Elna sat alone on the balcony, her fingers curled loosely around the railing as she stared out over the city. Building walls reflected the soft light of the trees, but to her eyes everything felt muted, distant. It had been two weeks since Leo disappeared into the Maze, but what pressed on her chest wasn't the fourteen days that had passed for her. It was the seven hundred days that had passed for him. Almost two full years. The weight of it made her shoulders tense, her brows drawing downward as she tried, failed, to imagine what he was facing.
She knew she should be training. She knew every moment mattered. But standing here, looking at a peaceful city while Leo fought through endless darkness, made it hard to breathe, let alone focus.
Briva's voice cut sharply through her thoughts.
"You're sitting here again? We don't have time for this."
Elna flinched slightly, realizing she hadn't even noticed her approach. Briva stepped closer, her expression firm but not unkind, concern buried under frustration.
"I know," Elna said quietly. Her gaze lingered on the horizon. "But from what Leo told us… he's been inside for around seven hundred days now. Almost two years." The words came out tight, her jaw clenching.
"Yes," Briva replied, crossing her arms. "He's been in there for two years fighting and training nonstop, pushing himself harder than anyone. And what have we done? Nothing close to that."
Elna shut her eyes, inhaling deeply. She held the breath for a moment, steadying herself, then exhaled and stood. The tired tension in her posture straightened into something firmer.
"You're right," she said.
Briva nodded once. "Me and Arthur are going out for another search."
Elna glanced toward the city streets below, then back at Briva. "We go tomorrow."
Their tasks weighed heavy. Three missions, each one essential: gather information about the orcs, locate the Beast lurking somewhere in the Shadowland, and grow strong enough to survive what was coming.
Elna was at the first fragile stage of forming her domain, still learning to stabilize the foundation. At the same time, she was working to control her transformation, to call it intentionally instead of letting it break out on instinct or with Leo's domain. She wasn't alone in that struggle. Everyone at the Gathering needed to master theirs.
Luciana, the vampire, had the advantage. She had turned into a monster before the Gathering ever existed, and that familiarity put her a step ahead of the others. Her progress showed in her confidence, subtle, but there.
Arthur was different. Determined to the point of obsession. He trained more than any of them, pushing his limits until he collapsed, only to stand up again and keep going. Some nights he never slept at all. Leo had warned him before leaving: Nikolaus, the S-rank enemy, was somewhere in the Shadowland. And if they ever faced him, Arthur was the closest among them to reaching S-rank himself.
But S-rank wasn't like the other levels. It wasn't something a person could reach simply through talent, effort, or time. To step into that realm, one needed a unique path, something that fit the exact shape of their soul, something only they could walk.
And that was Arthur's biggest obstacle.
The light path was powerful, but the closer someone drew to S-rank, the more their domain expanded. For most people that was a blessing… but for a Light user, it also meant coming dangerously close to the God of Light's own domain. If their path overlapped too strongly, it could be very dangerous for him.
So Arthur had shifted his focus to the other part of his soul, divination.
The spell he was pouring himself into now was Foresight Edge, a technique that allowed its user to glimpse a fraction of the future, just a heartbeat ahead. If Arthur could master it, then combine that insight with his transformation and his domain, he would become something terrifying. An S-rank Light Warrior who could see an enemy's strike before it even happened.
Briva left to search for him, and Elna made her way to the training yard.
There, Arlasan was guiding Alina through a series of quick, controlled drills. Sparks danced from their weapons with every impact. Elna stepped into the yard, the familiar cool tug of shadow gathering in her palm. Her dagger slipped from the darkness and solidified in her hand.
"Can I join?" she asked, offering a small smile.
Arlasan and Alina both gave her one in return, shifting aside to make room as she walked toward them.
...
In the city of Flesa, Hans' training yard rang with the sharp, repetitive clash of steel, an echoing rhythm that filled the air like a heartbeat. Liam's breath came heavy, controlled but strained, each exhale misting faintly in the cool morning air as he met strike after strike.
Across from him stood Wenn, the head paladin assigned to their noble house. A B-minus paladin, young but seasoned, with the kind of polished confidence that came from both skill and self-admiration. His short blond hair was tousled from their bout, though he still found a moment to sweep a hand through it, as if preserving his look even in the middle of combat.
"You're getting better every day, young Lord," Wenn said, stepping back after a well-timed parry. His tone carried genuine praise, surprise, even.
Liam didn't relax. His chest rose and fell sharply, sweat tracing the sides of his face. "Not good enough."
Wenn blinked at him, incredulous. "Not good enough? Liam, last month you couldn't keep up with me at all. Now you're almost as fast as me." His voice carried the same disbelief he had shown the past few weeks as Liam continued to jump through levels of strength and precision at a pace no normal human could. "This isn't just improvement. It's transformation."
Liam didn't respond. His jaw tightened, eyes sharp with a resolve that Went couldn't begin to understand.
Since the creator awakened his abilities… even more had changed.
His strength, speed, and senses, everything had surged beyond what he ever imagined possible. But raw power meant nothing if he couldn't control it. The creator had given him a path, but walking it depended entirely on him.
