I advanced.
And advanced.
And advanced.
The forest no longer felt like a place—it felt like a corridor of judgment.
Screams tore through the distance, sharp and brief, some cut off mid-breath. Flashes of sterile white light bloomed between the trees—cold, impersonal markers of elimination. I heard the clash of steel, the guttural roars of familiars, the panicked shouts of people realizing too late that instinct mattered more than talent here.
Some moved in groups—four, five, sometimes more—backs pressed together, fear knitting them into temporary alliances.
I didn't.
I was alone.
Always moving forward.
Then—
Impact.
I collided shoulder-first with someone sprinting through the brush, both of us nearly losing balance as branches snapped around us.
"A—are you—HEY!"
I grabbed his arm before he could bolt again.
"The mountain's foot is north," I snapped. "Why are you running east? Have you lost it?!"
The man's face was pale, eyes unfocused, breath coming in ragged gasps. He twisted, panic clawing through his voice.
"S-sorry—! I—I couldn't see—!"
He wasn't wrong.
The canopy above us was suffocatingly thick, swallowing the sun whole. No clear shadows. No horizon. The mountain itself was nothing but a rumor behind layers of green and darkness.
Then—
The ground shook.
A heavy, wet thud.
Branches bent outward as something massive forced its way through the undergrowth.
Behind him.
Behind us.
A familiar.
Not just any—
A maw-like creature lumbered forward, its body low and broad, plated with hardened hide. Its head was wrong—too wide, too heavy—its mouth opening vertically like a split wound lined with grinding teeth. Embedded in the center of its snout was an Axiom crystal, shaped like a jagged horn.
A charging beast.
A living battering ram.
My skin crawled.
The world narrowed.
Flashbacks surged uninvited.
The Sunspire Dungeon.
Dark stone corridors.
The first monster I ever killed.
That overwhelming fear.That helplessness.That desperate reliance on traps, planning, and luck just to survive.
My breath hitched.
For a split second—
I was that weaker version of myself again.
Then—
I stepped forward.
And ran toward it.
"H-HEY!" the man shouted behind me, disbelief cracking his voice. "You may not die here, but that thing can knock you unconscious! You'll lose—are you CRAZY?!"
I didn't hear him anymore.
I was locked in.
This beast—
It wasn't even close to what I had faced in Sunspire.
And this time—
I wouldn't run.I wouldn't trap it.I wouldn't outthink it.
I would face it.
Head-on.
As I moved, the bandage around my right arm loosened—soaked, torn, weakened by earlier strain. The force of my motion ripped it free, cloth unraveling and fluttering away like shed skin.
My arm was exposed.
Red.
Bruised.
Faintly glowing beneath the skin, like embers trapped under flesh.
The mark of survival.
The proof of exile.
The half of me forged in dungeons, fear, and blood.
"This is me," I breathed.
I clenched my fist.
The stance came naturally—feet planted, hips aligned, spine coiled like a drawn bow. No runes. No spell logic. No Axiom circulation.
Just muscle.
Just intent.
Just will.
The creature roared and charged.
Its crystal horn glowed brighter as it lowered its head, the ground cracking beneath its weight. Trees shuddered as it accelerated, momentum building into something unstoppable.
Like a rhino.
Like fate.
I didn't dodge.
I didn't retreat.
I stepped in.
And threw everything I had.
A full-body blow.
From the ground—through my legs—through my core—through my spine—into my shoulder—into my arm—
Into my fist.
No magic.
No technique.
Just resolve.
The impact detonated.
A thunderclap ripped through the forest, shockwaves blasting leaves and dirt outward in a violent ring. The beast's charge stopped dead—dead—as if it had slammed into a wall that refused to move.
CRACK.
The crystal shattered.
Shards exploded outward in a burst of distorted light as the familiar's Axiom frequency screamed itself apart. The creature convulsed mid-roar, its form unraveling violently, dissolving into void fragments that scattered like ash on the wind.
I staggered.
My hand was ruined.
Blood streamed from split knuckles. Skin bruised deep purple, bones screaming in protest.
Pain hit all at once.
"AAAAAAGGGGHHHH—!"
I dropped to one knee, clutching my arm as the forest rang with my scream.
Then—
Minutes passed.
Warmth returned.
Efficient. Clinical. Uncaring.
The overhead healing array activated, knitting flesh, sealing wounds, erasing damage—but not memory.
When I stood again, my hand was whole.
But it trembled.
Behind me, the man stared—mouth open, eyes wide.
"Th-that's…" he swallowed. "That's crazy. Strong…"
I didn't answer.
I just stared at my fist.
This felt familiar.
Like the first kill.
Back then, I survived through traps.
Through fear.
Through desperation.
Now—
I had stood my ground.
Not with magic.
Not with systems.
But with myself.
"…I've grown," I whispered.
And as the forest closed around me again, I took another step forward—
Not as prey.
But as someone who would never run from his past again.
—
The command center sat above the forest like an unseen god's eye.
A circular chamber of steel, crystal, and layered Axiom arrays hovered far beyond sight, suspended by systems too complex to feel like magic anymore. Holographic terrain maps rotated slowly at the room's center—every tree, every clearing, every pulse of movement rendered in cold precision.
Rows of officers stood at their stations, eyes locked to flowing sigils and data streams. No cheers. No panic.
Only control.
"Incoming report," an officer called out, breaking the hum. "Axiom familiars are being neutralized."
