"All right… today should be the last day." — Nikolai took a deep breath, his eyes shining with anticipation.
"Ashen, I want to try something."
Nikolai had already lost track of time inside that room.
The days passed quickly as he devoured the book he had received from old Sobolev.
The words embedded in the pages felt like keys, opening doors and guiding him through challenge after challenge.
The truth was, not even he understood how such a relic had ended up in his hands.
He was sure people would kill for the magic contained within — magic he himself had learned, and many other spells that seemed as hard to conjure as they were powerful in essence.
The way they were explained — or drawn in an archaic manner — revealed such obscure concepts that Nikolai often wondered if the author had really been human... or some divine entity, whether good or evil.
These were not simple spells. Even the seemingly trivial ones carried principles so complex they required an almost absurd magic reserve. Sometimes, he thought the book was more theoretical than practical. But then he would wonder: who would write a book full of theories impossible to apply? What kind of spellcaster would accept — and even actively seek — that kind of loss?
And then came the revelation.
Despite the sophistication and complexity of many spells, there were some — a few, admittedly — that he managed to reproduce. With effort, pain, and practice, yes, but even so… he could do it.
The truth, he felt, was that the book seemed to have been made for him. Every difficulty he encountered was anticipated by an explanation. It was as if the pages knew where the bottlenecks would be, as if the book itself had been waiting for him.
It was something beyond reality.
But it was this book — which he read to the very last word, which he studied to the edge of exhaustion — that had given him the answers and the power he had always sought. Now, he felt it. It was there. The power to do the impossible… so close it felt like it was pulsing beneath his fingers.
When the clock finally seemed to run out of time, Nikolai knew: it was time.
The bear lifted its heavy head, staring at him with that dark eye like night, which seemed to hold a silent understanding. There was no need for a response. The slight tilt of the head was all Nikolai needed to know Ashen understood.
It had been four days outside. But inside, in the confinement of that anomalous room, time had stretched like a tense bowstring: four full weeks of sweat, pain, and discipline. Every second had been spent honing muscle, mind, and magic. Nikolai was no longer the same insecure and lost boy who had entered. He felt ready — or at least ready enough to no longer be a burden to his team.
After the first five days, he had dedicated himself exclusively to exploring the spells contained in Marya's book. His body still remembered the effort, muscles stiff as if bearing invisible marks of fire. Testing those magical formulas wasn't just tiring: it was exhausting to the point of pushing him to the brink with every spell cast.
"Well… we've tested the most basic spells already. Maybe it's time to try that one." — Nikolai murmured, fatigue and anticipation intertwining in his voice.
He took a deep breath, watching the protection circle still glowing on the floor from his last test.
In the past weeks of training, he had managed to master some peculiar spells — and each one carried a value he knew was essential to the group's survival.
Unfortunately, all the spells he had learned fell under what the book referred to as "basic."
However, even though they were treated as simple, it was clear to him that in practice, they were at least intermediate level — perhaps even advanced.
Nikolai was almost certain that the categorization in that book was wrong; after all, the complexity and high energy cost suggested something far beyond the basic.
The first spell he had learned had become his obsession: weapon and armor reinforcement.
He felt confident enchanting steel and leather until they shimmered with a subtle — almost invisible — energy.
The act of casting the spell gave him the sensation of becoming a true human shield. The protection formed like a magnetic field clinging to his skin and armor, repelling both crushing and cutting attacks.
The defensive capability was proportional to the amount of refined magic applied in the process, which made him feel there was always room for improvement.
In fact, he only stopped focusing on that spell because he knew he wouldn't have enough time to explore others. Even so, he was proud of the effort he had put into it — and that effort directly reflected in his physical endurance.
Without a doubt, it was the spell he had trained the most. He had repeated it to exhaustion, to the point that it became the most reliable in his entire repertoire.
Then came the more delicate part: healing and magical shielding.
Nikolai had insisted on these — not out of vanity, but because of a sensitive line of reasoning.
Daria carried the burden of being the only one with exceptional healing magic. Ekaterina, in turn, always put herself in front of everyone, being the only one able to raise a magical shield.
