WheeeeEEENNNNNNK.
The call came again — sharper this time, louder. No longer distant.
Elder Syen's whistle cut clean through the forest's edge like a blade of sound, commanding and unmistakable.
Riven flinched slightly.
He didn't have time to rack his brain right now.
He had to move.
Carefully, he stepped out fully from the shadow of the forest and into the clearing light.
The slope leveled beneath his boots. This wasn't the gathering site yet — not directly. He was still about five to seven hundred meters out, skirting the forest's edge.
He turned with the curve of the treeline, walking until people came into view ahead.
Riven tightened his fist, now without the makeshift knife in it, that had been lost during the whole Greater Feral turmoil, approached with even steps.
Elder Syen stood tall at the center of the crowd — robes clean, arms folded behind his back, gaze cutting through the air like a blade. Even at a distance, he radiated stillness. Authority.
Around him, the gathered disciples stood in loose clusters. Most looked exhausted. Some were wounded. Dirt-streaked. Bruised. A few clutched bandaged arms or pressed cloth to their ribs.
Riven joined the outer edge of the crowd, earning a few glances — tired, wary.
One pair of eyes glared harder than the rest.
Lara.
She stood a few meters to his right, still bloodstained, one shoulder bandaged, expression flat and unreadable. But her gaze — locked on him — burned with the kind of fury you didn't forget.
Riven didn't return the look.
What would be the point in that?
He was too tired to start a stare-off.
Instead he just stood still, eyes ahead.
Time passed. More disciples trickled out of the forest, most limping. One girl collapsed to her knees the moment she cleared the treeline and had to be helped over by two others. The crowd swelled slowly.
But not by much.
Eventually, Riven counted.
Thirty.
Out of the nearly fifty that had entered the trial… only thirty stood here now.
Some had dropped out. Some had been disqualified.
Others…
Well. He'd seen at least a few of those bodies himself.
But that wasn't what made the crowd feel uneasy.
There was something else — tension that clung in the air like static. An unspoken pressure that passed between glances.
Murmurs. Shifting feet.
Eyes searching the crowd.
And Riven caught the whispers.
"…She's not here."
"…She was late-stage. No way she died, right?"
"Maybe she got lost."
The girl with the high ponytail. The hammer-wielder.
Riven didn't say anything.
Elder Syen raised his hand once more.
WheeeeENNNN—WHNK.
This one was different. Shorter. Deeper. A final call.
The last echo faded into silence.
Then Syen lowered his arm.
His voice rang out, clear.
"That's all. The trial has ended."
A few people exhaled. Others stood straighter.
Syen stepped forward, gaze sweeping the thirty gathered disciples with faint detachment.
"I will now announce the rankings."
He lifted one hand and pressed his fingers to the side of his throat.
A pulse of qi spread outward — and his next call was not a whistle, but something else entirely.
A different note.
Not high and piercing.
Not sharp.
But old. Vibrating with subtle qi — low and strange, like the tone of something not meant for human ears.
The crowd stilled.
And a moment later, the forest responded.
From the shadows of the treeline, something moved.
Slow. Measured.
A small figure emerged — legs clicking against stone. Eight of them.
Its body was low to the ground, carapace green-tinged and faintly shimmering in the sunlight.
Riven's eyes widened — just slightly.
The spider.
That spider.
The one from earlier.
Smaller again now — shrunken back to its original size.
It scuttled silently up to Elder Syen's side.
Then — without command — climbed the man's robe.
Higher. Higher.
Until it settled neatly onto the elder's shoulder.
Perched.
Like it belonged there.
The disciples stared.
Not one spoke.
The spider's legs twitched once. Its eyes shimmered faintly. Then it stilled — perfectly balanced on Elder Syen's shoulder, like it had always been there.
Riven didn't know what was more unnerving: that the spider sat so naturally beside the elder… or that it stared at him.
The silence stretched until Elder Syen finally spoke again.
His voice carried through the clearing like the last crack of a broken branch.
"Scoring was simple."
"One point for a semi-feral kill."
"Five for a lesser feral."
"Final blows only. Assistants get nothing."
That made a few disciples shift.