And he had to perfect it. Every piece. Every step, Because in two months, another tournament would begin.
And that was when everything would end. The nobles, their corruption, their cruelty, the rot they protected and benefited from. Their endless pursuit of wealth and influence at the cost of everyone beneath them.
He would destroy all of it. All of them.
His fingers tightened around his sword, knuckles whitening as the memory of what those nobles had allowed, what they had ignored, flashed across his mind. Anger flickered through him, sharp and heavy, hardening his expression.
"One more time," Liam said, raising his blade again.
Wenn hesitated, surprise flickering across his features, then he smiled, adjusting his stance, settling back into the familiar thrill of challenge.
"As you wish, young Lord."
And the swords clashed again.
...
Marco hammered the heated blade again, the impact ringing through the forge like a deep metallic heartbeat. Each strike demanded precision, he wasn't just shaping metal, he was forcing mana into it, using the enchantment skill Edgar drilled into him over and over. Every blow required him to channel energy at the exact instant the hammer met the iron, or the enchantment wouldn't hold.
Sweat ran down his face in steady streams, dripping from his chin and sizzling the moment it hit the glowing metal. His arms burned. His shoulders felt like they were being torn open. The muscles in his back throbbed with a heavy, pulsing ache. And still he kept swinging.
Edgar watched from beside the anvil, arms crossed. At first the old smith had been suspicious, Marco's sudden spike in strength, speed, and mana control had been impossible to ignore. But instead of questioning it further, Edgar simply pushed him harder. Much harder. Every day he increased the workload, the heat, the weight.
Especially the hammer.
The one Marco used now was far heavier than any beginner, or even most trained smiths, would dare to lift for extended work. It dragged at his shoulders, bit into his grip, and forced every strike to be deliberate. It was brutal training, designed to wring every ounce of strength and control out of him.
Marco grit his teeth and lifted it again.
His warrior training came first every day, hours of drills, forms, and combat conditioning, so by the time he reached the forge he was already sore. Here, Edgar worked the rest of the life out of him.
But Marco didn't stop. He needed to grow stronger.
He already understood the basics of enchantment, and he had become a capable warrior, but it wasn't enough, not even close. Not for what the Creator expected. Not for what was coming. And not for what he needed to become.
So when the forge closed for the night and he dragged himself home, exhausted down to his bones, he didn't rest. He trained again.
He pushed his new transformation, the one Leo told him about, trying to feel its shape, trying to force some control over it. Anything. Every night he chased a little more progress, a little more understanding.
It was his fastest path forward.
And he had no intention of wasting it.
...
In the Maze of Madness
By Leo's count, today marked the 695th day he had been trapped in this endless darkness. Nearly two full years spent wandering, fighting, running, and surviving. His clothes were torn in multiple places, rips at the sleeves, frayed hems, scorch marks from fire-based monsters, and dried blood stains from creatures he'd cut down. His beard had grown out as well, a rough, uneven shadow along his jaw that made him look older, harsher, more worn.
His body had changed too. His mana pool was significantly larger now, swollen from relentless use and recovery. His muscles ached constantly under the combined one thousand pounds of enchanted weight from the bracelets, five hundred on each arm. The strain never stopped, turning every movement into training, every swing of his weapon into resistance work. He was undeniably stronger now… just not strong enough.
In all this time, he had found no one else like him. No humans, no elves or dwarves. Not even orcs. The Maze seemed designed to isolate him completely, to drown him in an endless world of monsters and shifting corridors.
And the monsters themselves had changed their behavior. Many of the common ones, the ones he had fought hundreds of times over, no longer approached lightly. Some backed away at the mere sound of his steps. Others hid. A few tried to ambush him, but even those hesitated. For many of the beasts here, Leo had become the threat, the predator they wanted to avoid.
But avoiding him meant they also stopped challenging him, and without challenge, his training stalled. So he pushed on, deeper and deeper into the maze, toward places where stronger creatures roamed, where danger was always one wrong turn away.
As he walked through one of the wide, dark passages, the air suddenly split with the sharp, desperate scream of a woman.
Leo froze.
There were monsters here that could mimic human cries perfectly. He had learned that early. But the possibility that someone real was here, even if impossible, forced him to move. He rushed forward, but every step remained controlled, alert and cautious. His hand hovered near Thorn, his senses sharpened, illusions ready to deploy.
Within seconds he reached a broad intersection, an open space connected to multiple branching paths, and he saw them.
Five people. A small adventuring party.
An elf girl gripping a staff with trembling hands. A dwarf holding a great hammer, bracing himself like a wall. An archer with an arrow drawn but shaking. A swordsman with a longsword. And a shield-bearer standing protectively in front.
The scene looked so absurdly familiar that Leo felt a brief stab of surreal nostalgia, like watching a party straight out of a game from his past life.
But there was no time for that.
Because standing before them was the monster he had avoided for almost two years, the same creature from his early weeks here, the one powerful enough to rival an A5 or even S-rank threat. The one he never wanted to face head-on until he was truly ready.
Now he had to choose.
Let them die…
or fight a monster he never wanted to see again.