If he could share a bit of their burden — or better yet, not need their help — he would feel more worthy in his own eyes.
Nikolai knew that, although he was part of a team with well-defined roles, he was the youngest among them. And for that reason, he felt obligated to be as independent as possible.
He understood he needed to be useful in his position — but above all, he didn't want to be a burden to anyone. Under no circumstances.
Even so, he couldn't ignore an uncomfortable truth: he needed offensive spells.
Only defense and protection wouldn't make him worthy of the role of ranged damage dealer.
To fill that gap, two bolder spells had caught his attention:
The electric arrow — a discharge that tore through the air with thunderous speed — and shot multiplication, a brutal spell that turned a single shot into a rain of projectiles.
Both were devastating, but the price… the price was nearly unbearable.
Each combined casting drained his energy as if tearing away pieces of his very essence. After three uses, he could barely stand.
The magic was classified as basic, but without a doubt, that was far from true — at least for him.
Still, he had noticed something curious: the body adapted.
What once brought him to his knees after just a few tries now only left him dazed. It was as if he were developing resistance —
like a warrior building calluses after hundreds of sword strikes,
or like a rope stretched to its limit…
…until, with each new attempt, that limit extended a little further.
But how far could that go?
Nikolai knew his training was still incomplete.
He had mastered the formulas, understood the gestures, and could feel the mana pulsing beneath his skin like an electric current.
But what were words and practice worth in the heat of real battle?
He had never faced real enemies.
Never felt the weight of casting a spell when someone's life — or his own — depended on it.
He was starting to understand that the room had been a blessing…
…but it could also be a trap: of ego, overconfidence, and miscalculated mistakes.
He closed his eyes in deep thought, clenched his fists, and muttered to himself:
"In the end… I still don't know if these spells are truly strong… or just illusions of power."
Ashen responded with a low growl of approval. The bear had also undergone part of the training: Nikolai had taught him to cast spells, albeit with difficulty. The healing spell, for some reason, had come most naturally to him. The great beast performed it as if born for it, his body sparkling with greenish energy.
Nikolai ran his hand through his companion's fur, taking a deep breath.
"Well then…"
he murmured, settling on the floor.
"I think I'll cast it sitting down. After all, I have no idea what's going to happen."
He closed his eyes, his hands tracing in the air the symbols described in the book — a way to engrave and rehearse them before the real challenge. Energy tingled beneath his skin, rising like invisible flames. The atmosphere grew heavy, the air dense like the moment before a storm. Even Ashen, always unshakable, stood up and took a step back, his muscles tense as if sensing the arrival of something greater.
And when Nikolai spoke the first syllables of the forbidden spell, the silence shattered like glass — and the room itself seemed to hold its breath.
Nikolai ignored all other spells. Reinforcement, electric arrow, shot multiplication — none of them mattered now.
If there was an answer to what he had read in the accounts about Marya, it would be on that last page.
He remembered well the reports that echoed through the fort's halls: they said Marya tamed two giant white bears at once, as if it were the most natural of feats.
But no living person had actually witnessed it. It was just a story, repeated in the Book of Truth, recorded in the official annals until it became almost dogma.
To Nikolai, it made no sense.
Not even the most powerful deviants would be able to control two creatures of that size… unless there was a trick.
And the trick, he believed, was in the final line of the book.
"Kalabam…"
he murmured, slowly pronouncing the end of the spell, feeling each syllable vibrate within his chest.
"What an interesting name."
The words didn't belong to any language Nikolai knew, yet the understanding flowed by instinct. It was as if the sound were too ancient to have ever been learned — something inherited in the blood, dormant until now. The strangest part was not only that he understood it, but that he felt certain he was pronouncing it correctly.
He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and said:
"Well… I think I get it. Alexandra, please, start the final simulation. The Great Blockade."
The room grew warmer, as if the air had been drained. The walls flickered in deep red, embers ready to consume everything around. In the blink of an eye, Nikolai was no longer in the room: before him stretched a chain of volcanoes, spewing smoke and lava at irregular intervals, illuminating a barren plain of sulfur and ash.
