It is an event where boys and girls who have reached the age of ten go to a designated forest or cave near their residential area—places commonly called dungeons—to test their skills and courage.
That is what the Trial Ceremony is.
In this world, turning ten does not make you an adult—far from it, legally speaking. But it is an age where treating someone like a small child is no longer appropriate, no longer accurate to their capabilities. They are regarded as half-adults, standing at the threshold between childhood and maturity.
As such, children at this age begin learning martial arts in earnest, magic beyond basic household spells, and other skills to prepare for their future. Combat training, survival techniques, social etiquette—all the tools needed to navigate an unforgiving world.
And to gauge just where they currently stand as they transition toward adulthood—that is the purpose of this event.
It wasn't as if I had forgotten about it.
On the contrary, I remembered it quite well.
After all, the story of the game PumitraCelest Kingdom begins during this very ceremony, when the protagonist awakens to a special power.
There's no way someone who replayed the game as many times as I did could forget that.
But now that the time had come, I was undeniably distressed.
Thoughts like You have to get stronger and You might die any moment now had been occupying my mind constantly, pushing everything else out—including this event that should have been impossible to overlook.
The obsessive focus on training had created tunnel vision, blocking out everything except the immediate goal of survival.
(Right… of course. How could I have overlooked this!)
I blamed myself for having such a narrow field of vision, such pathetically short-sighted planning.
… After all, I had overlooked the event with the highest death potential. The one time when children were expected to face danger, when casualties—though rare—were considered an unfortunate but acceptable risk.
It's not as though the ceremony deliberately sends children into mortal danger—there are safety measures in place. Adult supervisors, emergency extraction protocols, designated "safe zones" where nothing too dangerous should spawn.
But only to an extent. Only should.
You never know what kind of irregular event might occur. What monster might wander in from deeper territories. What accident might happen when children wielding real weapons face real threats for the first time.
And now it felt as if the countdown to my death had suddenly accelerated, the timer jumping forward by months in an instant.
"—Excuse me, I'm sorry!"
The words tumbled out in a rush as I lurched to my feet.
"Whoa, what's wrong?"
"Liam?"
I couldn't sit still. I abruptly cut the conversation short and ran from the room.
Erica and the others were surely confused—and their voices confirmed it. But I couldn't possibly explain.
I ran anyway.
… Where should I even go? How do I avoid dying?
There wasn't enough time left to power up.
No—there was nothing to do except whatever I could still do now.
I ruffled my hair in frustration and headed for the manor's library.
＊＊＊
Why does time pass so quickly when you need it to slow down?
A month had gone by. Thirty days that felt like three. And the Trial Ceremony—which was practically an execution date for me, a guillotine blade hanging over my neck—was now only a day away.
I'd done everything I possibly could. Or so I believed. Or so I desperately wanted to believe.
I memorized the terrain of the trial site—every hill, every stream, every cave entrance. I studied the geography until I could sketch the entire area from memory, mark the locations of known monster dens and safe retreat points.
I absorbed knowledge about the ecosystem: which plants were edible, which were poisonous, which monsters hunted in packs versus alone. Their weaknesses, their attack patterns, everything the dusty tomes in the library could tell me.
I devoured every magic book in the library, even the advanced texts that made my head pound with their complex theoretical frameworks. I trained with the sword more rigorously than ever before, pushing my body until muscles screamed and hands blistered despite healing magic.
Normally, nobody puts this much effort into preparing for the trial. Most children treat it as an adventure, an exciting rite of passage. They don't want to over-prepare and spoil the experience. They don't need to—survival rates are high, injuries usually minor.
But in my case, I had no idea from which angle my death would come. From what direction the blade would strike.
Disease? Accident? Murder? The uncertainty was its own torture.
Even after all this preparation, it might still not be enough. Probably wouldn't be, if fate had already decided my ending.
And if it isn't, then I will die tomorrow. Today, technically—it was past midnight now, the ceremony mere hours away.
Thinking that made it impossible to sleep. My body was exhausted but my mind raced, replaying every possible scenario.
