In the Tower of Trials, the two deities remained silent.
Their gazes were divided among the four separate arenas where the Chosen fought.
Their expressions revealed nothing—no preference, no concern.
They simply observed.
Above them, the colossal hourglass continued to pour its golden stream downward, each grain a silent reminder of the passing seconds.
Fifteen minutes.
The mortals below were unaware of the exact limit imposed upon them.
Yet time moved forward regardless.
While the young Comorian endured his inner torment, his companions were no less tested.
Perhaps Clayton alone remained steady—
the one least shaken,
the one most likely to emerge with controlled breathing and measured wounds.
Hana Takeda inhaled slowly as the trial began.
Her eyes fixed on the construct standing before her.
It was vaguely humanoid, its surface smooth like polished obsidian, its crimson pupils glowing with an unsettling stillness.
For a brief second, her breath caught in her throat.
Then she forced herself to breathe again—slow, deliberate.
She already knew the truth.
She was at a disadvantage.
Being Japanese did not make her a samurai.
Working quietly in a studio had never prepared her for battle.
She was neither a warrior nor a prodigy.
Just… an ordinary woman who had lived an ordinary life.
A faint, dry chuckle escaped her lips.
Of course.
Her mind flickered briefly.
Eight years of marriage.
Three of them poisoned by betrayal.
She had endured it longer than she should have.
Not because she was weak.
But because love, once chosen, was not something she discarded lightly.
Still… there came a moment when silence became humiliation.
And Hana Takeda had never been someone who remained still once she understood the path forward.
She had filed the divorce.
Closed that chapter.
And stepped into a life that belonged to her alone.
The construct moved.
Her thoughts vanished instantly.
No past.
Only the present.
It lunged.
Hana barely managed to slip aside.
The difference in raw strength was obvious immediately.
The construct's arm swept through the air with frightening speed, forcing her backward again and again across the platform.
She could not overpower it.
She could barely even block.
So she watched.
Every movement.
Every shift in its weight.
Every small pattern hidden within the construct's relentless assault.
A strike grazed her shoulder.
Another slammed into her ribs.
The third came too fast.
The construct's fist struck her face.
Pain exploded across her right eye.
Hana stumbled backward with a sharp gasp, her vision blurring instantly as swelling began to form.
The world tilted slightly.
Distance became uncertain.
Her depth perception faltered.
She nearly misjudged the next step and the construct's arm grazed her again, sending her skidding toward the edge of the floating platform.
Her breathing grew heavier.
This opponent was stronger. Faster. More durable.
There was no denying it.
So she accepted the truth.
I'm not talented.
The realization did not discourage her.
If anything, it made her calmer.
She had never relied on talent.
Only on observation.
Only on patience.
Minutes passed.
Hana retreated, dodged, endured.
Each exchange left her a little more bruised, a little slower.
But her mind remained clear.
Ten minutes.
By then she had learned enough.
The construct lunged again.
This time Hana did not retreat.
Instead she stepped forward.
She allowed the distance to close, inviting the clash.
The construct attacked immediately, fists striking toward her chest and shoulders.
Hana endured the blows.
Her arms trembled under the force.
But she moved.
Step by step.
Guiding.
Redirecting.
The edge of the platform slowly approached behind the construct.
Just a little more.
The construct raised its arm again.
Hana moved suddenly.
Her body twisted into a clumsy spinning kick.
The strike landed awkwardly against the construct's torso—but it forced the puppet one step backward.
Closer to the void.
Before it could stabilize, Hana rushed forward again.
She stepped directly onto the construct's foot, trapping it for a fraction of a second.
Then, with all the strength she could gather, she drove her leg forward in a crude, almost inelegant kick.
A Spartan kick.
The construct lost its balance.
For a brief instant its crimson eyes flickered.
Then its body tipped backward—
And vanished into the abyss beyond the platform.
Silence returned.
Hana blinked slowly.
Then her legs gave out.
She dropped onto the platform, landing awkwardly on her backside.
A long breath escaped her lungs.
Her right eye was almost completely swollen shut now.
The world felt distant.
Heavy.
Exhaustion finally caught up with her.
She leaned back slightly, closing her eyes as the faint echoes of distant combat still rang through the tower.
…I hope the others are doing better than I am.
Sleep claimed her before she could search the answer.
*** ***
Sophia Leclair did not wait.
The moment the trial began, she moved first.
Her body advanced with the instinctive decisiveness of someone who had long ago learned that hesitation was a luxury few struggles allowed.
