The scenario chamber was circular and bare, its walls smooth stone unmarked by decoration or obvious function. The space could have held fifty people comfortably, making our group of ten feel small and exposed in the center. A single pedestal rose from the floor perhaps twenty feet ahead, its surface supporting a crystal that pulsed with faint blue light in rhythm with something I couldn't identify.
The staff member who'd led us here gestured toward the crystal.
"The scenario activates when I touch the pedestal. From that moment, you have forty-five minutes to complete your objective. You will be monitored throughout, but no outside assistance is permitted under any circumstances. Individual performance matters more than group success. Your decisions, adaptability, and tactical judgment are being evaluated."
She paused, her gaze sweeping across all ten of us.
"Questions will not be answered once activation begins. The scenario parameters will be provided upon entry. Failure conditions will be clear. Do not waste time arguing with each other when you should be focused on the objective."
Without waiting for acknowledgment, she approached the pedestal and placed her palm against the crystal.
The world transformed.
The sensation was disorienting, reality shifting in ways that made my enhanced perception struggle to track the changes. The blank stone walls dissolved into something else entirely, details materializing with perfect clarity until we stood before a massive stone doorway that hadn't existed seconds earlier.
The doorway led into darkness, its entrance perhaps fifteen feet tall and ten feet wide, carved from rock that looked ancient and weathered. The temperature dropped noticeably, cold air flowing from the depths carrying the smell of damp stone and something else underneath. Something is wrong.
Text appeared in my vision, hovering in the air in front of me with the same blue glow as the activation crystal.
[Scenario: Corrupted Dungeon Expedition]
[Objective: Reach the core chamber and cleanse the corruption source]
[Secondary Objectives: Minimize casualties, gather resources, map the route]
[Time Limit: 45 minutes]
[Failure Conditions: All members incapacitated, time expires, corruption spreads beyond containment]
Around me, the other nine applicants were clearly seeing the same information based on their expressions and the way their eyes tracked text only they could see.
'Not my System,' I realized immediately. 'This is scenario enchantment, standard information delivery for everyone participating. Means I need to react like someone seeing this kind of interface for the first time rather than someone who lives with constant System notifications.'
The door behind us sealed with a sound like stone grinding against stone. I turned briefly to confirm what I'd heard and found blank wall where the entrance had been. The only way forward was through the dungeon doorway into darkness.
"Well," someone said, breaking the silence that had fallen over the group. "I suppose standing here won't complete the objective."
The speaker was one of the two applicants from Draven, a boy perhaps seventeen years old who stood well over six feet tall with shoulders that suggested years of strength training. His formal examination clothes strained against muscle mass that exceeded what most Novice rank individuals developed.
He stepped forward, positioning himself at the front of the group with body language that clearly expected others to fall in line behind him.
"I'm Gorath. Apprentice rank, Low tier, specializing in heavy weapons and close combat. I'll take point since I'm the strongest here. Stay behind me, don't get in my way, and we'll complete this quickly."
Apprentice rank. The statement hung in the air with weight beyond simple words. Most applicants here were Novice rank attempting to gain academy admission. Someone who'd already broken through to the Apprentice tier either came from an exceptional background with resources and training beyond normal, or possessed rare talent that manifested early.
Either way, his physical capability would genuinely exceed everyone else's in pure attributes.
The second Draven applicant, a girl nearly as large as Gorath, nodded and moved to stand beside him. "I'm with Gorath. Draven takes center, fastest route to objective."
Two of the three Castern applicants exchanged glances, their expressions showing skepticism. One stepped forward, a boy with features suggesting merchant class background rather than pure nobility.
"I'm Aldric. Fire aaffinity, specializing in area control magic. The left path shows magical residue we can track. Following raw power without information is how people die in dungeons."
The other two Castern mages nodded agreement, moving to stand with Aldric and effectively creating a second faction within the group.
'Already fragmenting,' I thought, watching the dynamics develop with detached analysis. 'Draven warriors want a direct approach backed by superior strength. Castern mages trust magical senses over physical force. Neither side is willing to defer to the other's preferred methodology.'
The Brevian applicant, a girl carrying an unusual assortment of equipment that suggested merchant background, looked between the two forming groups with visible uncertainty.
"Shouldn't we discuss this? Vote on the best approach rather than splitting up immediately?"
"No time for debate," Gorath said dismissively. "Timer's already running. Every second spent arguing is wasted. I'm going center, anyone with sense follows me."
