Ian was still taking in the sheer size of the cavern when a sharp voice echoed through the air, slicing through the murmurs like a blade:
— "Silence!"
Several figures, cloaked in dark robes and wearing metallic masks, stood atop a rocky ledge at the far end of the chamber. Their presence was sudden and commanding, and the crowd of hundreds fell quiet at once.
One of the masked figures stepped forward, his voice amplified by a subtle magic:
— "We are the observers and instructors appointed by Commander Siegfried and Master Goblin. We will oversee this trial. Remain silent, the Head Instructor will now speak."
From among them, a man in a crimson robe stepped forward. His mask was distinct—engraved with ancient runes—and his aura radiated overwhelming authority. The air around him felt heavier.
— "I will keep this brief. All of you, whether noble or commoner, must sign a magical contract. This contract is written with enchanted ink formed from rare arcane materials. If you break it… you will die on the spot."
Gasps and whispers spread through the crowd like wildfire.
— "This contract forbids you from speaking of this trial to anyone outside this place. No exceptions. All must sign."
A bold voice rang out from the crowd:
— "This is absurd! I am the son of a baron! I don't need to agree to some secret nonsense!"
He wasn't alone. Several other nobles echoed their disdain, puffing their chests with inherited pride.
The Head Instructor, unshaken, descended the rocky path with slow, deliberate steps. The sound of his boots was near-silent, yet the tension they carried was deafening.
He stopped in front of the baron's son and spoke in a low, icy tone:
— "I will ask you only once. Sign the contract."
The atmosphere tightened like a noose. Ian felt as though the very air had been sucked from the cavern. Dozens of people collapsed or threw up from sheer pressure alone.
The boy trembled, backing away:
— "I... I am Baron Termin's son! My father will—"
Shhhhk!
Before he could finish, the Head Instructor vanished and reappeared in a flash beside him. With a swift motion, he severed the boy's right hand.
Screams erupted. Blood splashed across the stone. Ian's eyes widened—but he didn't look away. Something within him trembled… not from fear, but from the harsh clarity of truth: In this world, weakness has no excuse.
The instructor's voice remained steady, even cold:
— "That is the price of disobedience. Your noble blood means nothing here. From this moment until the end of the trial, our word is law."
He leaned in toward the boy now writhing in pain:
— "Now... sign the contract. Or I'll remove the other hand as well."
No one dared resist after that.
One by one, trembling hands reached for the contract. All signed it.
Once the last signature was placed, the Head Instructor stepped back and addressed the crowd once more:
— "Now, your first trial begins."
Ian felt his heart beat faster. This is it... the chance I've been waiting for.
— "Trial One: Awaken your Aura within one week."
A wave of whispers passed through the crowd. Among them, some nobles raised their voices.
— "Instructor, I already possess a family method of Aura awakening. Must we follow your procedure?"
— "If you have already awakened your Aura, report to one of the observers. You are exempt from this trial."
A handful of smug individuals stepped forward. Meanwhile, a concerned voice rose from the commoners:
— "Sir, one week isn't enough. I heard some people can't awaken even after a month..."
The instructor's gaze turned to him—cold and without pity:
— "For ordinary people, that may be true. But you are here to become more than ordinary. If you can't awaken it... consider yourself already dead."
Ian took a deep breath. So… it's do or die.
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