He went there hoping to find others—anyone who could help him.
Though hesitant, each step he took was driven by whispered mantras, soft and shaky:
"United we stand… divided we fall…"
His hand trembled.
The last encounter had rattled him to his core.
He felt unworthy—like even his own body was rejecting him.
Something inside him felt broken, off-balance.
But forward was the only direction left.
He finally reached the fire—hesitant, shaky, but still willing to look.
As he glanced around the area, just before his eyes could focus on the figures nearby—
An arrow flew.
He sidestepped out of pure instinct.
It grazed him, slicing a chunk off his cape.
He opened his mouth to speak—
But no words came out.
They clung to his throat like they were too scared to leave.
Then he saw them—uncanny, masked figures emerging from the shadows.
They wore red and white horned masks.
Their bodies were fully covered in some kind of tangled, brownish-green foliage.
Not an inch of skin in sight.
Wait…
That's how Master described demons.
But something felt… off.
Their size. Their posture. Their movement.
They looked human.
Before he could piece it together, one of them removed her mask.
She was human.
"Everyone calm down," she said. "He's probably human too…
But he might also be… a shapeshifter.
Stay alert. Don't let your guard down for even a second."
He realized he was completely surrounded.
They look like warriors, he thought, but I can probably take them on.
His narrowed eyes, rapid breathing, and trembling hand said otherwise.
I get why they're suspicious, he thought. But what can I even do about it?
Out loud, he said, "Y'all, I swear I'm not a shapeshifter. I swear on my sword."
She shot back, "Then you'll survive the test."
Every single one of them raised their hands—each marked with an old burn around the wrist.
All of them. Same spot. Same scar,
proof of thier humanity.
"Humans don't have innate strengths or weaknesses," she said. "Fire doesn't bother us much.
But shapeshifters? They were born in the Northern Iceths—
Back when those lands were still frozen.
Even a spark of flame can melt them."
The Northern Iceths… melt through them? Burn marks?
This is… a lot.
"So you want me to burn myself?" he asked.
"Yeah, pretty much," she replied.
"You're insane," he said.
She shrugged. "Then leave.
Or do what needs to be done."
He sighed.
Thought it through.
After everything that just happened—what other choice did he have?
He opened his mouth to confirm… and stuttered.
But he forced the words out anyway:
"I will not fight this wasteland alone."
She turned and yelled, "Everyone, ready your bows!"
Dozens of archers on the cliffs above pulled back their strings—
Arrows aimed squarely at his head.
The weight of it hit him.
Like his life was no longer in his hands.
She bent down, picked up a stick from the dirt, and whispered:
"私は地獄の底から神の力を引き出す."
The stick ignited—blue flames dancing around it.
Pyromancy?! he thought, startled.
"Didn't know you were a mage class," he muttered,
Trying to distract himself from the fact that he was about to be burned alive.
She raised an eyebrow, visibly annoyed.
"You think I survived out here by being what? A damsel in distress?"
She stepped forward.
"Give me your hand," she ordered.
He held it out.
She pressed the flaming stick against his skin.
Agony.
The most intense pain he'd ever felt surged through him.
He screamed as his skin scorched, blistering under the flame.
But… he didn't melt.
She nodded.
"Huh. I guess you're human then."
She stepped back.
"But rest up," she added.
"The trials begin soon.
They'll decide your fate."