He turned and walked toward the dungeon entrance without waiting for a response. The second Draven girl followed immediately. After a moment's hesitation, the Brevian merchant joined them, unwilling to remain behind alone. One of the two Aldorian nobles, a boy whose family crest marked him as a minor baronial house, hurried after the group as well.
Four people committed to the center path before anyone had actually scouted the options.
The three Castern mages moved toward the left side of the entrance, clearly intending to pursue their magical tracking approach regardless of what others decided.
That left three of us standing in the center: me, the second Aldorian noble whose crest I recognized as a house serving Ravencroft, and the Elenor diplomat who'd remained silent throughout the entire exchange.
The Aldorian noble glared at me, recognition and hostility clear in his expression.
"You're Kaine Einsworth. The disappointment. I'm not following you anywhere, and I'm certainly not trusting your judgment after what your family did to mine in the inheritance dispute three years ago."
I had no memory of whatever dispute he referenced, though Kaine's memories suggested the Einsworth family had crushed several Ravencroft-aligned houses politically during territorial negotiations. Apparently this boy's family had been among them.
"Then choose your own path," I said, keeping my tone flat and dismissive. "I'm not asking you to follow me or trust me. Make your own decisions and live with the consequences."
I activated Blade Sense, the passive skill extending my perception in ways that had nothing to do with sight. The ability detected weapons and weapon-like objects within range, letting me sense echoes of metal and combat in directions my eyes couldn't see.
Down the right corridor, faint traces registered. Old weapons, damaged and abandoned, marking where previous explorers had traveled. Not currently active threats, but evidence of established routes through the dungeon.
"The right path shows traces of previous passage," I said, not directing the comment at anyone specifically but making the information available. "Weapons left behind by earlier groups suggest that route has been scouted before. Established paths are generally safer than completely unknown alternatives."
The Elenor diplomat, a girl perhaps my age with features suggesting diplomatic rather than martial training, tilted her head slightly.
"That's sound logic. Previous explorers surviving long enough to leave equipment implies the route is navigable. I'll follow the right path."
She moved to stand near me, not beside me in the way that would suggest alliance, but close enough to indicate shared direction.
The hostile Aldorian noble looked between the three departing groups, clearly unwilling to go alone but equally unwilling to follow me. After several seconds of visible internal conflict, pride lost to pragmatism and he stalked toward the right corridor as well.
"I'm not following you," he said again, apparently needing to make the distinction clear. "I just agree the logic is sound."
"Your reasons for being here don't concern me," I replied, already moving toward the dungeon entrance.
The group had fractured into three factions within two minutes of scenario activation. Four people with Gorath taking the center path, three Castern mages pursuing the left corridor, and three of us heading right with no cohesion or agreement beyond basic directional choice.
'Exactly what the academy wanted to see,' I thought as I crossed the threshold into darkness. 'How we handle forced cooperation with incompetent or hostile strangers under pressure. Individual grading means the successful approach isn't necessarily keeping everyone together. It's making sound decisions despite group dysfunction.'
The dungeon interior was cold and damp, the temperature several degrees below comfortable. The walls were rough stone, carved or natural I couldn't immediately determine, with moisture collecting in cracks and running down surfaces in thin streams. The sound of water dripping echoed from deeper within, creating rhythm that made distance and direction difficult to judge.
Faint light emanated from luminescent moss growing in patches along the walls, just enough illumination to see basic shapes and avoid walking into obstacles. Not enough to make the environment comfortable or safe feeling.
The corridor extended perhaps thirty feet before branching. Additional passages led off to the left and right at irregular intervals, side chambers whose contents remained hidden in deeper darkness beyond the moss light's reach.
Evidence of previous explorers appeared as we progressed. Bloodstains on stone, old enough that they'd turned brown rather than remaining red. Gouges in the walls that might have been weapon strikes or beast claws. Scratches that looked deliberate, possibly warning markers or navigation aids left by those who'd come before.
And underneath everything, the wrongness I'd smelled from the entrance grew stronger. Corruption, the scenario parameters had called it. It manifested as dark mist clinging to surfaces, visible even in dim light as something that absorbed rather than reflected illumination.
"This is fairly standard dungeon architecture," the Elenor diplomat said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. "The corruption element is unusual, but the layout matches documented exploration records from cleared dungeons near the border territories."
I glanced at her, surprised she'd spoken without being addressed. Her expression remained neutral, but her eyes tracked details with the same analytical focus I was applying.
"You've studied dungeon structures?" I asked, keeping my voice equally quiet.