The "Great Blockade." The ultimate test. The final challenge.
No strategy. No tricks. Just endurance. To stand firm like a lone fortress against endless waves, until the flesh gave out, until the mana was consumed, until the body was crushed beneath the weight of resistance — ending the simulation and generating the final score.
Alexandra, the ethereal voice of the simulation, echoed with the cruel calm of an executioner reading a sentence:
" Understood. Initializing creation of the putrid horde of chaos."
The wind blew thick with dust and glowing ash. The air tasted of iron and sulfur, burning his throat with every breath. The ground vibrated beneath his feet, pulsing as if something enormous were marching in the earth's depths.
Nikolai closed his eyes for a moment. The image from the book — that impossible image of two tamed bears — flashed in his mind.
Was the spell "Kalabam" the secret?
Or had she truly tamed two bears?
If there was ever a time to find out, it was now.
On the horizon, the drums began. Deep, heavy, like thunder beating in the cadence of war. Each strike seemed to crush Nikolai's chest, reminding him of the inevitability of what approached.
"Starting simulation. Good luck." — said Alexandra, emotionless.
The ground split. The first cracks spat fire, and from them emerged black, deformed silhouettes, burning like living coal. Creatures with broken horns, hollow eyes, and flaming mouths stumbled forward, their claws scraping against volcanic stone, leaving glowing trails behind them.
The horde had awakened.
The Horde of Chaos was the name the pioneers of Svarog gave the creatures that inhabited what they later called the final level.
The creatures of that floor never rose to the Cold,
but they also never allowed outsiders to remain —
or even enter their territory in search of new paths.
Not without blood.
Not without sweat.
In Svarog, only the top ten in the rankings had permission — and the ability — to descend to that level and face such monsters.
Even so, they rarely ventured there. The putrid and corrupted flesh of those creatures made them worthless: nothing good could be extracted from them, no real value — except for the exploration of a hostile territory, marked by volcanoes and a land devastated by fire and sulfur.
Over time, the floor was ignored. A forgotten level, untouched, buried under the weight of fear… and indifference.
It ended up becoming the "final level" for a simple reason:
the lack of interest from the powerful in uncovering what lay beneath it.
Nikolai raised his hand, his heart pounding like a drum in his chest. The suffocating heat made the air shimmer, rippling as if space itself were about to shatter. The roars of the horde merged with the thunder of the drums, until there was no longer a difference between war music and the screams of hell.
He couldn't back down. Not now.
His fingers traced the symbols in the air with precise, almost instinctive speed. Every movement, sharp as a swordsman's blade, had been repeated dozens of times within the confinement of his room. Now, however, there was no room for error.
Energy gathered around his palm, pulsing in unstable concentric circles of light, as if the world had found a new beating heart.
His body trembled under the pressure, his veins glowing with prismatic colors in indescribable contrast. His eyes burned, but he kept chanting ancient syllables that belonged to no known language. The sound reverberated through the stones, and even the creatures hesitated, stepping back, like animals sensing a storm they could feel — but not understand.
And then, at the peak, Nikolai's throat burst into a roar:
"KALABAM!"
_________________________________________________________________________
"Today is his last day…"
Kolya murmured to herself, lost in thought.
The boy from Room 12. He wasn't someone who, at first glance, had done anything extraordinary. Yes, for a first attempt, his performance had been well above average — perhaps "exceptional" was the right word.
But, analyzed coldly, his achievements were things others had already accomplished… even within his own generation.
And yet… something gave her chills. Every time she watched the boy's simulation, the hairs on her neck stood up as if responding to some invisible force.
Of course, her access was limited — old restrictions imposed by her own family, barriers built over decades of control. But even within those limitations, what she saw was breathtaking.
"A rough gem, opaque… but if polished… could be one of a kind." — she murmured.
"Miss Kolya?" — an older woman's voice pulled her back. — "You were talking about the cost of the room for my sister."
Kolya looked up. She knew that type well: wealthy families, willing to pay any price for one more chance for their children or siblings.
From the quick assessment she had made of the girl, an extra week wouldn't make much difference — still, she accepted the deal.
