After that night, the calm that settled over the forest was nothing but a veil hiding a storm of conflicting emotions. The beast was dead, but the truth that remained alive in their minds was harsher: a single old man, with a step and a strike, revealed the vast gap between them and what awaited.
Romal Anderson
The next morning, Romal distanced himself from the others and headed toward a narrow valley surrounded by rocks. He sat there for a long time, staring at his fist, recalling the moment of Dan's strike that made all his effort seem meaningless."How could a man the age of my father shatter what I've been building for years in just a moment?"
He began striking the rocks with all his might. Each blow carved into the stone and tore his fist, but he did not stop. For him, training was no longer just about improving his skills… but a declaration of an inner challenge. He decided to focus on endurance and heavy strikes, trying to reach a level where his blows would be no less decisive than Dan's.And with every new wound on his fist, he swore to himself: "I will not be crushed this way again."
Adia Finger
As for Adia, she withdrew silently into the deep forest, where streams flowed between the trees. She sat near the water, her gaze reflecting in its surface. She was not seeking strength alone… but an answer: would she remain a pawn in a game greater than herself?
She began training on precision and control instead of blind force. She practiced her movements lightly, focusing on finding her opponent's weak points instead of facing them directly. Dan's strike made her realize that in the tournament, only those who knew how to "direct their strength to where it mattered" would survive.And with every movement, she whispered in her heart: "I won't be the one crushed meaninglessly by the strong… I'll be the one who sees what they cannot see."
Adam
Adam had withdrawn after the confrontation, not uttering a word to anyone. He dragged his feet slowly, his body heavy with wounds he refused to let others see treated.(If they discover my weakness now… I'll be the first victim in the first round.)
He walked until he reached a rocky area beyond the designated grounds, a place untouched by the others, where the air was heavier and the darkness deeper. He sat there for a moment, staring at his trembling hands.
He closed his eyes and remembered Neil.That old voice, when they had trained together in the forest:"Don't fear the wound… the fear of it weakens you more than the pain itself. Turn pain into a weapon, let your body learn to live in fragility."
Adam opened his eyes slowly, a cold smile spreading across his face.(Neil… even when you're far away, your teachings still haunt me.)
He rose again despite the bleeding.He slipped into the dark forest, facing new beasts of D and C rank—not to boast of his strength, but to learn how to take blows and rise again.Every wound was a lesson.Every fall was a new test of his will.
When blood loss drained him and his body was about to collapse, he remembered Neil's instruction again:"Don't wait for someone to heal you. If you don't rise now, you'll never rise again."
He clenched his fist, summoned the darkness within him, and wrapped it around his body like a shroud. He wasn't using it to attack, but as armor to hold together his breaking frame.He kept at it until dawn, fighting while collapsing, smirking bitterly each time he fell.
(Only like this… will I prepare my body.I won't be just a child erased from the list in the first round.Even if I have to kill myself in training, I won't give them the pleasure of killing me in the arena.)
At dawn, Adam had finished a whole night of bleeding and fighting low-ranked beasts.He stood atop a high rock, watching the sun filter through the dense forest trees.His eyes half closed, his body covered in bruises, but a faint smile cut across his face.
(Only now… does the body begin to understand.Pain is no longer pain… it's a voice reminding me I'm still alive.)
He stretched out his right hand.From between his fingers, a thread of darkness slipped out, twisting like living smoke.He watched it carefully, then let it extend further and further until it covered his arm.
But the darkness was unstable, leaping without control.Adam realized that relying on it as raw power meant chaos.
(Darkness is not a sword… it's a shadow.And a shadow means nothing without the body that casts it.)
He took a deep breath.He focused on every blow he had taken the night before:The claw that broke his rib.The bite that scarred his shoulder.The fall that nearly knocked him unconscious.
He gathered all those pains in his mind, reshaped them—Not as wounds… but as a path.He let the darkness flow over the wounds, as if the pain itself guided it.And the more he surrendered to the memory of pain, the steadier the darkness became around him.
Suddenly he swung his arm, lashing the air.A sharp line of darkness shot forth like a whip, slicing through the trunk of a tree and splitting it in half.
He breathed slowly, staring at the result.(So that's it… Darkness doesn't obey strength.It obeys memory.)
He crouched down on the ground, closing his eyes.He summoned, one by one, every moment of weakness he had lived since entering this trial, every time he felt like a helpless child before bigger, stronger men.He let them all melt within him.And the darkness around him grew deeper, thicker, as though the earth itself absorbed his breath.
He rose again, but this time he moved with his whole body.It was no longer training to launch an attack—It was training a style:
— Let the wound lead him.— Let the darkness bind his body.— And let every step echo the pains that hadn't killed him.