"Part of Elenor's diplomatic training involves understanding what our warriors face. Can't properly negotiate resource allocation if you don't comprehend the dangers being defended against."
Practical reasoning. I filed the information away as potentially useful.
The hostile Aldorian noble walked several paces behind us, maintaining distance but staying close enough that he wouldn't become separated. His right hand rested on the sword hilt at his hip, ready to draw at the first sign of threat.
We encountered the first side chamber after perhaps five minutes of careful progress. The opening appeared on our left, a gap in the corridor wall leading into darkness that the moss light couldn't properly penetrate.
I stopped at the threshold, using enhanced perception to gather information before committing to entry. Sound: faint scratching, multiple sources, small bodies moving across stone. Smell: animal musk mixed with the wrongness of corruption. Temperature: slightly warmer than the corridor, suggesting occupied space.
"Something's in there," I said quietly. "Multiple targets, small size based on movement patterns."
"We should avoid it," the Aldorian noble said immediately. "The objective is reaching the core chamber, not clearing every side room. Fighting wastes time and resources."
"Secondary objectives mentioned gathering resources," the Elenor diplomat countered. "Side chambers often contain supplies in dungeon scenarios. Ignoring them might cost points."
The scratching grew louder, suggesting whatever occupied the chamber had noticed our presence at the entrance.
Three shapes emerged from the darkness.
Corrupted rats, each roughly the size of a small dog. Their fur was matted and discolored, patches of skin showing the same dark corruption that clung to dungeon surfaces. Their eyes glowed faintly red, and their movements carried a coordinated quality that normal rats wouldn't display.
The System provided identification without being asked.
[Corrupted Rat x3]
[Rank: Novice (Low)]
[Attributes: Strength 12, Agility 18, Endurance 10]
[Status: Corrupted (15% attribute bonus, reduced pain response, pack coordination)]
The rats spread out immediately, creating angles of approach that would force anyone engaging them to divide attention between multiple threats. Pack tactics, programmed or instinctive I couldn't determine, but effective either way.
"I'll handle them," the Aldorian noble said, stepping forward with confidence that suggested he'd faced similar threats before. "Stand back."
He raised his left hand, mana gathering visibly as flames coalesced around his fingers. Fire affinity, common enough among Aldorian nobility that it barely registered as notable.
The spell released as a stream of fire directed toward the nearest rat. The flames struck, scorching fur and eliciting a high-pitched screech. The rat's movement slowed but it didn't die, corruption-enhanced endurance keeping it functional despite burns that should have been incapacitating.
The other two rats used their companion's distraction to close distance, moving with the kind of speed their agility suggested. One went low, aiming for the noble's legs. The other went high, launching itself toward his throat in a leap that covered the distance between them faster than he could react.
He stumbled backward, his fire spell cutting off as concentration broke under the sudden assault. The sword left his hip in a clumsy draw, the blade coming up just fast enough to deflect the leaping rat but leaving him completely open to the one going for his legs.
'Poor combat awareness,' I thought, already moving. 'Tunnel vision on magical attack prevented him from tracking all three threats. He's going to take serious injury if this continues.'
I drew the Einsworth Family Saber in a motion so smooth it looked casual despite the speed involved. First Light activated automatically, the technique flowing through pathways Jack had carved into my muscle memory through endless repetition.
The cutting pressure manifested as a horizontal crescent that traveled the ten feet between me and the rats in a fraction of a second. All three targets fell within the technique's area of effect.
The rats died before they touched the Aldorian noble. Clean cuts, instant cessation of function, bodies collapsing mid-motion and dissolving into dark mist that faded within seconds.
The noble stood frozen, his sword still raised in an ineffective guard position, staring at where the threats had been with expression mixing shock and something that might have been humiliation.
I sheathed my saber without comment, the blade sliding home with a soft whisper of metal on leather.
The Elenor diplomat made a small sound that could have been approval or simply acknowledgment. When I glanced at her, she was watching me with the same analytical focus she'd applied to the dungeon architecture.
"Efficient," she said quietly. "That technique is Flash God style, isn't it? Einsworth family specialty."
I neither confirmed nor denied, simply turned back toward the corridor and continued walking.
Behind me, the Aldorian noble sheathed his own weapon with motions that suggested anger barely contained. His pride had taken a hit, saved from injury by someone he'd explicitly stated he wouldn't trust or follow.
The side chamber the rats had emerged from remained unexplored. I stepped inside, using the moss light and enhanced perception to scan for additional threats or the resources the diplomat had mentioned.
