The only real danger in this place… is us.
Each other.
And at the same time, the final objective of these trials is death—for nearly everyone.
When I really think about it… Were we really expected to whittle our numbers down to just seven as quickly as possible? Was that the only way to escape this endless torment, to avoid enduring this living nightmare for an entire year?
And if that truly was the plan, then how was I supposed to go about it? If I openly made a move to eliminate these people, I'd instantly become a walking target—an unpredictable threat that everyone would want to wipe out before I could turn on them.
I'd also made the mistake of forgetting one crucial fact: every single person here is just as skilled at killing as I am. None of them are easy prey. Which means my original plan isn't just a good option—it's the only option I have left.
I have to make myself indispensable. Someone worth keeping around. An asset, not a liability. And if possible… someone worthy of respect.
And what's the first step to making that happen?
Simple—the easiest, most obvious method that anyone in this situation would think of…
Suddenly, just above me and slightly to the left, a sharp kick strikes someone square in the face, sending them tumbling. Their grip fails instantly.
There it is—the perfect moment I've been waiting for.
Without a second thought, I spring into action, moving with calculated precision. My hand shoots out, fingers locking around the boy's wrist just as he plunges downward. With a sharp yank, I pull him back, guiding his fingers toward the protruding wooden beam. His grip wavers for a split second before he latches on.
All the while, my mind remains razor-sharp, instincts screaming a single command—keep climbing. Never stop. Not even for a second.
But my actions don't go unnoticed. A group above us has witnessed everything—the ones responsible for the attack… Their piercing glares, filled with irritation and barely veiled hostility, make one thing abundantly clear: they're already operating as a team, eliminating anyone they deem unnecessary.
That's the consequence I've willingly accepted.
With only seven people set to survive in the end, it's impossible to play the role of a benevolent savior to everyone. No, I have to be smart about this—I have to pick a side.
And I will align myself with those who need me the most, the ones desperate enough to accept my help.
~~~~~
"I don't need your help."
And that's all what I get from the one I just saved.
"Just shut the fuck up and keep climbing," So I reply, keeping my tone as steady and neutral as possible, neither too firm nor too soft. There's no need to let my voice betray anything unnecessary—no desperation, no insistence, just a simple statement.
Well, I mean as long as my actions don't come across as an obvious attempt to curry favor or force goodwill, there's no real risk in how he responds. Hell, if I were in his position, I probably would've said the same thing.
After all, in a place like this, kindness feels more like a trap than a lifeline. Nobody wants to owe anyone anything, not when a single misstep could mean death.
Still, I can't linger.
Staying too close to him might raise suspicion, and the last thing I need is to draw too much unnecessary attention to those already scheming to play dirty. So I adjust this grip, pushing myself upward while subtly putting distance between us. My goal is clear—find a quieter, less crowded spot where I can observe without immediately becoming someone's next target.
An hour has passed since that incident. My breath comes in ragged gasps, and sweat slicks my palms, making every grip feel precarious.
Then, out of nowhere, a voice breaks through the heavy silence beside me—a boy I haven't seen before.
"I'm kinda pissed that you saved him... I mean, the faster these people get eliminated, the sooner we get out of this place."
His words are blunt, direct—and annoyingly difficult to refute. He isn't wrong. The sooner our numbers dwindle, the sooner this torment ends.
But what good is an early escape if I'm not one of the ones making it out?
So I take a measured breath, then answer with deliberate weight behind my words. "If you've got a problem with my decision, you're always welcome to try and push me off."
…Alright. Maybe that came off a little stronger than I intended.
But instead of taking offense, he simply chuckles.
"Relax... I wasn't trying to start anything. I'm just curious—why pull off that little hero act back there?"
I let out a slow breath, keeping my grip steady as I climb. "I just don't like the way they play their game. And I'd be a hell of a lot more pissed if scum like them were the ones who made it out of here alive."
He nods slightly, as if considering my words. "I get where you're coming from. But if you keep that up, you're just painting a target on your back."