Svarog was separate from Medved, and maintaining such a benefit required money. A lot of money.
There was a time when her family was exempt from the fee.
After all, they were powerful — and cruel — in measures so incomprehensible that the mere mention of their names stirred fear and respect, even among the highest northern council.
But that was long ago.
Despite being strong, Kolya Feodorovna was, above all, a lover — not a warrior. And as such, she chose management over power.
Some decisions, she never regretted. This was one of them.
"Of course. One day in the Rehearsal Room costs twelve silver pieces.
But since your family is a regular client — and I've known you for decades — let's settle at eight."
In the North, the Triad — and before it, the Czars — offered a small allowance to those who were not yet citizens.
It was a way to ensure that even the weakest and poorest had access to the bare minimum.
That minimum, however, meant only subsistence. Nothing beyond that.
When, finally, they went through the Berlóga process and became citizens, a new door opened.
For some, the path was smooth and clear. For others, filled with thorns and falls.
After all, with the end of the basic aid, the youth were thrown into the adult world.
The luckiest had families who paved the way — turning dense forest into a walk on the beach.
But for the majority, without such support, only their own strength and ability remained.
It was a cruel system, and even Kolya considered it inhumane.
The deaths in Svarog before her followed a silent logic: the poorest died first.
That was the rule. Never the exception.
It had cost Kolya a great deal of money and effort to offer what she considered the bare minimum: a chance for the underprivileged.
To use the rehearsal room for free — at least once.
She believed everyone should start the same way. And that belief was unshakable.
Of course, it had never made her naive.
For those she knew could pay, the money was always welcome.
In Svarog, just like in Medved, gold, silver, and bronze were the standard currencies — each with its meaning and luster.
The price Kolya charged was not fair.
But for the wealthy, it was merely the cost of something they could pay for without a second thought.
For the poor, each coin, even a bronze one, meant sweat, hunting, and blood.
For the rich, it was just old money forgotten in marble drawers.
"Sister, that's too expensive! Why can't I train with you instead?"
"You need to train here." — the older one replied firmly. — "The opportunities and insights you'll gain in this place are unique. Down there, there are no second chances.
Either way, Dad already sent the amount for three days. We accept. Here's the ring — you can check it."
Kolya stepped closer, her lips damp with anticipation. An easy deal — a rarity in her daily routine.
But then… something changed.
The air grew heavy, vibrating with a raw energy that rose like an uncontrollable tide. The ground trembled beneath her feet.
"Are we… under attack?" — she whispered.
Her instincts swept the hall until they found the source. The aura was so intense it burned like sunlight in the dead of winter.
"Room 12…" — her eyes widened. — "What the hell is happening here?!"
Before she could move forward, the roar of an explosion split the air. The door was hurled toward her with devastating force. Kolya raised her arm, and a translucent shield shimmered at the last moment, deflecting shards of wood and stone fragments.
The two sisters and their blue bears panicked and fled down the stairs, their footsteps echoing in fear, leaving Kolya alone in the face of chaos.
The sight froze her: Room 12 was in ruins, completely destroyed. The walls smoked, the ceiling had split open with black cracks, and mana still crackled in the air like trapped lightning.
"What kind of power is this…?" — she murmured, stepping forward.
Among the ashes, she found the boy and his bonded creature unconscious, covered in soot. They were breathing, but utterly exhausted, as if their very spirits had been drained in an instant.
"Alexandra… Bisa… what happened here?!" — Kolya's voice broke, overtaken by disbelief.
The reply came mechanical, broken, as if the circuits of reality itself had been corrupted:
"LIMIT EXCEEDED. DATA CORRUPTED."
And then, among the wreckage, the mission hologram flickered to life in the air, cold and merciless:
"Final mission: COMPLETE."
Kolya's eyes widened. The problem wasn't the completion — it was its impossibility.
"But… how…?" — her hands trembled. — "This is… impossible."
For the first time in her life, Kolya Feodorovna — always sharp, always proud of her intellect and ability, even over raw power — had no answer.
The woman who bore the certainty of Svarog in her blood now faced an enigma that not even her lineage could explain.