The chamber was small, perhaps fifteen feet square, with stone walls matching the corridor outside. Wooden crates sat stacked against the far wall, their surfaces marked with labels I couldn't read in the dim light.
I approached carefully, checking for traps or hidden threats before committing fully. Nothing registered as dangerous, so I opened the nearest crate.
Healing supplies. Bandages, poultices, minor restoration potions in glass vials. Standard dungeon exploration equipment left by previous groups or placed deliberately by scenario designers.
"Resources located," I called back toward the chamber entrance. "Healing supplies and mana restoration items."
The Elenor diplomat entered the chamber, moving to examine the crates herself. The Aldorian noble remained in the corridor, maintaining his distance.
"We should take what we can carry," the diplomat said, already selecting items and distributing them into pouches at her belt. "Secondary objectives award points for resource gathering."
I took several minor healing potions and one mana restoration vial, storing them in pockets rather than drinking immediately. My enhanced physique meant healing wasn't as critical for minor injuries, but having options available never hurt.
The diplomat finished her selection and turned toward the corridor where the noble still waited.
"There are more supplies here. You should take some in case you need them later."
"I don't need charity," he said, his tone sharp with wounded pride.
"It's not charity," I replied, keeping my voice flat and cold. "It's tactical resource management. Secondary objectives mentioned gathering resources, which suggests we're all being graded on whether we collect available supplies. Take them or don't, but if your score suffers because pride prevented you from making sound decisions, that's your problem alone."
The Elenor diplomat smiled slightly at my phrasing, though she hid it quickly.
After several seconds, the noble entered the chamber and took supplies with movements that suggested he was being forced rather than choosing freely. Once finished, he left immediately without thanks or acknowledgment.
We continued down the right corridor, progressing deeper into the dungeon with a steady but cautious pace. Several more side chambers appeared, but none showed signs of occupation or resources worth the time investment to search thoroughly.
The corruption grew thicker as we advanced, the dark mist no longer just clinging to surfaces but beginning to hang in the air itself. Breathing became slightly more difficult, each inhalation carrying that wrong sensation like inhaling something fundamentally opposed to life.
After perhaps fifteen minutes of progress, the corridor widened into a junction chamber. Three passages converged here, and I realized with sharp clarity that this was where all the initial path choices would reconnect.
We'd arrived first.
The chamber was perhaps forty feet across, roughly circular, with the three corridor entrances spaced evenly around the perimeter. Stone pillars rose from floor to ceiling at regular intervals, possibly structural support or possibly decorative elements from whatever civilization had originally built this place.
And at the far side of the chamber, a single corridor led deeper into the dungeon. That had to be the path to the core chamber, the final route that all three groups would need to take to reach the scenario objective.
"We made good time," the Elenor diplomat observed, checking something I couldn't see. Probably the scenario timer displayed in her vision. "Approximately thirty minutes remaining. If the other groups arrive soon, we can proceed together with numerical advantage."
The Aldorian noble moved to the far side of the chamber, positioning himself near one of the pillars with clear sightlines toward all three entrances. He didn't speak or acknowledge us, but his body language suggested he intended to wait for the others rather than proceeding alone with the two people he'd explicitly stated he didn't trust.
I found my own position, far enough from the noble to maintain comfortable distance but close enough to the central corridor that I could observe anyone who emerged from any direction.
Sound carried through the dungeon's stone passages, echoing and distorting until determining source or distance became guesswork. But after perhaps three minutes of waiting, voices approached from the center corridor.
Gorath emerged first, his massive frame recognizable even in the dim moss light. The second Draven girl followed close behind. Then the Brevian merchant, moving slower and supporting her left arm awkwardly.
The fourth member of their group, the Aldorian noble who'd followed Gorath, appeared last. His clothes were torn and bloodstained, though he seemed functional enough to walk without assistance.
"What happened?" the Elenor diplomat asked, her tone carrying professional concern rather than personal worry.
"Ceiling trap," Gorath said, his voice rough with barely contained frustration. "Triggered when we encountered wolf pack. Took out the wolves easily enough, but debris caught these two."
He gestured dismissively toward the injured merchant and bloodied noble, making clear he considered their injuries the result of weakness rather than legitimate hazard.
"The trap triggered because you charged forward without checking for pressure plates or tripwires," the merchant said quietly, pain evident in her voice despite attempting to maintain composure. "I mentioned that dungeons typically include mechanical hazards alongside monsters."
"Wasting time checking every tile for traps would have taken hours," Gorath countered. "Better to move fast and deal with consequences than creep along like cowards."
