He said, "Trials? I didn't sign up for this shit."
His eyes widened with rage.
He was clearly furious. He had just been burned, and now they were already talking about another test.
She replied, "Well, you can still leave."
Her sharp jawline tilted forward, her beautiful mouth curling into a slight smile. Her icy blue eyes were wide open, and she had a smug expression on her face.
"Oh, after you already burned me?" he responded sarcastically.
He thought to himself, What if I fail? Would I have been burned for nothing?!
He couldn't accept it. No, no… he wouldn't fail.
She said, "You can set up camp. The trials will be held here in 24 hours. Failure to enter on time will count as a forfeit."
Confused and scared, he still set up camp.
Sleep eluded him as he lay awake.
His mind was racing, full of conflicting thoughts. I should've done better. I've trained my entire life for this exact moment. Was it all for nothing? Was my effort useless?
I was the chosen one. The voice picked me, not anyone else.
Others can afford to fail, but I can't. My village has chosen me. I'm their only hope.
He stayed awake, thinking about everything in his life.
The first day was a mess. First, I fought that ridiculously strong beast. Then I thought people would help me, but they didn't. And now, I have to prepare for trials I know nothing about.
He woke up after only three hours of sleep.
He ate some strange meat that felt like rubber and tasted raw.
He drank water that tasted contaminated. He always thought water had no taste, but this was off-putting.
He finally left his tent to face the trials.
His legs felt like they weren't moving.
With every step, it felt like nails were under him.
His arms felt like they were made of heavy metal, as if some parts were missing.
24 hours had passed. He was eager to finish this, but also terrified of what was to come.
He wasn't ready when he saw… another swordsman waiting for him.
They threw him a sword.
He felt out of breath. Shocked.
Fuck. I'm hyperventilating. My breath is shallow. This is going to make me weak, but I should still be able to win.
His stomach growled from hunger.
His throat felt dry as if he were in the desert.
Though there were food and drinks available, he couldn't stomach them. They were disgusting.
He thought, I made a mistake not eating and drinking enough.
But most importantly, he was truly out of it. His head felt cloudy, and his body seemed to be barely holding together.
Every step felt heavy and robotic.
He heard dozens of men shouting, "FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!"
The noise shook him out of his daze, but it wasn't enough.
The sword felt heavier than it should. He'd never seriously fought another human before.
How am I supposed to have killing intent against someone of my own race?!
He realized he wasn't ready. But it was too late now.
"If you survive, you'll be one of us," the other swordsman said.
Before he could even think, the attack came.
The enemy swordsman was fast and strong.
The strikes came from every direction, like a storm.
But his sword stood firm, blocking each strike. He was on the defensive the entire time.
The attacks hitting his guard felt... heavier than they should have.
Strange, he thought. These attacks shouldn't carry this much weight. I've parried attacks with more force than this.
He realized, Oh... it's exhaustion.
He was redirecting every attack, but somehow couldn't create an opening.
He's good. Even though my parries should have opened up chances for a counterattack, his fighting style cancels them out.
Our hero kept trying to dodge, block, and parry everything.
He was doing his best, but it wasn't enough. His movements were slow and sluggish.
At this rate, he'd definitely lose.
His movements were sluggish.
His best would be useless if he kept going like this.
As long as he didn't attack, he'd lose. But he had never struck another person with a sword before.
He thought, Shit, what if I kill him? Or—what if he kills me?!
A strong sidekick interrupted his thoughts.
He had blocked all the sword attacks so far but wasn't prepared for the kick.
He could have dodged it, but his reactions were delayed. Everything felt off. He felt like he wasn't even part of the fight.
He was running on fumes.
That's not fair. They're playing dirty!
Another sword attack came.
He put his sword out to block it.
It hit his sword like a wave crashing against a boulder.
His grip loosened.
Before he knew it, his sword flew out of his hands.
His eyes narrowed, his hands shaking. He was in shock.
His breathing became more uneven and strained.
He got punched and then kicked—both strikes hitting him in the face.
He hit the ground, blood flowing from his mouth.
His body ached, swollen and red.
His eyes were bloodshot from sweat and dust. They stung and burned.
Then, he felt the cold blade pressed against his throat.
He wasn't ready to hear...
"You have now failed. Leave. Weak people will only be a burden to us."