"Then why not flip the script?" I shoot him a sideways glance. "Why don't we be the ones throwing them off instead?"
For a brief moment, he's silent—then, his lips curl into a knowing grin.
"Now that," he muses, voice laced with amusement, "is an idea I can get behind."
"I'm not used to the bad guys winning in my fights… and I have to get out of this place. There are people out there, just like them, living comfortably while they deserve worse."
The boy keeps talking, his words spilling out like an open wound, but I don't mind. There's something raw about him—something real. He isn't a monster hiding behind a mask. I can feel it.
I've made up my mind.
I'm going to befriend this guy.
~~~~~
"Deon Ravenheart."
"Sigvald Bloodgale… So? What's the plan?"
"Right… About that…"
The longer we talk, the more obvious it becomes just how exhausted we really are. I catch myself more than once, my words trailing off mid-sentence as my brain struggles to juggle both speaking and figuring out where to place my hands and feet next.
But the kid beside me understands. He feels the same exhaustion, no doubt. So instead of rushing me, he simply waits, patient as if this were the most natural thing in the world.
"I'm sure you realize we can't kill them now—not here. And the same goes for those bastards. Everyone's too damn tired, just barely clinging on to survive, let alone trying to throw someone else off." I explain, sharing my perspective.
"Yeah… makes sense."
"So for now, we focus on getting through this round. Staying alive for the next challenge. And I suggest you don't go actively recruiting anyone just yet. Don't invite anyone into your group. Don't let anyone know we're working together."
"Right… That actually makes a lot of sense. I'll take your advice."
Sigvald's grip falters for a split second as he speaks, but he quickly recovers, letting out a breathless chuckle. "Damn, I'm really at my limit. You're right—we should just focus on survival for now."
"Yep."
"Alright then, I'll put some distance between us. See you later, Deon."
"Sure… Stay alive, my friend."
I try to sound casual, confident even—but the slight tremor in my voice betrays me.
I never would've expected to gain an ally this quickly... Maybe Siona would be willing to join too if I ask her.
Meanwhile, Gideon? I'm not so sure. He's the type to latch onto someone stronger than him, a parasite looking for an easy way to survive. And the worst part? He doesn't even try to hide it. He makes it painfully obvious that he'll do whatever it takes—no matter how underhanded—to get what he wants.
So the smart move would be to keep him at arm's length. Not as an ally, but not as an enemy either. I'll only kill him when the timing is right—when his schemes become a direct threat to me.
For now, though, my priority is making sure I don't burn through all my stamina points. If my calculations are correct, there should only be about thirty minutes left before this climbing phase finally ends… My remaining eleven points should be enough to last until then. All thanks to the mini status bar that automatically pops up in front of me. Most likely, it's triggered because my SP has dropped low enough to activate an automatic reminder notification.
╔══════════════════════════════════════════ ══╗
║ ⌈ Status Window ⌋ ║
╠══════════════════════════════════════════ ══╣
║ ▶ HP: **72 / 125** ║
║ ▶ SP: **11 / 182** ║
╚══════════════════════════════════════════ ══╝
But then, a realization hits me. If I've burned through my stamina points this quickly—dropping from 40 all the way down to just eleven—then that girl… she has to be on the verge of passing out by now.
"Shit..." My eyes darted around frantically, scanning the area for any sign of Siona.
And once I spot the girl, I maneuver toward her. But as soon as I get close enough to see her status bar, it's not her SP that's low…
Instead, it's her HP.
╔══════════════════════════════════════════ ══╗
║ ⌈ Status Window ⌋ ║
╠══════════════════════════════════════════ ══╣
║ ▶ HP: **4 / 210** ║
║ ▶ SP: **19 / 130** ║
╚══════════════════════════════════════════ ══╝
"How many times have you used that magic?" I ask before she even realizes I'm near, causing Siona to jolt in surprise.
"I don't remember exactly… Maybe three times?"