The movements followed:A short leap, a spin, a sudden dash, silent slipping between trees, then vanishing entirely into the shadows.When he reappeared, his eyes glowed with a strange gleam:The gleam of one learning to live in fragility, making it an unbreakable shield.
By the end of the day, his body had collapsed to the ground, but he was smiling.(Now… I have enough.My power isn't what they gave me… it's what I forged from my scars.)
By the following sunset, Adam's body was barely able to stand.His blood had dried on his skin, his bruises darker, but in his eyes burned a spark that wasn't there before.
He stood in the middle of an empty rocky field, raised his right arm, and let the darkness flow.But this time he didn't shape it into a weapon; he let it spread across the ground around him.Thin black threads spread like a web, silently extending until they covered a narrow radius around his feet.
He closed his eyes, hearing the steps of a small beast approaching from behind.The moment it stepped into the web, the shadows moved on their own.They rose like twisted arms, seizing its claws and freezing its motion.
Adam did not move.All he did was let his web work in his place.
(This is it…I don't need to chase the enemy.I'll make him fall into my world… my dark world.)
He smiled faintly, raising his other hand.The darkness covering his body thickened over his shoulder, then suddenly lashed forward like a blade, slashing the beast's neck. It fell to the ground without a cry.
Adam knelt, breathing slowly.(The technique isn't just an attack… it's a domain.Whoever enters this domain faces my laws… not theirs.)
He named it within himself: The Domain of Scars.
In this domain:
— Darkness feeds on his body's pain, growing stronger with each wound.— He can bind the enemy's steps, disable their attacks, or turn them back on them.— And every new wound he takes increases the web's power instead of weakening him.
He stood again, deciding to test something more complex.He let a C-rank beast pounce on him.He allowed its claws to pierce his shoulder deliberately.But at that same instant, the web beneath him ignited, seizing the beast's body and crushing its bones.
Adam staggered from the pain, blood gushing, but he laughed faintly:(The wound… has become fuel.If they want to kill me… they must first make my darkness hungrier.)
By nightfall, he had created a deadly style unlike any other.A style that relied on:
— Endurance: wounds don't weaken him, they feed him.— Domain: a dark field that swallows his enemies.— Reflection: every blow he takes returns as a shackle or weapon against his foe.
He sat on the ground, lifting his eyes to the dark sky.(If they want a champion who devours the souls of others… I'll devour them first.My domain will be my grave—and theirs as well.)
There was no decorated city, no cheering crowds.The grand tournament was not announced publicly, but took place in a place known only to the chosen.
After a month had passed, the sixteen participants gathered in silence, guided by wordless guards through winding tunnels carved deep underground. The walls were of black stone, dripping with slow drops of water, their sound echoing in the ears of everyone walking. No one spoke. Even their footsteps seemed muffled, as if the place had swallowed the echo.
At the end, a massive gate of rusted metal opened, revealing a circular underground arena. Its walls were tall and dark, its pillars corroded, connecting to a ceiling unseen. The only light came from blue torches, their flames not flickering like ordinary fire, but glowing as if they fed on souls.
They all stood in the middle of the arena. Silence heavier than any noise.Then a man emerged, fully covered in a gray cloak, his face hidden, his voice deep yet flowing like a cold wind:
— "Sixteen of you… the waiting is over. You are here because you accepted the path. The tournament is not for spectacle or glory, but for elimination… whoever remains, survives. Whoever falls, their name is erased from existence."
He raised his hand, and the torches blazed higher, revealing strange carvings on the walls, moving as if the stones themselves pulsed.
Adam stood in the last row, his eyes on the shadows shifting around the arena, realizing this place was not just a battleground… but an artificial world, designed to swallow their secrets one by one.
When the gray-cloaked man finished his words, the place suddenly trembled. The carvings on the walls glowed brighter, as if responding to an inaudible call. From the center of the arena, a column of dark light rose—not white, not black, but a strange mixture that stripped the eye of understanding.
At that moment, whispers scattered across the hall:
— "Secred Heart…"
The word came from nowhere, spoken by none of the participants, yet clear in all their ears.The hidden voice declared:
— "The final victor… will be Secred Heart."
Silence fell. No one moved. Even Romal, whose breathing had been heavy, froze in place. Adia clenched her fist but said nothing.
As for Adam, his chest tightened. His eyes widened, and his voice escaped in a whisper, cold but fractured from within:
— "What… is this?"
It wasn't just a question about a word, but about the entire fate."Secred Heart"… a name he had never heard before, not in old books nor in Neil's teachings. It was not a title, nor a person, but something else… something that felt like a preordained destiny, transcending them all.
For a moment, Adam felt that the tournament was nothing but a mask, that the victor had already been decided from the beginning, and that they were merely cards to be burned, leaving only one name behind.