"Then? What are you gonna do with it?" Garrik asks, casually slinging an arm around my shoulder like I'm his little brother or something.
So I drive my elbow into his ribs hard enough to make him double over, coughing, then scrub his head rough like nothing happened and say, "If we leave it behind, the Karthmere dogs will just slap it back onto the chimera's corpse."
Still grimacing through the pain, Garrik mutters, "But we were ordered not to bring anything from this place topside, remember? And what if those ancient Karthmere freaks actually do have more of these eyes lying around?"
"No chance," I shoot back without missing a beat. "If they really had more, they would've given both monsters a full set of eyes—rather than splitting one pair between the two."
"Then what's your plan? Hide it?"
Garrik folds his arms, tone laced with mock concern. "And just so you know, tracking spells for lost objects exist on this continent—they're also ridiculously easy to cast by anyone."
"It'll be fine… Just let them reattach it," I say, rolling the eye in my palm without even looking at it. "Those monsters will only be half as dangerous anyway… Especially now that we know how to shut them down entirely."
"Roger that. But by the way, I've gotta say it—this third trial's a letdown compared to the last two," The boy mutters as he stretches his arms lazily. "I was expecting something deadlier. You know, something that could actually kill us."
I shoot him a flat look. "Yeah, I wouldn't say that if I were you, Garrik… That kind of talk tends to summon things."
So as if on cue, we both glance behind us—instinctively falling for my own sarcasm, only to be met with utter silence and the same unmoving darkness that's loomed there the entire time. No undead, no traps, no sudden boss battle.
Just… nothing.
Suspiciously nothing.
The kind of quiet that feels like it shouldn't exist in a place like this… yet we both still pause for a beat, disappointed that I was wrong.
"...Told you," Garrik shrugs, cracking his back with a loud pop. "This trial's kinda lame."
"Yeah, I don't know… Don't really care about that either… Come on, kiddo. Let's head back to Therion and the others before the chamber decides to prove you wrong after all." I exhale through my nose, half amused, half annoyed.
And we then stroll casually toward the growing crowd gathered near the return elevator, where something massive lies at the center of their attention.
The gorilla monster—what's left of it—is sprawled out on the ground, one of its eyes cleanly ripped from the socket… and clutched in the hand of a kid I instantly recognize. One I don't exactly like seeing succeed.
"Of course… That damn Solmarian brat again."
"Orion?" Garrik asks, glancing sideways at me. "Man, you've really gotta start remembering people's names. It's getting hard to keep up when you just keep calling them whatever fits your mood."
But I brush off his comment, choosing instead to scan the crowd around us. From the corner of my eye, I spot Therion, Siona, and Eirwen—they've already noticed our arrival and are making their way toward us.
Aside from them, roughly twenty people remain in this place… meaning at least eight died in the past day alone. And what's left are survivors, breathing hard, drenched in sweat—every one of them with that faint, flickering window hovering in front of their eyes. Most are dangerously low on either HP, SP, or both.
As for me, Garrik, and a few others, it's no surprise we aren't in the same sorry state. Our level's a solid three to five tiers higher than theirs—thanks to our far more efficient method of grinding EXP, of course. Especially since we always do it far away from the chaos the others kept stumbling through.
And there's Sigvald and his crew over there, throwing fist bumps around like they've just conquered the world… Then the boy suddenly catches my gaze—his expression shifts. For a brief second, I read something in his eyes, like he just remembered the thing he was supposed to tell me. Something important. Something about the time and place he plans to betray his own team… so we can take them out quietly… Probably… Well, whatever it is, I'll hear it later at the bathhouse—where we usually trade information anyway.
While on the other side, I also spotted that same kid—the one I pulled off the conveyor belt back then. But too bad he ended up joining a different group.
Said they were from the same kingdom as him or something.
Man, maybe Garrik was right about me being terrible with names… I mean, why the hell haven't I asked for his name yet? Or did I, and just forget it like an idiot I truly am?
"Sir Deon, forgive my boldness, but… I believe we're being watched. Something feels off about the way they're looking at us."
