The Verdant Shroud no longer tested strength. It tested sanity.
By the fourth day, the competition had warped beyond recognition. It was no longer a battle for dominance—it was a slow, agonizing spiral into paranoia, desperation, and chaos.
It started with whispers.
Faint murmurs drifted through the jungle, impossible to pinpoint. At first, competitors dismissed them as tricks of the wind. But then they grew louder. So claid to hear their fallen comrades. Others swore the voices whispered secrets only they could know.
Then ca the illusions.
In the mist-covered clearings and the shadowed groves, figures moved where there should be none. So were specters of the past, familiar faces that sent warriors into blind chases. Others were twisted reflections, showing rivals where they should not be, provoking sudden, violent attacks.
The Verdant Shroud had beco a crucible of madness.
---
Rael Aldreth’s camp—once an unshakable fortress—began to fracture. His faction had swelled in numbers, bolstered by the desperate and the ambitious. But loyalty bought with antidotes and protection was fickle.
When a scout returned with a half-mad expression, raving about enemies lurking in the trees, Rael ordered a lockdown. But his people were already on edge. One night, a figure appeared in their midst—unannounced, silent. Before anyone could react, he slit a sentry’s throat.
Panic erupted. Blades clashed in the dark. By the ti Rael restored order, five of his n were dead—and there had been no intruder.
He had seen it with his own eyes. The killer was one of their own.
---
Lucian Valecourt’s warband had thrived on aggression. They had stord through the trial, eliminating competitors with brutal efficiency. But now, their strength turned against them.
It started with a duel—two warriors accusing each other of sabotage. Then another. Soon, Lucian was forced to personally cut down a forr ally, his blade eting flesh in the cold silence of dawn.
The bodies piled up.
And yet, when Lucian counted his n that evening, the number hadn’t changed.
They had killed five, but soone new had taken their place.
No one could recall his face.
---
Seraphina Ravencroft thrived in the chaos. Where others succumbed, she adapted. The Verdant Shroud was playing tricks, but so was she.
She wove deception into deception, appearing before struggling parties as an ally—only to vanish as they turned on each other. She left false trails, stole supplies, whispered in the dark to drive the weak to madness.
But as she watched a once-formidable faction tear itself apart, she felt sothing brush against her mind.
A voice.
Not the Verdant Shroud’s whispers.
Sothing deeper. Older.
And it was laughing.
---
As the jungle turned into a battlefield of insanity, the parties still standing turned on each other in full force.
Rael’s faction, weakened by betrayal, found itself under siege by a coalition of smaller groups who had once sworn loyalty. The battle was bloody, fought with desperation. Rael cut through the ranks with a fury unmatched—but he could feel it. They weren’t just fighting for victory anymore. They were fighting to escape.
Lucian’s warriors, no longer trusting their own shadows, descended into open war with a neighboring faction. Their battlefield was a flooded valley, bodies sinking beneath the water as they drowned each other in terror-fueled rage.
Seraphina, watching from above, saw the chaos unfolding and realized—this was no accident.
The Verdant Shroud wasn’t just testing them.
It was enjoying this.
---
The floating screens in the coliseum flickered. The Royal Academy officials murmured among themselves. The trial had claid more competitors in the past twelve hours than in the previous three days combined.
And yet, not a single beast had appeared.
No outside force had struck.
They were all killing each other.
The king leaned forward, his voice unreadable.
"Now this... this is true warfare."
And as the sun set over the bloodstained jungle, those who remained standing realize
d a horrifying truth.
The Verdant Shroud had broken them.
And it was not finished yet.
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