Her fists rose.
The construct reacted a fraction of a second later.
The first exchange was violent.
Sophia's right fist shot forward, striking the puppet's jawline. The impact echoed across the floating platform.
The puppet answered instantly.
Its arm cut through the air, forcing Sophia to pivot and slip aside before countering with a short hook aimed at the ribs.
Her breathing remained controlled.
The faint rhythm of the Vital Breath—barely formed, barely understood—moved through her lungs.
It was weak.
But it was there.
Minutes passed in rapid exchanges.
Blows struck flesh and metal alike.
Sophia fought with the straightforward efficiency of classical boxing, her footwork light, her guard disciplined. At times she shifted her weight to unbalance the construct, using small judo-like movements to redirect its momentum.
Yet the difference in raw strength slowly revealed itself.
The puppet did not tire.
She did.
By the eighth minute, sweat clung to her brow and her arms felt heavier.
Her punches were still sharp.
But the construct remained relentless.
Another strike grazed her shoulder.
Another forced her back a step.
Sophia clicked her tongue.
"Damn."
Her eyes briefly lifted.
Above the battlefield, the colossal hourglass continued its silent descent.
Not much time remained.
Her breathing deepened.
For a moment, a thought crossed her mind.
Is it even worth trying to defeat it?
The question lingered.
Then she laughed softly.
A strange warmth rose within her chest.
"No."
Her stance lowered.
Her fists tightened.
"I don't want to win according to the rules."
She stepped forward again.
This time without restraint.
Her fists exploded into motion.
A straight punch. A hook. An elbow strike.
A storm of blows rained upon the construct as she drove it backward step after step.
Even high above the arena, Astéria's gaze sharpened slightly.
The calm young woman who radiated quiet warmth had suddenly become something else entirely.
Fierce.
Wild.
Alive.
The twelfth minute passed.
Sophia's lungs burned.
Her arms trembled.
Yet the puppet still stood.
Unbroken.
Unyielding.
Reality returned with brutal clarity.
I won't destroy it.
The realization came without bitterness.
Only understanding.
Sophia exhaled slowly.
Then she stepped back.
Her fists lowered slightly as her movements shifted.
No longer attacking.
Only surviving.
The puppet advanced.
She dodged.
It struck.
She slipped past.
Seconds passed.
Then another.
The final grains of golden sand slipped through the colossal hourglass above.
Sophia remained standing.
Breathing hard.
But smiling faintly.
As the young French woman struggled to steady her breathing, her gaze instinctively drifted toward the neighboring platforms, searching for signs of the others.
Her eyes widened.
Clayton.
He was standing over his opponent.
Or rather—what remained of it.
The construct lay motionless at his feet, its body twisted and unmoving like an inert corpse.
Blood stained Clayton's fists.
More of it streaked across his knuckles and splattered faintly against his jaw. A few bruises and shallow cuts marked his face, but none of them looked serious.
His breathing, however, remained steady.
Controlled.
Sophia watched him for a few seconds before reaching a quiet conclusion.
He really is on another level.
Perhaps that was only natural.
Clayton was a veteran. A man who had lived far longer than the rest of them and had likely faced more than one form of violence in his life.
Even so…
A faint chill ran through her spine.
Not fear… but the realization of what a human being could become when violence was familiar.
It was not that she herself had avoided brutality. She had fought fiercely only moments ago.
But Clayton's victory was different.
He had not merely survived.
He had destroyed his opponent.
The puppet's face was completely ruined, its features crushed beyond recognition. The sight alone explained the blood covering Clayton's hands.
For a brief moment, a troubling thought crossed her mind.
If he could do this to that thing…
He could do the same to us.
Sophia exhaled slowly.
Thankfully, he was on their side.
Yet the realization left behind an uncomfortable truth.
This world would not be gentle with them.
"Pff…"
A quiet breath escaped her lips.
What's wrong with me?
Afraid of a companion?
Her mouth curved slightly in self-mockery.
As if I couldn't be just as dangerous.
Humans truly were contradictory creatures.
Her gaze returned briefly to Clayton.
Judging by the bruises on his own face, the puppet clearly had not waited politely for its destruction.
The fight must have been far from one-sided.
____
Above the floating platforms, the God of Wisdom and the Goddess of Magic finally showed a change in expression.
Tamiel watched the arenas quietly.
"Interesting," he murmured.
"Four different answers to violence."
A faint smile appeared on his face.