Ignis didn't look up at first.
"How many?" he asked.
"Five confirmed eliminations in the last quarter span."
That earned his attention.
He turned slightly. "In a pattern?"
The officer hesitated, fingers flying over the projection interface.
"…Yes, sir."
A pause.
"Fixed coordinates. Linear advance. No retreat markers."
Another officer leaned closer, frowning. "The trail doesn't scatter. It ends."
Ignis's eyes sharpened.
"…Here."
"Show me."
The air before them rippled.
A projection bloomed open—three-dimensional, crisp, brutally clear.
The forest rendered itself in layered transparency.
Then—
The playback began.
They saw it.
A lone figure sprinting through dense undergrowth. No visible Axiom discharge. No spell residue. His movements were raw, inefficient, human.
Then the maw familiar emerged—massive, armored, crystal horn glowing as it charged.
Several officers stiffened.
"That one's a breaker-class familiar," someone muttered. "Designed to force eliminations."
The figure didn't evade.
Didn't reposition.
Didn't flee.
Instead—
The feed slowed.
Frame by frame.
They watched him step in.
They saw the bandage tear loose from his right arm.
Saw the skin beneath—reddened, bruised, faintly glowing with a residual dungeon scar. Not active magic.
Trauma.
Then—
Impact.
The projection shuddered as the shockwave rippled outward, trees bending, ground fracturing. The familiar's charge collapsed into nothing as its Axiom crystal detonated into fragments, scattering void like shattered glass.
Silence filled the chamber.
The playback continued.
They saw the man drop to one knee, scream, blood pouring from his hand—
Then the healing array activating, sealing him back together.
Another clip overlaid.
Minutes earlier.
The same figure intercepting a fleeing aspirant, turning, placing himself between the man and the beast.
Protecting.
Another overlay.
Different familiar.
Same result.
Using a mere stone. Now... bare hands.
Crystal cores shattered.
No spell signatures detected.
No external amplification.
Just force.
"This kid…" an officer murmured, voice low with disbelief. "He's fighting like a maniac."
Ignis leaned forward.
Slowly.
The holographic light reflected off his armor, catching in the scar along his jaw. His eyes tracked every frame—not the punch, not the explosion—but the timing.
The decision.
The refusal to retreat.
"Who is he?" Ignis asked.
A moment of rapid consultation.
"Elrin Mornye," the officer replied. "Wayfarer Adventurer Rank. Age—sixteen. Possibly seventeen."
A pause.
"No formal military background. Dungeon survivor. Records indicate multiple anomaly survivals."
Ignis said nothing.
He zoomed the projection further.
Closer.
Closer still—
Until the image centered on Elrin's right hand.
Red.
Bruised.
Not glowing with Axiom.
Not enhanced.
Just damaged flesh hardened by repetition.
A battlefield bruise.
"…Hmph."
Ignis straightened slightly, fingers steepled.
"…Keep watching."
The officers exchanged glances, uncertain if this was a command or contemplation.
Before any of them could speak, a new projection shimmered into view.
King Eeza.
Even through the translucent holo-screen, the man carried his authority effortlessly. Yet there was warmth, a casual ease that spoke of familiarity with the general beside him. Ignis shifted slightly, acknowledging the projection with a subtle nod, almost as if greeting an old friend.
"It seems someone has piqued your interest, huh… Ignis," the king said, his tone casual yet threaded with royal weight. "Different corps, different interesting individuals now… I assume our usual standard bore nothing remarkable this time?"
Ignis didn't reply. His eyes stayed locked on the ongoing feeds, but the faintest twitch of his jaw betrayed acknowledgment.
The projection flickered again. This time, the Arcanum Spiral—the Mage Corps. A cascade of aspirants appeared, each weaving magic with precise gestures, sigils glowing without flaw.
There—Ynara Vaelar.
She moved effortlessly, staff tracing arcs in the air, casting Axiom constructs with no incantations, no hesitation. Fireballs contained themselves perfectly in midair, shields reinforced without a word, all while maintaining enough stamina to run, the raw elegance of her is mesmerizing.
The officers murmured. "Look at that precision… she's beyond most of the upper candidates…"
More projections cascaded into view. Warriors, healers, artillery operators, each performing trials designed to test skill, endurance, and ingenuity. One by one, the data arrays highlighted successes and failures—marks of promise and disaster interlaced across the feed.
Yet nothing—not a single display—caused Ignis's gaze to waver, except the feed that had been running before.
Elrin Mornye.
Running through the forest. Smashing crystals with a stone and bare hands. Shielding another aspirant from a familiar. Leaping, rolling, refusing every shortcut, every easy solution. The camera zoomed in on his bruised right hand, the red mark from dungeon trials faintly glowing in residual Axiom.
Ignis leaned forward slightly, the faintest smile forming at the corner of his mouth.
"It seems this batch will be… interesting," he said, voice low, measured.
King Eeza chuckled faintly in his own projection, reclining slightly against the balcony railing.
"I daresay, Ignis, you'll be kept entertained—and perhaps challenged—by your new charges. But you always manage to see the potential where others only see chaos."
Ignis's eyes didn't leave the feed. Not Ynara. Not anyone else. Only the boy who ran with reckless precision, whose resolve burned louder than raw Axiom, whose body refused to yield to the trial's design.
A storm had been spotted.
This was no ordinary candidate.
This one—Elrin, would shape the course of the exercise far more than anyone expected.