A heavy, suspicious silence prevailed as Arian's team tracked the wounded recruit through the winding paths of the Frost Forest. The recruit jogged ahead, feigning pain and stumbling, turning around every so often to urge them to hurry, his voice trembling with practiced acting: "Hurry... they ambushed us... my knight is bleeding heavily... they are led by a recruit named Mark, they are merciless!"
Baren ran right behind Arian, his face brimming with anxiety and naive sympathy, while Sir Mart followed with a low grumble, cursing his luck for landing him in this absurd test. Only Arian and Valen moved with complete stoicism, their eyes carefully scanning the surroundings, their senses heightened to the maximum. Their gazes met for a fraction of a second; the silence between them spoke volumes. Both knew that the smell of blood in the air was merely bait, and that the escape route contained flaws that wouldn't fool a seasoned warrior.
After minutes of sprinting, they reached a relatively open area, surrounded by massive tree trunks like high natural walls. In the center sat the escort knight of the wounded boy, leaning his back against a tree.
Suddenly, the wounded recruit stopped jogging. He stood up straight, the signs of pain and panic vanishing from his face, replaced by a malicious, gloating smile. He jogged lightly and stood beside his seated knight, who also stood up coldly, brushed the snow off his armor, and looked perfectly healthy with no trace of any real blood.
The escort knight looked toward Arian and his team, and said with a tone of false apology that didn't hide his treacherous intent:
"Don't blame me, little ones... I'm just doing what they ask of me. Survival of the fittest in this hell."
At that moment, a sharp whistle pierced the stillness of the forest.
And from above the dense branches, from behind the massive trunks, and from beneath the accumulated snow, recruits and knights began to appear all at once, like demons rising from the bowels of the earth. It was a terrifying display of amassed power; dozens of swords and spears were pointed toward the center, where Arian's team stood completely surrounded with no way out.
Baren froze in place, his face turning as white as snow, and his body began to tremble violently as he looked around in panic. "We... we fell into a trap! There are too many of them!" he muttered in a choked voice. Even Sir Mart, the veteran knight, gripped his sword with obvious anxiety, realizing that escaping this number safely was nearly impossible.
The ranks of the besiegers parted, and a recruit with sharp features, filled with arrogance and blind confidence, stepped forward. It was Mark. He stood before Arian, raised his sword pointing at them condescendingly: "Welcome, spoiled Lord's son. The game ends here. Hand over all the flags you've collected over the past days, and we'll let you leave with some unbroken bones. Your choice is simple: pride or your lives."
Valen approached Arian and said in a calm, very low voice, barely audible: "There are more of them than I expected. We need to quickly create an opening on the western side and make a run for it. We can't face them all head-on."
Amidst Valen's serious and tactically tense words, something happened that no one expected. Arian let out a deep, heavy sigh, laden with genuine boredom.
He showed no sign of tension. Instead, a faint, cold, and terrifyingly calm smile formed on his lips. Arian slowly unslung his greatsword from his back, letting the tip of its heavy scabbard hit the frozen ground with a muffled thud.
"I was wondering when one of you would break the rules of this childish game," Arian spoke in a low voice that pierced the wind to reach Mark's ears. "Thank you for the excuse."
Suddenly, and without any flashy movements, the air in the area changed. A massive, dense, and dark aura erupted from Arian's body. It wasn't just the random energy of an angry child; it was the aura of a military general who had lived ninety years on the battlefields of annihilation; an aura saturated with pure killing intent, like the shadows of thousands of souls he had extinguished in his past life. The aura covered half the forest in mere seconds, turning the pale day into suffocating darkness in the eyes of the besiegers. Everyone felt a massive weight pressing on their chests, and a freezing cold seeping into their bones.
***
Outside the forest, at the main entrance of the Hell Camp.
Sir Gared stood with his arms crossed as usual, looking toward the frozen mountains with unchanging, stern features. Suddenly, he turned his head quickly toward the depths of the Northern Forest. His eyes widened in genuine shock, and a rare bewilderment appeared on his rocky face.
He felt it. A terrifying, massive, and incredibly heavy aura that could not possibly emanate from a novice recruit.
"Whose aura is this?" Gared muttered in a low voice. "Did one of Erebus's monsters sneak into my province? Or is it..." He looked toward Sir Vance, who stood beside him, and noticed that the latter's face had also paled, showing signs of absolute astonishment as he stared at the trees.
***
Back inside the forest.
The scene inside the encirclement had turned into a literal nightmare for the knights and mercenaries. The veterans among them, who had fought numerous wars, were rooted to their spots, unable to move their feet, their eyes overflowing with awe as they looked at the child radiating all this terror. The mercenary recruits backed away involuntarily, their weapons trembling in their grips.
The utmost surprise was painted on Valen's face, who took an involuntary step back, looking at Arian as if seeing an ancient monster that had just awakened. Baren and Sir Mart took several steps back, driven by pure survival instinct.
Arian took a single step forward, the greatsword still in its scabbard, his black eyes devoid of any human emotion.
