelled at friends.
Old loyalties tore open.
Decisions came sharp and ugly.
They are already breaking, he noted with a cold edge.
The Trial of Verdant has not even started.