Lennon entered the dining hall again, no longer surprised by the military-like precision of the guards. He gripped his plate firmly, his eyes still scanning every detail of the soup before him.
As he analyzed the mixture, his sharp perception and the knowledge accumulated from the guide immediately gave him understanding: this was no ordinary food.
It was a broth made with fruits of medium-quality essence, mixed with monster meat, varying according to the available carnivorous species – the so-called carnoids. The six-legged, two-headed ox he had faced at the start of his journey came to mind, and he let out a deep sigh, a satisfied smile forming on his lips:
"Looks like nothing here is really strange anymore… now I understand why this strengthens us!"
The forgotten 232, sitting beside him, watched with curiosity.
"Looks like you've convinced yourself to swallow it all! That's good" – he commented, leaning slightly forward.
Lennon nodded, chewing carefully, reflecting that since his arrival, he hadn't shared many genuinely friendly conversations.
Most of the prisoners had neither the time nor the inclination for bonds. Still, the pale, thin man, who appeared to be in his early fifties, always seemed to seek connection.
"You're the one who said how good the soup is for strengthening" – Lennon said with a slight smile – "I just followed your advice."
232 looked intrigued but stayed silent, only observing.
While eating, Lennon thought about his objectives: gathering essence stones and collecting monster materials.
For that, he would need to go to the mines or the Eternal Hunting Arena.
With a sigh, he decided to ask:
"Forgotten 232, do you know what it takes to go to the Eternal Hunting Arena?"
The man turned, surprised, almost spilling his own soup:
"Are you crazy? You want to go die more times like this? Or because your usefulness is legendary, do you think you can already be an "adapted" prisoner?"
The comment caught Lennon off guard. For a moment, he forgot about essence stones and monsters.
"What do you mean by adapted"? — he asked, frowning.
232 shook his head slowly, as if weighing how much to reveal:
"You're a rookie! In everyone's cell, on the wall, there are details about this… but I'll explain it to you!"
Before he could continue, a message simultaneously appeared in all prisoners' guides.
The entire dining hall fell silent, each prisoner pulling the book forward to read quickly.
"Prisoner, don't be the last to pass through the door!
Attention: Everything goes, no exceptions!"
Panic spread like wildfire. Over a thousand prisoners began moving desperately; doors slammed shut one by one, with no one knowing exactly which door would remain open.
Lennon analyzed the pattern of the doors closing and quickly identified which one would stay open – a narrow one at the end of a corridor.
"That damn show again! " – muttered 232 irritably, banging his fist on the table, as Lennon felt his heart race. He asked:
"What do you mean by 'show'?"
"I forgot that, let's fight to get out of here quickly!"
"Don't fall too far behind, head for the door at the end of the corridor!"
Lennon commented, taking the lead.
232 took a moment to process:
"How did he know? Especially with this chaos?"
The dining hall, which had felt like a brief respite moments ago, instantly transformed into a field of chaos, tension, and survival.
And amidst it all, Lennon realized: every moment here was a test of perception, strength, and intelligence – and he was about to discover just how much he could truly control his destiny.
Lennon didn't hesitate.
The narrow corridor ahead was the only exit – a line between death and opportunity.
He took a deep breath, analyzing the situation with the precision of his IQ, calculating movements, spacing, and the rhythm of the other prisoners. Every misstep could mean being crushed or falling; every lost moment was a chance of death.
He observed the flow of bodies ahead: pushes, screams, hands grasping the walls, some tripping and getting trampled, others even drawing weapons from their minds to kill if necessary.
The scent of fear and sweat filled the air. Lennon immediately noticed that those who panicked were the first to fall behind, while those who controlled their breathing, steps, and spacing gained the advantage.
With a calculated move, he glided through the corridor, maintaining balance and posture.
Every contact with other prisoners was measured, almost imperceptible, using the minimum force necessary to advance without drawing attention – he knew that attracting direct hostility could be fatal.
Forgotten 232 trailed behind him, grumbling and pushing others to gain space, and when he saw Lennon far ahead, he was stunned by his abilities, surpassing everything he had witnessed in the Eternal Hunting Arena.
Lennon smoothly sidestepped a stumbling prisoner, using their inertia to accelerate without breaking his rhythm.
The sound of doors slamming behind echoed like hammers in the corridor, heightening the sense of urgency.
As he ran, Lennon calculated mentally: distance to the next turn, average speed of others, obstacles in the way… Every step was a calculation, every breath a datum processed in milliseconds.
His newly acquired knowledge and perception made him almost supernatural in that chaos.
Suddenly, a prisoner ahead fell, partially blocking the corridor.
Many behind shouted and recoiled, creating a bottleneck effect.
Lennon stayed calm, moving sideways, leaning slightly on the wall, using strategy and physics to avoid getting lost in the crowd.
In his mind, he already planned the next turn, evaluating how to use his strength and perception to maximize speed and minimize risk without exposing himself directly.
Every step, every movement, was calculated to keep him alive and ahead.
He realized something crucial: survival didn't depend solely on strength, but on intelligence and control over the chaos around him.
As he advanced, the intense fear of others fueled his advantage – Lennon became both observer and executor, absorbing panic and turning it into energy.
He smiled subtly, tasting for the first time the absolute control within this chaotic hell.
Lennon reached the front of the line, a significant distance ahead of the others, his body exhausted but every muscle alert, breathing with calculated precision.
He felt adrenaline and heightened perception working together – every sound, every smell, every movement of the prisoners behind him was absorbed and processed in seconds.
With a final push, he placed his hands on the narrow door and shoved with all his strength.
The wood creaked and gave way.
When it opened, he froze for a moment. What he saw made his heart race – not from fear, but from disbelief.
In front of him, the scene wasn't the expected corridor or another workroom – it was something entirely different, shocking, and unexpected.
"What the hell! Not this!"