Mark, who had been shouting arrogantly moments before, took a step back, sweating profusely, his voice clearly trembling as he tried to gather himself for fear of losing control of his men: "He... he's still just a boy! The aura is just an optical illusion! Rush him, all of you! A reward for whoever takes him down!"
Driven by fear and herd instinct, dozens of knights and recruits rushed toward Arian from every direction, swords and spears gleaming with malicious intent.
Arian was waiting for this moment, calm as the eye of the storm.
His fighting represented the absolute, lethal efficiency of a seasoned general. Arian used the sheathed sword as a mass blunt weapon. He spun on his heel with perfect timing, and the first strike hit three knights attacking from the right. He didn't hit their protected chests; he targeted their joints and knees. The sound of breaking bones echoed clearly, and the three fell to the ground screaming in agony.
Arian moved with a terrifying coldness. He dodged a blade with a precisely calculated step, then used the broad flat of his sword to crush the attacker's collarbone. A single focused punch to a recruit's jaw knocked him unconscious instantly. He broke their limbs with the precision of a surgeon wielding overwhelming power.
Meanwhile, Valen quickly grasped the situation. She was no longer just a stunned spectator. Valen slipped like a ghost to the edges of the battlefield, exploiting the chaos and terror. Anyone who tried to sneak up behind Arian or aim a bow at him, Valen would appear from their shadow, with precise strikes from her dagger cutting hamstrings or knocking opponents unconscious with swift strikes to the neck, then vanishing again. They were a terrifying duo, overwhelming power and deadly stealth.
Seeing this synergy, Baren and Sir Mart gathered their courage and began securing the outer perimeter, protecting each other's backs.
In the midst of the battle, Arian spotted his main prey. Mark, watching the destruction of his alliance with a face full of terror, was slowly backing away, planning to escape after realizing his fatal mistake.
Their eyes met. The cold smile returned to grace Arian's face. Mark felt terror freeze his limbs, so he turned and ran madly among the trees.
Arian, who was surrounded by two recruits, knocked them aside with a single sweeping blow, then darted like an arrow in pursuit of Mark.
However, from among the trees, an elite knight in full silver armor, named Sir Allen, charged forward. This knight was massive and strong, and he intercepted Arian's path with a tremendous leap into the air.
"You shall not pass!" Sir Allen shouted as he aimed an overhead strike with all his might at Arian in mid-air.
Arian did not retreat; he too jumped to meet him. Their swords clashed in the air with a deafening metallic clang. Even though Arian's ten-year-old body could not overpower a grown knight in mid-air, Arian did not rely on muscles alone.
In a fraction of a second, Arian changed the angle of his greatsword, allowing the massive weight of the weapon and gravity to do the work for him. He threw Sir Allen off balance and used the knight's own weight against him, pushing him downward with all the momentum of the fall.
*BAAAAAAAAAM!*
Sir Allen hit the ground with the force of a crushing meteor. Snow and mud flew everywhere, and the dust cleared to reveal a crater in the muddy ground. Sir Allen lay on his back, his silver armor completely dented, completely unconscious and groaning faintly.
Arian landed safely beside him, but furrowed his brows slightly. He felt a sharp tingling and a mild ache coursing through his arms. His small body was reminding him that all power has a price, and engaging in physical clashes that exceeded the capacity of his bones still carried severe risks. Arian coldly shook his hands to get rid of the tingling, and continued on his way in the direction Mark had fled.
Deep in the forest, Mark had stumbled and fallen to the ground from sheer exhaustion and terror. He began to crawl on his knees, moving slowly, his tears mixing with the snow, whispering desperate words: "Have mercy... have mercy..."
Mark turned his head slowly, his heart beating violently as if it would burst from his chest. Right behind him stood Arian.
Arian looked down at him with features devoid of any pity, as if looking at a pathetic insect.
"Mercy?" Arian spoke in a cold, mocking tone. "Mercy is a luxury not possessed by fools who break a balance they do not understand. You chose pride, now bear its cost."
The echo of Mark's final scream pleading for mercy reverberated through the forest, announcing the end of the third day and the test.
***
At the entrance of the Frost Forest.
Sir Gared waited in stern silence, with Sir Vance standing tensely beside him, everyone's eyes fixed on the shadows of the trees. The official time for the test had ended.
Finally, the shadows of the forest parted, and four figures emerged.
They were Arian, Valen, Baren, and his knight, Sir Mart. They looked exhausted, their clothes stained with mud, but they walked with steady, confident steps.
The four stood before Gared and Vance. Arian stepped forward, holding a large leather bag slung over his shoulder, and tossed it carelessly at Sir Gared's feet. The bag opened, and dozens of red flags spilled out, more than any other team combined had collected in the history of this test.
Sir Vance swept the courtyard with a scrutinizing look, noticing the absence of all the recruits and escort knights who had entered the forest. He turned to Arian with sarcasm mixed with genuine concern: "A stunning performance... but where are the rest of the knights and recruits? Did the forest swallow them?"
Arian looked at Sir Vance with absolute coldness, and replied in a strict, icy military tone, casting one last glance toward the dark trees:
"Do not worry, sir... they are still breathing."