The labyrinth's corridors seemed endless, twisting and turning without a clear direction. The damp stone walls echoed the footsteps of Elara and Victor, intensifying the eerie atmosphere. They had been walking for almost half an hour without finding any definite clue leading to an exit.
Victor took a step ahead, his eyes scanning the faint engravings etched into the stone surface. "If we follow this pattern, we should reach one of the meeting points," he murmured, as if speaking to himself.
Elara remained alert, her hand gripping the hilt of her sword tightly, ready for any danger that might arise. The test field had changed drastically, erasing the map they had previously drawn. Now, they could only rely on their instincts and experience to survive.
She gave a short nod without speaking.
Victor turned to her. "Ashthorn destroyed most of the Spirit Cores we collected during the fight against Kael Draven," he said in a flat tone.
Elara clenched her fists, trying to suppress the storm of emotions raging within her. She still hadn't fully come to terms with Lucien's actions, but at the same time, she realized that it might have been the only choice they had. The power gap between them and Kael Draven was too great. If they had insisted on fighting, their chances of elimination would have been even higher. Given the circumstances, this might have been the best possible outcome.
Yet deep inside, Elara felt like she had failed. If only she had been stronger, perhaps she could have held out longer and put up a better fight. Her own weakness had become a burden to the team, making her tighten her fist in frustration.
The battlefield's traps had reactivated, whether due to Lucien's actions or another factor, but it had given them a chance to escape from Kael Draven, who had clearly intended to ensure their elimination from the test.
But this only complicated her thoughts further. If this had indeed been part of Lucien's plan, then once again, he had been the one to save them.
"How many Spirit Cores do we have left?" Elara finally asked.
Victor took a deep breath before answering, "About eleven."
Elara touched her chin, thinking.
However, before they could discuss their strategy any further, a deep voice echoed behind them.
"Stop right there."
Reflexively, both of them turned around. From the shadows, a towering man with a large axe strapped to his back stepped forward. Garrick Fendrel, their instructor, regarded them with a cold and unreadable expression.
"Instructor?" Victor frowned.
"Your test is over," Garrick stated firmly, leaving no room for argument.
Elara felt a sinking sensation in her stomach. "What do you mean?" she asked warily.
Instead of answering immediately, Garrick pulled something from his belt—a spent flare, still releasing faint wisps of smoke into the air.
"Someone on your team lit this," he said.
Elara's heartbeat quickened. There was only one other person in their team.
"Lucien…?" she whispered, unwilling to accept the reality.
Victor's expression hardened, his jaw tightening. "So he gave up?" he muttered.
"Was he badly injured?" Elara asked quickly.
Despite her frustration, she forced herself to remain calm. If Lucien had really activated the flare, it meant he had faced a situation beyond his control. After their battle with Kael Draven, they had all been in a state far from ideal to survive outside the post.
Garrick seemed reluctant to answer directly. "He's at the post now," he said curtly.
Elara gritted her teeth.
That man… what have you done?
Without further words, Garrick gestured for them to follow him. There was no other choice. With mixed emotions, Elara and Victor walked behind him toward Ember Sprouts' post.
—
Lucien had no idea how long he had been trapped in this void. Time had lost its meaning—every time he tried to count, even the slightest distraction shattered his perception. Within the depths of his subconscious, he could only float, stuck between existence and nothingness.
There was nothing he could do.
Amidst the emptiness, the figure of Alter Lucien suddenly appeared. His silver eyes glowed, faint spiral patterns pulsing within them. Anger radiated from him—an emotion so deep that Lucien couldn't quite determine its cause.
As the figure materialized, Lucien watched him, searching for answers in his expression. From the corner of his eye, he noticed a drop of silver liquid slowly falling. Lucien frowned, puzzled. He couldn't stop himself from asking, though his tone carried a hint of mockery.
"What happened to you?"
Alter Lucien remained silent for a moment before wiping away the liquid with his sleeve. A faint smile formed on his lips.
"I've played my part," he said lightly.
Lucien said nothing, waiting for further explanation.
"As you suspected, my affinity with your sigil is still not strong enough," he continued. "That limits my control over your body. I could only push my abilities so far… but now, the initial path of my existence has been set."
Lucien didn't interrupt. This time, he directly asked, "What do you mean?"
Alter Lucien's smile widened. "For now, you can take control again," he said simply.
Lucien sensed something was wrong. Why was Alter Lucien giving up control so easily?
Before he could think further, a blue light emerged from the void. Transparent energy swirled in the air, slowly enveloping his body, shimmering softly like a dance of light.
For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Lucien could feel something again. Air brushed against his skin, his body regained its weight, and control over himself slowly returned.
But one question kept echoing in his mind.