Eirwen suddenly tugs at my sleeve, leaning in to whisper the words just loud enough for those of us nearby to hear—right as she and Siona arrive at our side. And she's right… It's something I've completely overlooked, just as I'd briefly forgotten everything that happened during today's first and second trials.
Simply put, the girl's signaling me—warning that the nearby groups are on edge. Or more accurately… they're tense. The kind of nervousness you see right before someone does something incredibly stupid.
After all, there are still two hours left before this trial ends… and our numbers are thinning out fast—especially today. If even one group is better prepared than the others, this could turn into a quick, brutal bloodbath. As there aren't as many targets left compared to yesterday… and that only makes it easier.
But only if they play their cards right.
~~~~~
And just like that, the noise starts to die down. Bit by bit, the chatter fades until the air feels almost suffocating in its silence five minutes later. Sure, I still catch a few scattered conversations here and there—but more than that, I hear the sound of nervous whispers.
I see people glancing sideways at their teammates, saying nothing, just exchanging looks that carry weight.
Then, one voice cuts through the tension like a knife—someone from within the crowd of twenty-five… "So what now? You really think those Karthmere bastards are done? If anything, I'd bet they're planning something for tomorrow—especially with how easy this third trial was. I mean, why don't we just end this whole damn nightmare, huh!? Right here, right now?!"
But surprisingly, all those words are met with silence.
Somehow, even these people—killers by nature, all of them—are hesitating. The same people the Karthmere had once said should've been equals when it came to killing… People who once believed that if they ever turned on each other, the odds would be fifty-fifty—like flipping a coin… They now start to doubt if any of that was ever true because some of us, we've started pulling ahead. Some have climbed to higher levels.
They're stuck, looking up, feeling the gap grow wider…
While the rest of them? They're beginning to question whether we were ever equals to begin with—especially after seeing someone like Orion still standing tall, towering over everyone else atop the corpse of that thick-skinned monster… And that's when it hits them.
They've been relying on a lie. The idea that this was a fair game. But the truth is, it makes far more sense that some of us are simply more gifted than the rest.
And that thought alone is enough to trigger something in their minds—a realization that if they fight, they might lose. And if they lose, they die. And once a person starts contemplating their own death, it's enough to trigger the curse's command, sparking an unnatural sense of fear in them… Clearly, this is a flaw in the system the damn Karthmere bastards created, one that was meant to make us turn on each other… I mean, this silence shouldn't even be happening.
By now, we should've been killing each other, but the curse that's been placed on these people is forcing them to avoid their own deaths.
Unless… Of course… Someone who's certain they won't die in that massacre steps up to start it. Someone who's clearly been acknowledged by everyone as far stronger than anyone else... someone who's now reattaching the eyeball to the monster's skull beneath his feet.
His voice cuts through the air like frostbite. Calm. Unflinching. Deadly.
"I'll give you three days," he says, stepping out from the crowd like a shadow given form. "Enough time for you to believe we're on equal ground. After that… my team and I will wipe you all out. And this nightmare ends."
No theatrics. No arrogance. Just a quiet promise of slaughter.
Then he turns his back on us before one by one, his five teammates follow, their figures swallowed by the dark—like ghosts returning to the grave.
And a heartbeat later, the gorilla-like monster jerks upright with a guttural roar that shakes the bone. The trial resumes. No rest. No time to process. No mercy.
Thus the crowd erupts—dozens of desperate, furious people scrambling over one another, each trying to reach the monster first. Elbows fly. Feet stomp. They're not fighting to survive—they're fighting for a turn to vent their humiliation… And all of it aimed at the same creature that, somehow, I find myself pitying.
It looks confused, as if it doesn't even understand why it's being punished… yet still it fights, like any living thing cornered by fear, just trying to survive.
But who am I to suddenly grow a conscience? Who gave me the right to feel sympathy now? That question lingers bitterly in my mind.
"Deon… Back to the usual method?"