"Isn't that a bit excessive? Your HP is way too low because of it."
"Yeah, one hit and I'm dead." Somehow, she laughs.
At the same time, we watch as four people lose their grip one after another, their bodies dropping silently with their eyes shut—no screams, no struggle. A clear sign they've already passed out from exhaustion.
"See? This is still better than ending up like them, right?"
"But with HP that low, you'll be an easy target for anyone looking to kill." I counter firmly, but she just shakes her head.
"I don't know if I can win against these people in a fight… but neither do they."
"It's not about that… If they see your status bar like this, anyone would take the chance to finish you off." I pause, a thought suddenly striking me. "Is there no way to hide your status bar from others? Or at least stop it from triggering automatically?"
Siona tilts her head in confusion at my question, which I take as a silent no.
And at last, this trial comes to an end, with a total of six people falling into the dark pit—bodies discarded, not even worth the elders' effort to retrieve.
Up on the magic platform, no one's trying to push anyone else off anymore. Everyone's far too exhausted, barely able to move as they lie sprawled out, gasping for breath.
Also unlike before, where we're forced to jump straight from one challenge to the next without a break, this time, however, we're given a full hour to recover in the cafeteria.
That's when I deliberately take my time walking around, observing the room—who's sitting with who, which groups are forming—before finally taking my turn at the food counter. I pile my tray high, despite knowing full well that every dish available looks, smells, and tastes no better than trash.
As I eat, I take another look around, this time focusing on the parts of the room I haven't noticed before—the areas where many people sit alone, isolating themselves in the farthest corners, while others choose not to eat at all.
Then three tables to my right, I spot the boy I saved earlier, sitting among the loners. Meanwhile, two tables in front of me, Sigvald sits with his friends. Our eyes meet for a brief second, a silent nod exchanged between us before we both go back to pretending we don't know each other.
Gideon's probably gathered with his group, and honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if they're scheming right now—plotting how to kill off everyone else to ensure their victory.
As for me, I sit here with Siona. She still looks pale, which makes sense—considering she's really on the verge of death.
And as I keep watching, that thought resurfaces once more…
That everyone here—myself included—was a killer. People born to kill, people who knew nothing else but how to take a life. That was all we were capable of. But then I recall Sigvald's words… Something about not letting the worst of us make it out alive.
It's such a subjective notion—far too easy to twist. Because even if we somehow manage to cull the cruelest, most depraved among us, the rest would still have to keep killing just to survive. And in the end, the ones who did the killing would be no different. What does it even mean to be "less evil" in a place like this?
In a den full of murderers, is there really anyone left who can be called good?
I chuckle under my breath, the absurdity of that thought sinking in.
Of course not.
No matter the reason, no matter the justification, everyone here has killed. That alone makes us all bad people.
If anything, what that kid—Sigvald Bloodgale—truly wants isn't to stop the wicked from winning. He just doesn't want someone worse than him to walk away victorious. Or maybe it's simpler than that. Maybe he's just a bad person who despises the way other bad people do their bad things. And honestly? I'm no different.
Hah… What the hell am I even talking about?
I just want to get out of here alive.
That's all…
And if the chance presents itself, I'll try to live a normal life in this world. Maybe—just maybe—I can treat this whole ordeal as the start of my retirement. After all, I'm stuck in a kid's body. If I play my cards right, I could reshape my entire future… Fuck that, I could even become a florist if I really wanted to.
Damn, now that's an enticing thought…
Well, of course, I lied about retiring—let alone becoming a florist. I was born with a mind that thrives on brawl and killing, so there's no way I could ever escape my own addiction.
But the point still stands—I want to survive this place even more!
"Time's up! Everyone, line up!"
The frail, raspy voice of the old man echoes through the cafeteria, forcing all of us to rise from our seats. I don't even get the chance to finish my meal, but my hands are already shoving the leftovers into the trash.
I guess it's time to find out what the third trial has in store for us.
~~~~~