"I like what I see. Courage… self-awareness… and above all, wisdom."
His gaze lingered on the exhausted figures below.
"Sometimes obstacles do not need to be destroyed. If one cannot overcome them directly, avoiding them is also a form of victory."
He paused before continuing.
"To be wise is to recognize one's place—one's strengths and one's weaknesses. Only those who understand themselves can truly move forward."
"In contrast, ignorance breeds arrogance. And arrogance without ability leads only to ruin."
Tamiel remained silent for a moment, lost in contemplation.
Then Astéria's voice broke the quiet.
"What impressed me most," she said thoughtfully, "was their confrontation with themselves."
Her gaze drifted across the platforms.
"They faced their inner demons before those demons could consume them."
She gestured lightly toward Adam.
"The young one understood that rage and uncontrolled desire are dangerous forces."
Then toward Hana.
"She accepted her own weakness and found a path that suited her abilities."
Her eyes moved to Sophia.
"And that one… she remained lucid even when victory seemed possible. She understood that risking everything against a mere construct was meaningless."
Finally, she glanced toward Clayton.
"And the veteran used everything he had. He did not underestimate his enemy, despite the praise you gave him earlier."
Tamiel turned toward her.
For a moment, he looked slightly surprised.
Astéria was smiling.
A genuine smile.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked.
"Can I not be pleased with them? Do you take me for a heartless witch?"
Tamiel shook his head.
"No."
"It's just that… outside of magic and arcane mysteries, I always believed you were somewhat detached from matters that did not concern your domain."
Astéria remained silent for a moment.
Then she answered calmly.
"That may be true."
"For most of my existence, I have only cared about those who pursue magic… and especially those with talent."
She looked down at the Chosen again.
"But over time I realized something."
"The study of the arcane should not become completely detached from everything else."
"On an endless path like this… one can lose oneself."
"One might become a great deity."
"But I refuse that path."
Her voice softened slightly.
"I wish to remain the person who once gazed at the mysteries of magic with curiosity—without losing myself within them."
She glanced at Tamiel with a playful smile.
"Are you not the same, oh great God of Wisdom?"
Tamiel grimaced.
"Please stop talking like that."
"It's unbearable."
Astéria laughed softly.
"Very well."
Then her gaze shifted toward the exhausted Chosen.
"But we should end this now."
"Those two are unconscious."
"Adam and Hana need rest."
Tamiel nodded.
"You are right."
"These children have endured enough for today."
"They must learn to face hardship… but not break under it."
He floated forward, positioning himself above the four platforms.
"Children," he said gently.
"You have done well."
"We are proud of you."
"The trial is over. You may now rest."
An invisible force rose gently from the platforms.
Without waking the unconscious pair, the four Chosen were lifted into the air.
Tamiel and Astéria guided them away from the Tower of Trials.
Behind them, the massive doors slowly closed.
Deep within the Tower of Trials, silence slowly reclaimed the arena.
The last grain of golden sand slipped through the colossal hourglass above.
And with it, the trial came to an end.
*** *** ***
Clayton POV
Enjoy it.
Tamiel's words echoed faintly in my mind as an invisible force carried us through the corridors.
Maybe it had been difficult for them.
For people who had never faced something like that before.
But not for me.
War had already left its scars.
Still… throwing yourself endlessly into hardship was not wisdom either.
My therapist back on Earth used to say the same thing.
Rest mattered.
Both the mind and the body needed it.
Otherwise one day you might break at the worst possible moment.
And I had already stood close enough to that edge once.
I glanced at the others.
They looked terrible.
Especially Adam and Hana.
Sophia surprised me though.
She was still conscious.
Bruised and exhausted, yes—but still standing.
"You alright?" I asked her.
She blinked, as if pulled out of her thoughts.
"Oh… yes. I'm fine, Mr. Clayton."
"Just tired."
She hesitated before adding:
"I didn't manage to defeat my opponent like you did."
"I had to follow the rules."
"But next time… I will win."
Her determination surprised me.
That kind of spirit was valuable.
I nodded.
"Then I look forward to seeing that."
I paused before adding:
"And remember… if you ever need to talk, we're all in this together."
I gestured toward the unconscious pair.
"Even if they're asleep right now."
She smiled faintly.
"You're probably right."
A moment later she closed her eyes, letting herself drift into sleep.
As we floated through the divine halls, carried by unseen power, one thought crossed my mind.
Yeah.
You could definitely call this divine treatment.