Leon looked around as dozens of other trial takers stood beside him. Each face bore the weight of survival. So carried it in silence. Others in the subtle twitch of a hand or shift of a stance.
This showed how not all had it as easy as Leon. Most of them here would never forget this experience as long as they lived.
At the edge of the platform, a familiar figure stepped forward, it was the Overseer. The sa man who had sent them off, now waiting for their return.
"Welco back," the Overseer's voice rang clear and firm, projecting effortlessly across the platform.
The murmurs quieted as he spoke.
"You are no longer candidates," he said, pride evident in his posture. "You stand here today as pledged Takers—those who have faced death and walked away stronger."
So people among the crowd straightened instinctively, their shoulders rising with a mix of pride and relief.
But the Overseer's tone turned grave. "However," he continued, "not all who began this path stand with you now."
The weight of his words dropped like lead.
"Four hundred entered the trial world. But only one hundred and eighty-three returned."
Everywhere beca silent but a few gasps broke through. One girl's breath hitched. Another boy's hand curled into a trembling fist. Leon didn't flinch, but even he felt it—that tightening in his chest.
It was a brutal reminder.
Just surviving once doesn't an you'll survive the next.
And even if you do... the next hour could still be your last.
All it takes is one breath too slow, one step too late—a single mont of hesitation, and a demon's blade carving your na into the dirt.
"That is what it ans to be a Taker," the Overseer went on, his gaze sweeping across them, unblinking.
"You are not invincible. You are not the chosen ones. You are weapons. Shields. Soldiers."
The silence stretched until it cracked beneath the weight of reality. So bowed their heads. Others clenched their teeth. But they all listened.
Then, the Overseer's voice lifted, as it beca more charismatic, his words laced with iron and fire.
"But do not be dejected," he said, stepping forward. "Those who fell entrusted their hopes to you. Their dreams, their future, it now lives in you. You do not fight for yourselves alone. You fight for the Federation. For the people. For humanity."
He raised a hand.
"Is that clear?"
A mont passed.
Then like thunder rolling across the platform:
"Yes, sir!"
Their voices rose in unison, raw and shaken but resolute.
"Good," the Overseer nodded. "Your performance rankings will now be posted on the Central Board and uploaded to the Federation Trial Database. Your clearance speed, based on registration has already been received from the Trial Authority in the trial world"
A ripple of anticipation ran through the crowd.
The central holographic board began to shimr into existence.
Light pulsed at its core as nas began to scroll down.
The rankings were in.
****
Before a candidate ever stepped foot into their first trial, they were thoroughly evaluated—tested not only on raw strength and reflexes, but also their weapon proficiency, combat instincts, resources and overall survivability.
This system had been adopted long ago, born from countless unnecessary deaths during the early generations of Trial Takers.
Now, with years of accumulated data and experience, the Federation assigned each candidate a recomnded trial difficulty based on their capabilities.
The intent was simple: maximize survival in the first trial.
But the rules were strict. Once evaluated, a candidate must enter the difficulty tier they were assigned. If soone disregarded that recomndation—choosing a tier above their capabilities—and managed to return alive, they would not be praised. Instead, they would be punished accordingly.
The ssage was clear: no one was above the system.
Those who disobeyed and sohow survived were made into examples, publicly reprimanded to deter others from gambling with their lives. Trial Takers were soldiers, not heroes. Recklessness could not be rewarded.
Leon Kael had been assigned Tier V—the highest difficulty allotted only to those in the elite class.
The assignnt made sense. Leon was ranked at the top in physical assessnts and ca from a family of prodigies. But what no one knew was that he had set his trial difficulty to Tier VII.
He hadn't told anyone, not even Elizabeth. He didn't want the burden of being questioned. Didn't want the extra eyes. And he definitely didn't want the punishnt if they found out.
So he kept it quiet, played along with the role of Tier V. He had no interest in explaining his EX-rank talent to the world. Not yet.
And even if he wanted to resolve the situation he would have to involve that person and that would be another headache.
Now, the arena buzzed with energy as the rankings were revealed.
The large holographic board projected from the center platform, displaying five glowing rows, each topped with a trial tier label—Tier I through Tier V.
Each na beneath the tiers was ordered by performance: the faster you cleared your trial, the higher you were ranked.
Tier V housed the elite class. Only 69 nas remained out of the original 80, a somber but expected loss.
Still, they fared far better than the other classes. Tier III had just 37 nas. Tier IV barely scraped 40. Tier I, the weakest group, had less than half remaining.
"Can't believe I ranked 20th..." a boy muttered from Tier II, staring up at the board.
"What the hell are you proud of?" another scoffed. "You're in last place."
The boy winced. "You don't have to say it like that..."
Nearby, a girl from Tier III nudged a boy standing beside her. "Senior Brother, I ranked 12th and you're 9th. You have to protect now, okay?"
He chuckled, but his eyes glead with sothing less innocent. "For the right price... I'll take real good care of you."
Elsewhere in the crowd, laughter erupted. "I ranked higher than you! I won the bet! Don't forget to send my credits!"
"Damn it!" the loser groaned wishing that he had been a little faster in the trial.
The arena was full of noise but that energy shifted the mont a single voice cried out in shock.
"How is this possible?"
Heads turned.
"What?!"
"No way..."
All eyes followed the direction the voice was facing.
More gasps followed as others looked up at the Tier V rankings. Even those in the lower tiers were curious and peered over. Murmurs built into a low roar as disbelief settled into the air.
"Leon Kael... 64th place?"
"The Leon Kael?"
"The prodigy?"
It was true. The golden boy of the training year, the one they all believed would rank at the top—was nearly dead last. On the board, in glowing white letters: Leon Kael – 64th place (Tier V).
The Overseer himself blinked in visible surprise, his jaw tightening as he processed the information. It didn't make sense. The boy had shown too much promise, too much potential. His mind began racing with possibilities for the low ranking.
But the cause of all these—Leon Just stood there in the crowd unbothered. His expression was neutral and unreadable. The others stared but he didn't flinch he didn't even twitch.
Those in the elite class were surprised at first before most of them smiled smugly happy for the downfall of the thorn in their side.
Elizabeth remained impassive, arms crossed. She wasn't fooled by the rankings. Numbers ant little in the face of actual strength.
Adrian Peer didn't even glance at the board. Although he ranked first in the rankings he didn't feel good about it. Sothing told him there was sothing more to this. His rival wasn't this weak.
Still, the weight of the revelation hung over the arena like a stormcloud.
Leon Kael, the brightest star of their generation... was ranked near the bottom.
But if anyone thought that ant he was weak—they were dead wrong.
...
...
...
A/N: Please send power stones and leave reviews.
...
...
...
Reviews
All reviews (0)