—Why was Alter Lucien so confident in letting him return?
As his consciousness fully resurfaced, Lucien felt the cold floor beneath him. His breath came in shallow gasps as he tried to steady himself. He recognized this place.
This was Ember Sprouts' post.
Lucien sat in silence for almost ten minutes, trying to gather his thoughts.
He checked his condition.
"Not much has changed, except that my mana has slightly recovered," he muttered to himself.
As he moved to stand, his gaze caught something.
A fragment of a flare lay on the floor.
The moment he saw it, Lucien immediately understood what had happened. But even so, he wasn't entirely prepared for it.
"The flare was lit…? By whom?" he wondered. As his mind raced, a conclusion formed.
"The Imitator…" he murmured.
Since Alter Lucien never gave him a name, Lucien chose to call him "The Imitator."
Sure enough, after checking his bag, he found no remaining flares. The spent flare lying on the floor was undoubtedly his.
Lucien let out a short breath.
His gaze swept around the room with quiet curiosity. "What did I miss?"
As he was lost in thought, the sound of approaching footsteps broke the silence—three people.
Lucien glanced out the window and saw Garrick, his trimmed beard framing a stern face, leading the way with his massive axe on his back. Behind him, Elara, with her silver hair, and Victor, with his golden eyes, followed closely, their expressions unreadable.
Garrick pushed open the door to the outpost, letting in the cold air from the labyrinth. It slipped into the room, brushing against Lucien's skin.
Lucien remained seated, his mind racing for a way out of this situation. With the flare lit, their team was automatically eliminated. For him, this wasn't a significant setback. But for his teammates—especially Elara Moonveil, who had never looked favorably upon him—this was a major blow.
The three entered the outpost.
Garrick halted in the doorway, allowing Elara and Victor to step inside first.
Elara was composed, but her sharp gaze carried an undercurrent of irritation. She studied Lucien for a long moment before finally speaking.
"You lit the flare."
Lucien stayed calm and nodded. "Yes."
"Were you seriously injured?"
"No."
Elara's expression hardened. "Then why did you light it?"
Lucien looked between Elara and Victor. He tried to piece together his memories before encountering Alter Lucien. Admitting that he had briefly lost control to another entity was out of the question. So, he needed to tailor his response based on the last memories he could recall.
"The situation was urgent," he replied simply.
Victor remained silent, pulling out a chair and sitting down.
Elara, however, stood her ground. "What kind of situation?"
Though her tone was firm, there was a hint of understanding beneath it. She knew Lucien wasn't as strong as she was. After their battle with Kael Draven, they had all been in rough shape. If Lucien had run into a powerful Spirit while alone, there was a good chance he had no other choice.
Elara clenched her fists.
Lucien glanced at Garrick before speaking. "Ask Mr. Fendrel for the details."
When a flare was activated, the instructor responsible for responding was Garrick. Since Lucien himself had no memory of what had happened before Alter Lucien lit the flare, the safest way to ensure his story remained consistent was to let Garrick explain.
According to the rules, a flare could only be lit in an emergency or if a participant felt they could no longer handle the situation. That meant Alter Lucien must have had a valid reason for doing so.
Garrick studied Lucien with an unreadable expression. Inwardly, he sighed. "Why am I the one explaining this?" He figured Lucien might be too ashamed to say it himself, which made sense given that lighting the flare had cost his entire team their place in the trial.
Garrick exhaled, his opinion of Lucien shifting slightly. If he had seen Lucien as a calm and strategic thinker before, there was now a seed of doubt in his mind.
Elara and Victor turned to Garrick, waiting for an explanation. Since their journey to the outpost, Garrick had yet to tell them why Lucien had used the flare.
"He was unlucky," Garrick said at last. "Ran into a group of Spirits when his mana was nearly depleted. In that condition, fighting wasn't a viable option—at least from what I saw."
Lucien finally grasped the situation Alter Lucien had left him in.
Elara gritted her teeth.
Yet, to Lucien's surprise, this time she didn't lash out. Unlike before—when she was quick to anger and even start fights—she now chose silence, sitting down in one of the remaining chairs.
Lucien was caught off guard by her reaction.
"She's calmer… Before, she was so fiery and confrontational. Is this because something changed within her? Or did our last experience shift her perspective?" he wondered.
His gaze returned to Elara. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice flat and slightly awkward. Apologizing wasn't something he did often.
Elara looked at him for a moment, her lips pressing together, but she said nothing.
Victor let out a slow breath, clearly uninterested in dragging out the issue. After all, the rules were clear.
Once a flare was lit, the entire team was automatically eliminated.
There was nothing they could do to change that.
And though frustration lingered, they had no choice but to accept it.