The voice snaps me out of it—Therion, speaking from behind me, his tone casual, familiar. So I nod in response, wordless. Then I follow them—walking a few steps behind, my pace slow, almost lazy, toward the darkness at the edge of this place.
~~~~~
"He's just acting out of honor," Siona says flatly, cutting down another undead with a swift, practiced strike.
She's fighting with us, Garrik, Therion and Eirwen, while her voice echoes through the chamber's depths, calm and certain amid the chaos. A hovering orb of light floats above her head, casting flickering shadows across the stone walls as the clash of steel and bone continues. Just like her words, the girl is fighting to defend the dignity of her kingdom… and the solmarian blood she carries in her veins—no, her very soul, especially after what Orion declared at the heart of this very chamber back there.
"Speaking of which, why aren't you fighting, Deon?" Siona suddenly throws the question out, shifting the conversation away from the earlier topic.
And to be fair, she has a point. Even though my narration made it sound like we were all grinding EXP together, the truth is I've been leaning lazily against one of the stone pillars this whole time… While Eirwen's next to me, clutching her small dagger and eyes scanning the surroundings like she's half-expecting an undead to stumble toward us any second...
As if she's trying to suppress her own fear—just so she can protect me, who isn't even holding a weapon right now.
Anyway, I still answer her question—choosing to ignore Siona's obvious attempt to steer the conversation away from how utterly annoying Orion is, as I say, "Because I don't feel like dying from the damn Nyxthorn root, that's why."
My words catch Therion's curiosity, and he turns toward me with a question. "You already hit level twenty-one?"
"Only after four days," I answer plainly, then lean in slightly toward Eirwen beside me, lowering my voice. "You sure you're okay with not leveling up like the rest of us?"
"In my previous life, I was just fine at level eight, Sir Deon… so I'm sure my current level ten won't be a problem either."
"Level eight… That means you must have been around twenty-five or twenty-seven when you were executed, right?"
"Actually, I was eighteen at the time, sir."
"Eighteen!?"
"But my death back then was inevitable. If I hadn't died, my syndicate would've fallen apart... So, I think it was all worth it."
"That's not... that's not the issue here... Were you also given Nyxthorn root to level up that quickly?"
"I... honestly, I never heard of Nyxthorn in my previous life, Sir Deon."
"Well, that should be impossible…" I let out a dry laugh. "You're from Valkenheim, right? Didn't you ever hear the stories about your war forces aging prematurely because of Nyxthorn?"
"I've also never heard of that one, sir. I'm sorry if I'm not being helpful."
Eirwen seems genuinely apologetic about something she clearly doesn't know… Something that contradicts the information I had heard once from Gideon… Something that feels deeply off from everything else I know.
But I'm not sure either Eirwen or Gideon have said anything false. So, I ask her one more question, "Do you remember the year you were executed?"
"Well of course it should have been in this year… the year 137 of the Radiant Cycle, sir," the girl replies with certainty before her attention is diverted by an undead slowly approaching her. Yet, her curiosity remains unfulfilled.
Thus the girl asks, "Is there something bothering you about this, Sir Deon?"
"No, not really... You can forget we ever talked about it," I say casually, stretching my limbs. "Alright then... Say, Eirwen. If I were to ask you, secretly, to kill two or three people without Siona or Therion knowing, would you be able to do it?"
Suddenly, her face lights up in the darkness, as if this was something she'd longed to hear from someone… "I didn't think you'd ever ask me, my lord," She said.
And like a young teenager being offered a cigarette, the girl instantly forgets that she's still pretending to be weak. A few seconds later though, she snaps back to reality.
Realizing her lapse, Eirwen decides to hand me her dagger, knowing the undead is getting closer… She intended for me to be the one to kill it, anticipating that someone might witness how she did it… A kind of excitement from her that actually made me chuckle softly.
"You can keep your fighting style a secret then," I say, and with a flick of my wrist, I hurl the dagger—burying it clean into the undead's skull. A moment later, the faint clink of iron chains echoes from the distance. Time to head back.
~~~~~