If there was one thing Harley didn't like about the way the trial was, it was the fact that everyone was actually like real people. Perhaps knowing that they were all an illusion made it easier, but they all had lives that they thought were real.
And he had no one to vent to in this place. No one knew who he was or that someone like him could even exist.
"Why are you spaced out?" A feminine voice caught Harley out of his daze, and he looked up to see a beautiful woman in front of him. He instantly snapped back to reality.
"Oh, I was just thinking." He flashed a smile, making the princess nod.
Before he knew it, they emerged from a wide tunnel, and he couldn't believe his eyes.
"It's like… a whole city down here." He was in awe seeing the vast underground layout. There were people everywhere and there were stalls too—blacksmiths, carpenters, forgers—all here underground.
He could see tall pillars that had dents on them like they were carved… or stones were carved out of them.
He couldn't even see from one end to the other. Insane view right here.
"Welcome to the resistance." The princess smiled, and instantly a group of people close by noticed her and rushed toward the both of them.
"Princess! You're back!"
"Princess!"
The mob started gathering around them, and Harley watched as the 'Princess' gave all of them happy smiles and checked if they were all okay.
"Excuse me, do you mind if I see your seer?" Harley asked, tapping her shoulder.
He had a gentle smile on his face, making the princess raise her brow.
"What would you want to see her for?" the princess asked, turning forward to pet a kid that hugged her leg.
"Well, I just need to know something. My village was burned down, and there's something important I need to know." He explained, giving the little kid a wicked eye to leave the princess.
"Ah, she's busy as of this moment. Come back in a while. For now, go meet the warriors on that other side. If you want to help, you have to be at your best." She smiled, walking away.
Harley fought back the urge to pull his hair in frustration. He only cared about completing this trial before the time was up. He didn't have time for any of this.
Soon, he found himself standing in the same position for the next few minutes, contemplating what to do now.
'I was told to find "Help" and kill the godsworn. I have found… Help?' A confused expression dawned on his face, and he looked at the princess walking towards a large tent.
'Help? Would they help me? Would anyone here help me?' He smirked, shaking his head.
He simply made his way to where the other warriors were training.
Harley made his way toward the far side of the underground plaza, where the rhythmic clash of steel and grunts of effort resounded far and wide. The training grounds were little more than a wide circle of packed earth ringed by stacked crates and low stone walls—practical. Torches and glowing crystal veins in the cavern ceiling bathed everything in a warm, flickering amber light.
Crazy how Harley never even looked up to see it before.
A crowd of onlookers had already gathered around the ring, murmuring and cheering in low tones. At the edge stood a woman in dark, fitted armor etched with faint silver runes. She was tall, broad-shouldered, her black hair pulled into a severe braid that reached the small of her back. Her dark-coloured eyes were cold as she watched another pair of warriors come in to clash against each other.
She scanned the newcomers with cool gray eyes, pausing briefly on Harley before dismissing him as just another stray fighter looking for purpose.
'Fair enough.' Harley shrugged, moving to stand with the other warriors that were cheering, and he watched.
Inside the ring two men circled each other, but one of them immediately drew Harley's attention like a magnet.
The rest of the warriors wore mismatched leather and chain, patched cloaks, scarred boots—survivors' gear. This one was different. He wore a simple dark tunic and trousers, no visible armor, no weapon belt. His movements were fluid, almost lazy, yet every time his opponent lunged, the strange man slipped aside with the barest twist of hip or shoulder. He hadn't even drawn the short blade hanging at his hip. He was toying with the other fighter, and the crowd knew it.
"Boooo!" No one was pleased by the performance.
'That guy.'
Harley's eyes narrowed. The man seemed severely out of place. His skin was fair, having zero blemishes or scars. And… he was even more good-looking than Eman.
With eyes that were golden like fire, his hair was as dark as obsidian. Harley couldn't help but think that the man was special.
"Huh!" All of a sudden it hit him.
