"They are giants, John!" Luke added, his voice trembling slightly with a fear he couldn’t quite mask. "And these ropes? They’re like a spider web to them! If they wanted to, they could easily break free and crush us in our sleep!"
"Hey, my ropes are sturdy and strong!" Elena felt a small sting of insult at Luke’s remark, but the next mont, her shoulders slumped in defeat. "Yet... I have to admit it. They can’t stop behemoths like them if they decide to go all out. I can’t lie to myself."
"Listen," John said, his voice dropping into a firm, commanding tone. He knew everything they said was true; he had wrestled with these sa thoughts. "We know nothing about them.
At least, we don’t know who has the rich information and who doesn’t. If we kill them all now, we stay ignorant. We need to learn their weaknesses, their origin, or a way to truly restrain them—maybe sothing related to those gems in their chests."
"And what if we don’t learn any of that?" Cissel asked, her eyes searching his. "Are we going to..."
She didn’t need to finish the sentence. Everyone grasped the grim implication.
"Indeed," John said firmly. "But for now, let’s use the chance given to us by fate. The fog thunderstorm is our temporary reassurance. The fog is deadly to them—most of their wounds ca from the lightning inside it. They won’t try to escape until the periter clears. That gives us a window."
The team realised his plan. He was giving these giants a stay of execution until the end of the fog weird phenonon. Once the fog cleared, if he hadn’t learned anything of value to nullify their danger or restrain them permanently, he would kill the useless ones and keep only the most knowledgeable as prisoners.
"I like that," Ricky admitted, a cold light returning to his eyes. The others nodded in somber agreent. "Let’s go and help John. We should all think of any question that can help us salvage more information. Every detail counts."
John gave him a weird, lingering glance. This youngster was remarkably moody—one mont he was a complaining brat, the next he was cooperating and working as hard as any real teammate.
"Now," John said as the five of them returned to the line of kneeling giants. He stood directly in front of the leader, "Let’s start with the basics. Who are you? I an, really—what race are you? How did you co here, and why? And most importantly... Why do you keep saying we are a ’fallen race’?"
The giant leader looked up, his slate-colored skin bruised and caked with dirt. He looked at the four humans behind John, then back to John himself. A slow, bitter smile spread across his face, revealing teeth that looked like polished ivory.
"An introduction you seek then," the leader scoffed, his voice still carrying a residual gravelly pride despite his position.
"I’m Lanmar, the leader of a one-hundred-man battalion of the Bulltors!" The leader paused, a flicker of genuine sha crossing his features before he let out a long sigh. "Thinking of being held captive by a fallen race like you... It’s still getting on my nerves! Dammit! How co we ended up like this?!"
"Having a short mory, it seems," John said mockingly. He wasn’t bothered by the leader’s blustering or the fake act of wounded pride. He adjusted his grip on his sword, "Let remind you of your situation then—perhaps by killing a few more of what’s left of your battalion?"
"Oh, wait! I was just being a bit rash, hehehe," Lanmar laughed eerily, his tone shifting instantly to one of forced compliance. The ten other giants gave their leader a weird look, but Lanmar ignored them. "Anyway, our race is considered one of the mightiest in the entire apocalyptic trial! We are ranked in the top third of the list!"
"Apocalyptic trial? Ranked third on the list?!" Ricky muttered those words under his breath, his eyes darting between his teammates. He saw the sa look of surprise and deep-seated confusion mirrored on their faces. "What the hell do you an by that? A list? What list?"
"The world we are inside right now—all this fog, these monsters, all these areas—it’s all part of an ongoing apocalypse," Lanmar said, his voice dropping into a more serious, lecture-like tone. "It’s a disaster befalling my world and yours, an erosion that threatens to end all forms of life there..."
"We know what an apocalypse ans," Cissel interrupted, her voice sharp. She had realised, just as John had, that Lanmar was trying to act smart, spinning a long yarn to buy ti until the fog thunder ceased and the tide receded. "We want to know what it ans to have an apocalyptic trial."
"Well," Lanmar said, looking a little disappointed that his stalling tactic had been called out so quickly. "The apocalypse we are talking about is called the Source Code World. It’s a massive, predatory type of world. It grows by attacking different planets across the multiverses at the sa ti.
It forces the intelligent races within those planets to undergo a special set of trials. The goal is for the ultimate winner to take control of the final piece of land—a fragnt that will rge at the end of the trials with the Source Code World itself, a fragnt made up by rging all races’ planets involved in the trials."
Hearing all this was totally new, even for John. The system had used this as an Evolution Trial for it, but it had never ntioned this being part of an ongoing apocalypse or other races’ competition. No one said a word, letting Lanmar continue to spill these incredibly precious beans.
"In our specific apocalyptic trial, twelve different races are involved," Lanmar continued, regaining so of his swagger.
"There is a strict ranking of power based on how many areas each race cleared. We Bulltors sit comfortably in the top three. As for you? Tsk! You humans, are at the very bottom. You are the weakest race in the entire trial, the fallen race..."
"Wait," John raised a hand to stop the Bulltor from adding any more derogatory comnts. "You said there are a total of twelve races in this trial. Does this include the machines?"
"Machines? Oh, you an the chanical race that ca from the sa planet as yours?" Lanmar said in sudden realisation. "They are considered fifth in the total ranking. Pretty fierce fellows if you ask , and far stronger than you spineless humans..."
"Are those twelve races all together in the sa trial right now?" John asked. He was starting to develop a sixth sense for whenever Lanmar tried to wander off-topic to waste ti. "I an in this specific area where we are currently standing."
"Ah, about that," Lanmar paused, weighing how much more to reveal. He eventually decided it wouldn’t harm to give more information to humans who were, in his eyes, already as good as dead.
"This trial we are in is part of a trilogy. Three trials are concluding at the sa ti, with the twelve races distributed between them. So, in our designated pocket trial right here, four races are fighting to take dominance of ten different areas—just like the one you live in right now..."
"Eleven, not ten," John said suddenly, his voice flat.
"I beg your pardon?" Lanmar blinked, his massive brow furrowed.
"There are eleven areas in total to compete for in this sector, right?" John asked. His eyes narrowed to slits as a scary possibility began to take root in his mind.
"No, kiddo. There are only ten areas," Lanmar firmly said, pausing as he began to think about sothing he missed before. A look of genuine confusion replaced his smugness.
"Speaking of which... According to our maps, our area should have been the northernmost area in this pocket trial. If that’s the case... How co we ended up entering a new area when we fled the fog north? There shouldn’t be anything north of our border but fog!"
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