The second Draven girl nodded agreement, though her expression suggested even she thought Gorath's approach had been unnecessarily reckless.
'His Apprentice-tier strength let him smash through direct threats easily,' I thought, analyzing what they'd described. 'But dungeons test more than raw combat capability. Traps don't care about rank or physical attributes. His confidence in superior power created blind spots that cost his team injuries and reduced efficiency.'
More sounds approached from the left corridor, multiple footsteps and voices raised in what sounded like argument.
The three Castern mages emerged, their clothes showing signs of combat stress and their faces carrying expressions mixing exhaustion with poorly concealed fear.
"We're being followed," Aldric announced immediately, not bothering with greetings or explanations. "Construct, anti-magic properties, wouldn't stop pursuing even after we retreated. It's maybe thirty seconds behind us."
As if summoned by his words, a figure emerged from the left corridor.
The construct stood roughly human height but clearly artificial in composition. Metal plates formed its body, articulated at joints to allow smooth movement. Its eyes glowed with the same wrong-light as the corrupted rats, but brighter and more intense. It carried no weapons, its hands formed into bladed appendages that looked sharp enough to cut through stone.
The System provided identification.
[Corrupted Mana Construct]
[Rank: Novice (Peak)]
[Attributes: Strength 28, Agility 24, Endurance 32, Intelligence 8]
[Status: Corrupted, Anti-Magic Field (80% spell damage reduction within 15 feet)]
[Special: Absorbs magical energy on contact, converts to self-repair]
Peak Novice tier with anti-magic properties that neutered the Castern mages' primary advantage. No wonder they'd been forced to retreat rather than destroying it outright.
The construct's glowing eyes swept across the junction chamber, registering all ten applicants as potential targets. Then it moved, closing distance toward the nearest person with speed that made its metal frame blur slightly.
That nearest person was Aldric, the Castern mage who'd announced its arrival.
He raised both hands, fire and wind combining into a spell that should have created explosive force. The magic struck the construct's anti-magic field and dissipated, maybe twenty percent of the intended effect actually reaching the target.
The construct didn't even slow down, absorbing the reduced magical energy and converting it into self-repair that healed minor damage the mages had inflicted during their earlier retreat.
Gorath moved to intercept, his warhammer appearing in his hands as he positioned himself between the construct and Aldric.
"Get back," he ordered, apparently deciding that protecting weaker group members fell within acceptable behavior even if leaving injured ones behind didn't. "Let someone who can actually damage it handle this."
His hammer came around in a horizontal arc backed by Apprentice-tier strength. The weapon struck the construct's torso with impact that should have crumpled metal and shattered enchantments.
The construct staggered backward several steps, its frame showing visible denting where the hammer connected. But then the anti-magic field flared, drawing energy from ambient corruption and beginning to repair the damage even as Gorath wound up for his second strike.
'The field doesn't just reduce magical attacks,' I realized, watching the interaction. 'It actively drains mana from the environment to sustain itself. Fighting it is a war of attrition where the construct has inherent advantage through self-repair capabilities.'
Gorath's second strike hit, then his third, each impact dealing damage but none of them crippling. The construct fought back, its bladed hands moving with precision that suggested actual combat programming rather than simple beast aggression.
One blade slipped past Gorath's guard and carved a line across his ribs. Not deep enough to be immediately threatening, but proof that even his superior attributes didn't make him invulnerable.
"This isn't working," the second Draven girl said, stating the obvious. "We need different approach or it'll wear us down through attrition."
I'd been observing the construct's movements, analyzing its patterns and construction with enhanced perception. The anti-magic field was potent but not absolute. And more importantly, I could see now how it was generated.
Small crystals embedded at specific points in the construct's frame, glowing faintly with the same corruption energy that powered its self-repair. The crystals created the field through their combined output, overlapping coverage that reduced magical effectiveness within range.
But crystals were physical objects, vulnerable to precise physical force if someone could target the mounting points rather than the construct's main body.
"The joints," I said, not shouting but projecting my voice enough to carry across the chamber. "Between the plates. That's where the anti-magic crystals are mounted. Destroy those and the field collapses."
Gorath didn't acknowledge me, too focused on his direct engagement to spare attention for tactical suggestions from someone he probably considered beneath his notice.
But the Elenor diplomat heard, and more importantly, she understood the implications.
"The crystals are structural weak points," she announced, her diplomatic training making her voice carry with authority despite not being loud. "Physical attacks targeting those specific locations will be more effective than trying to damage the main frame."