Riven saw it in the corner of his eye — subtle winces, furrowed brows, someone crossing their arms tighter. All those who'd fought as teams, only for one person to land the final hit.
Riven didn't react.
He hadn't exactly worked with anyone.
Unless you considered Lara?
He turned slightly, sneaking a glance at her.
And quickly turned back.
She was still staring at him.
At this point her eyes would burn a hole in his back.
Don't think she'd agree that we worked together.
"Top sixteen by points advance," Syen continued. "Ties settled by who exited the forest first. No arguing."
He glanced to the spider once.
It twitched.
Then he began.
"Rank 16: Wen Sari."
"One semi-feral. One point."
A short boy near the back exhaled, shoulders slumping in visible relief.
He looked like he wanted to collapse where he stood.
"Rank 15: Lenna Jia."
"One semi-feral. One point."
The girl with a bruised face and a cracked gauntlet gave a faint, tired smile.
"Rank 14: Durin Vel."
"Two semi-ferals. Two points."
Someone clapped him on the shoulder. Durin nodded, proud and smug — more smug than his two points probably warranted.
"Rank 13: Taro Fei."
"Two semi-ferals. Two points."
Riven didn't recognize the name.
But when the boy raised his head with a grin — he recognized the face.
He froze for just a breath.
It was the one who'd been talking to the hammer-wielding girl. The one who'd looked guilty. Nervous.
Riven's brow furrowed.
He thought back to her — the body, the blood, the stone.
His stomach twisted.
And this guy was smiling?
Then again, he would be too.
He'd survived. He was going to hear his name called.
She was dead, but life moved on.
No one seemed to care. Not her friend. Not Elder Syen.
And worst of all — neither did he. Not anymore. He'd already moved on.
That part chilled him more than anything.
It wasn't good. He knew that.
But he didn't want to keep holding onto it.
There were better memories to keep hold of.
The ranks continued.
Steady, names ticking upward. Points slowly rising. Most had one or two semi-feral kills. A rare few had three or four. No one had killed a lesser feral.
Then —
"Rank 3: Lara Kien."
"Seven semi-ferals. Seven points."
A murmur ran through the crowd.
Seven was a lot. Almost double the previous person.
But that wasn't what made the silence hit harder.
It was the realization.
She was third.
Only third.
And there was only one other late-stage Inner Essence disciples left. Now that the pony tail girl hadn't returned.
Grunting, Lara stepped forward at the call. Her face was still pale, and one sleeve was soaked through with dried blood.
She didn't look proud.
She looked furious.
She didn't even try to hide her glare.
Riven felt it settle on him like a weight.
Sharp. Heavy. Unforgiving.
His expression didn't change.
But internally—
How can someone keep glaring worse than before?
Still, he didn't flinch.
He'd done what he needed to.
Because—
"Rank 2: Riven."
There was no last name. Just Riven. That's all he'd ever given them. And clearly they hadn't been able to figure out more.
"One lesser feral. Three semi-ferals. Eight points."
Gasps.
Murmurs.
Someone actually said, "What?" out loud.
A few heads turned his way — some shocked, some skeptical. Some understanding upon seeing his golden tassel. But no one questioned it.
Because Syen didn't lie.
Riven exhaled — slow, controlled.
He already knew, of course.
But hearing it out loud… it felt like something had finally landed. Like a weight he hadn't realized he was carrying had finally eased.
Top sixteen.
Secured.
His fingers loosened slightly at his sides.
He caught Lara's look again. Somehow darker than before.
Impressive, he thought, dryly. How far can she go?
But Syen didn't care for disciple disputes.
The green tinged spider on his shoulder let out another low sound and Syen announced the final disciple.
"Rank 1: Ziren Raal."
"Two lesser ferals. Five semi-ferals. Fifteen points."
That made the crowd go silent again.
Ziren — the final late-stage disciple — stepped forward calmly. A tall, clean-cut boy with eyes like polished metal.
He didn't smile.
He just nodded once.
But even that was enough to carry weight.
Two lesser ferals.
Riven's chest tightened slightly at the thought.
This guy had killed two?
And he didn't even look wounded.
How?
Did he negotiate with them? Ask nicely?