'He can't be…'
Without thinking too hard about it, Harley stepped forward, shouldering past a couple of spectators.
"Hey," he called, voice carrying just enough to cut through the noise. "Mind if I cut in?"
The current opponent—a stocky man with a scarred cheek—faltered, glancing toward the newcomer. The strange fighter finally stopped moving. He turned slowly, dark eyes settling on Harley.
For a second the ring went quiet.
The knight captain, who was the woman he saw in enchanted armour, lifted one brow but didn't intervene. Interesting.
The stocky fighter grumbled something under his breath, wiped sweat from his brow, and stepped out of the ring with a muttered, "Your funeral, stranger."
Harley hopped the low barrier and landed lightly in the dirt. He kept his hands loose at his sides—no weapon drawn yet.
The young man in front of him seemed to be around his age, with thick hair that was tied in a bun. His stance was flat, as if Harley wasn't a threat to him.
"Name's Harley," he offered with a crooked grin. "You?"
Silence. The young man didn't speak.
Harley nodded, looking around until he saw a metallic sword to the side on the ground, and he picked it up and pointed it at the man.
He moved first—fast, a feint to the left followed by a low sweeping kick meant to test balance. The opponent didn't even blink. He simply stepped over the kick like it was a puddle and countered with an open-palm strike aimed at Harley's sternum.
Harley twisted, caught the wrist, and yanked—trying to unbalance him. The dude flowed with the pull instead of resisting, turning it into a spin that nearly sent Harley stumbling.
'Damn. Stronger than he looked, and slippery.' Harley gritted his teeth.
Finally, they clashed swords.
*Clank!*
The young man seemed to have a smile, seeing that Harley was using all of his strength in the fight.
Meanwhile Harley had a frown on his face.
'He's fast.' He gritted his teeth.
They traded blows for half a minute—testing, probing. The other man was faster, more aggressive. Harley was only able to raise the sword and defend as the man didn't give him space to counter.
Then Harley saw it.
As the man deflected a quick jab, his sleeve rode up just enough. A thin black line—jagged, almost like cracked ink—ran from the back of his wrist and disappeared under the tunic toward his forearm.
Harley's pulse kicked up. The same mark. The same cursed, impossible mark he'd woken up with after the trial began.
He stopped holding back.
Harley blurred—literally. One moment solid, the next a shimmer of displaced air as he activated the trial's gift: invisibility.
He vanished mid-step, making the stranger look around with a serious frown.
Harley reappeared behind the stranger and drove an elbow toward the base of his skull. The man reacted faster than anyone should have—ducking, spinning, lashing out with a backfist that passed through empty space because Harley had already flickered away again.
The crowd gasped. A few people swore.
Harley flickered in low, swept the legs. This time the stranger went down—hard. Before he could roll away, Harley was on him, the silver blade pressed lightly against the side of his throat.
Harley let the invisibility drop totally. He crouched over the man, breathing steady, the edge of the dull-looking sword pressing against his neck.
"Got you," he said quietly.
The stranger didn't struggle. Didn't even look afraid. He simply stared up at Harley, dark eyes flicking once to the blade… then to Harley's own wrist, where the sleeve had ridden up during the fight.
The same black line. They both had the same black line.
For the first time the man spoke. Voice low, rough, like he hadn't used it in days.
"Damn it."
…
A moment later Harley and his new friend sat at a corner, eating what looked like roasted jerky. It didn't taste nice at all.
"What kind of name is Vernox anyway?" Harley asked, looking at the man beside him with a frown.
"It's native." The man replied with a tired tone.
He then turned to look at Harley, then asked, "What scheme are you?"
Harley raised a brow, swallowing the dried meat before answering.
"Scheme 7."
The guy beside him could only sigh, looking at Harley in disappointment.
"Come on. I don't think you know what exactly is waiting for us at the end of the trial." Vernox stood up, making his way out of the ring.