Aldric, recovering from his near-death experience, grasped the strategy immediately.
"If the field drops, we can actually damage it with magic. But someone needs to take out the crystals first."
All attention shifted, various group members looking at each other to see who would volunteer or be volunteered for the precision work required.
I was already moving.
Phantom Step activated, the footwork pattern carrying me around Gorath's bulk and positioning me at the construct's flank. The technique cost mana but put me exactly where I needed to be, outside the construct's immediate threat perception while Gorath occupied its primary attention.
My saber appeared in my hand through draw so fast it seemed like teleportation. First Light, but modified. Not the full devastating cut I'd used against the rats, but focused application targeting a specific point.
The cutting pressure manifested as a needle of force rather than a crescent, all the technique's power concentrated into an area perhaps two inches across. It struck the crystal embedded in the construct's left shoulder joint.
The crystal shattered.
The anti-magic field flickered, coverage dropping as one of its generation points failed. Still functional, but reduced to maybe sixty percent effectiveness rather than eighty.
The construct recognized me as a threat now, its attention splitting between Gorath and the person who'd just damaged its primary defense. One bladed hand came toward me in a slash that would have opened my torso if it connected.
I used Phantom Step again, repositioning to the opposite side and forcing the construct to turn and track me. More mana spent, but creating the opening I needed.
Second First Light, same focused application. The crystal in the right hip joint exploded into fragments.
The anti-magic field dropped to perhaps forty percent effectiveness, weakened enough that magical attacks would start dealing real damage.
"Now!" I called to the Castern mages. "While the field is reduced!"
They didn't need additional encouragement. All three launched spells simultaneously, their combined magical assault striking the construct from multiple angles.
Fire, wind, and what looked like pure force magic converged on the construct's frame. With the anti-magic field compromised, the damage was substantial. Metal plates warped from heat, joints seized from directed wind pressure, internal mechanisms disrupted by force trauma.
But the construct was Peak Novice tier, its durability and self-repair still formidable even damaged. It staggered but remained functional, turning toward the mages who'd just hurt it with clear intent to eliminate them before they could follow up.
Gorath, apparently recognizing that his direct assault had been less effective than the combined tactical approach, adjusted his strategy. His next hammer strike targeted the construct's leg rather than its torso, aiming to cripple mobility instead of dealing maximum damage.
The impact buckled the construct's knee joint, sending it off balance and preventing it from reaching the Castern mages.
I saw my opportunity.
The construct was damaged, off balance, its anti-magic field compromised and its attention divided between multiple threats. Perfect conditions for a finishing strike.
Heaven Splitter.
I channeled substantial mana into the technique, feeling the familiar buildup as the Einsworth Family Saber thrummed with barely contained power. The thrust came with every ounce of precision and force I could generate, the blade targeting the construct's center mass where its core enchantment would be located.
The compressed air projectile erupted from the thrust, crossing the distance between me and the construct in less than a second. The detonation was louder than expected, the sound echoing off stone walls and pillars with enough force to make nearby applicants flinch.
The construct's chest plate simply disappeared, obliterated by concentrated force. The core enchantment shattered, its glow dying as the magic sustaining the artificial body failed catastrophically.
Metal pieces scattered across the junction chamber, clattering against stone before dissolving into the same dark mist that corrupted rats had become.
Silence fell across the space, broken only by heavy breathing from those who'd participated in the fight.
I stood with my saber still extended, the weapon's blade reflecting faint moss light as residual energy dissipated. My mana reserves had dropped by perhaps thirty percent from the combination of Phantom Steps and Heaven Splitter, noticeable but not crippling.
Around me, the other nine applicants stared with varying expressions. Some looked impressed, others calculating, a few displaying concern that might have been about me specifically or about what the destroyed construct implied for remaining challenges.
Gorath's expression was the most interesting. His jaw was tight, his posture suggesting barely restrained anger. He'd been established as strongest present through his Apprentice rank, but the construct fight had demonstrated that raw power alone was insufficient when facing enemies that countered direct approaches.
And worse, from his perspective, I'd been the one to identify the weakness and deliver the finishing blow. His pride had taken another hit, this time publicly and in front of multiple witnesses.
The Elenor diplomat approached, her movements calm and measured despite the recent combat.
"That was well executed," she said quietly, pitched for my hearing rather than the whole group. "Tactical analysis, precision strikes, finishing technique. You led without announcing leadership."
I didn't respond, simply sheathed my saber and moved toward the far corridor that presumably led deeper into the dungeon.