"Haa…"
I slowly sat up and climbed out of bed, the sheets tangled around my legs from restless tossing. The fabric was damp with sweat despite the cool night air.
Outside, it was still dark. The kind of absolute darkness that came before dawn, when even the stars seemed to hide.
It sounded like rain was falling—steady pattering against the manor's roof, drumming against the windows. The darkness felt even heavier than usual, oppressive and thick.
Raindrops tapping against the roof and the ground agitated my nerves even further, making sleep feel impossible. Each sound felt like a countdown, a clock ticking toward disaster.
But I had to sleep. Needed rest desperately. I needed to be in the best condition possible tomorrow—sharp reflexes, clear thinking, every advantage I could muster.
With limp movements, feeling boneless and defeated, I flopped face-up onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. The shadows there seemed to writhe and shift, forming shapes my paranoid mind interpreted as threats.
Will I die tomorrow?
Well… maybe not tomorrow. But soon.
If only I knew the cause and timing of my death—my strategy and mindset would be completely different.
This is too much of an unfair game.
"Liam… how exactly did you die?
My muttered words vanished into the empty room.
No one was there to answer.
＊＊＊
The weather was bad. Fitting, really—pathetic fallacy made manifest.
There was no sun in the sky, only a thick layer of grey clouds that seemed to press down like a coffin lid. The air was heavy with moisture and the smell of wet earth.
Yesterday's rain had stopped, but the clouds remained pregnant with water. It could start again at any moment, turning the forest floor into treacherous mud.
… Not a good omen. Not that I believed in omens, but the symbolism was impossible to ignore.
"Once we reach the back of this forest… that's enough, right?"
Erica's voice trembled slightly as she spoke, her words barely audible over the ambient sounds of the forest—birds calling, leaves rustling, distant animal cries.
"Yes, that's correct."
My response was steady, professional. The servant providing information to his mistress.
"I… I see. Right. Of course…"
She groaned anxiously, the sound small and vulnerable. Her hands twisted together, knuckles white with tension.
Well, no wonder she was nervous.
It was the day of the Trial Ceremony—the day we'd both been dreading, though for different reasons.
We stood before the forest where the trial would take place—a considerable distance from the Aegenhalt estate where the Ansheinus family lived. The journey here had been silent, tense, both of us lost in our own fears.
The ground was still damp from yesterday's rain, soft and yielding underfoot. The air was humid and murky, making it harder to breathe, each lungful feeling thick and insufficient.
A gloomy darkness stretched endlessly into the woods—twisted trees creating a canopy that blocked what little light the clouds allowed through. It was a sight that would intimidate even the bravest child, let alone one facing their first real danger.
"Please don't worry. I'll protect you, Lady Erica."
I smiled reassuringly, putting every ounce of confidence I didn't feel into the expression. But her face remained clouded, drawn with worry that my words couldn't dispel.
It wasn't that she didn't trust me—I knew that much about her after three years.
Just that she was still afraid. Rightfully so. This place radiated menace, promised danger in every shadow.
Cautiously, hesitantly, she asked:
"Liam… aren't you scared?"
Not scared?
Of course I was terrified.
I had no idea where my death would strike from. Five minutes from now, I might already be a mangled corpse—I could feel the fear crushing my chest.
Part of me wanted to run away right this second.
But I couldn't show that fear.
It would only frighten her needlessly. And that would be unacceptable.
"… No, I won't pretend I'm unafraid. But the thought of harm coming to you… that is far more terrifying."
So I answered her with a steady voice.
Erica blushed faintly, but the fear in her eyes did not disappear. Instead, she quietly stepped closer and leaned against me.
"Th-Then… if something happens… I'll be counting on you…?"
She looked up at me with anxious, pleading eyes.
The sheer strength of it made me look away for a moment.
If something happens…
If something like that really occurs, I might die.
And then she…
No. Don't think like that.
If my thoughts sink, the situation will sink with them.
At this point, all I can do is trust in myself.
I shook my head to clear it, straightened up, and nodded firmly.
"Leave it to me!"
… Hopefully, my voice didn't shake.