Down on the arena floor...
While those in the stands were busy commenting on and discussing the events that had just unfolded, completely indifferent to the youths below, those poor souls were still reeling from the horrific ordeal they had just survived.
More than a hundred had entered the arena.
Only thirty-three remained.
In such a short span of time, more than half of their number had been wiped out just like that.
It must be remembered that these were human lives, not grass being mowed down or candles being snuffed out.
From an initial hundred to now thirty-three... just a bit shy of the requirements their captors had set.
Without Gil's actions, the final result could have been very different. Whether it was his timely hint about the beasts' weaknesses or his ultimate act of slaying one of the monstrosities, he had a tremendous impact on the test and the lives of the remaining youths.Whether he had intended to save them or not did not matter now.
As to whether his actions were ultimately good or bad... only time would tell.
The survivors of the culling huddled together once more, instinctively distancing themselves from the gory corpses of their less fortunate companions.
It was only now, as the adrenaline finally wore off and drained from their systems, that they could truly register what had just happened.
Confusion gave way to utter disbelief and denial as they took in the gruesome scenes before them and relived the chaos of the battle.
The bloody remains, the oppressive atmosphere—all of it looked like something straight out of a dreadful nightmare.
But they knew instinctively that it wasn't a dream, no matter how desperately they wished it were.
Some pinched, bit, or hit themselves, doing anything they could to wake up.
Unfortunately, it was no nightmare. Or, if it was, it was one from which they could never awaken.
If anything, the sharp pain flaring up from their fresh wounds and the gradually settling exhaustion were proof enough that everything they had experienced was terrifyingly real.
For a long moment, not a single soul among the captives dared to let out even a peep or a whimper of pain, terrified of attracting unwanted attention and spelling their immediate doom.
Instead, they used frantic gestures or mouthed silent words to ease the heavy burden on their minds.
But they were overthinking.
After the clash came to an end, the cloaked figures in the stands didn't spare them much attention; some even left the venue immediately.
Though the youths were relieved to be free of those mocking looks and jeers, there was something deeply disturbing about the casual way they were being handled.
Still, they couldn't afford to care about that now.
While doing their absolute best to make as little noise as possible, they began to tend to their wounds and help one another.
This horrific experience had, at the very least, the merit of fostering a sudden unity and cohesion among them.
Before the test, they had been mere strangers brought together by cruel circumstance, eventually dividing into two bickering factions.
Now, after surviving the crucible together, the signs of a true, budding collective were finally showing.
With an entirely uncertain future ahead of them, remaining united would undoubtedly do them more good than harm.
As they took care of each other in the heavy silence, they couldn't help but reminisce about the battle.
While the dominating feelings for the majority were dread and profound relief at their own survival, some among them had other, more complex thoughts flashing through their minds.
Particularly, they remembered the crushing feeling of absolute powerlessness they felt , their fists clenched at the memories of being against the beasts after their terrifying transformations.
And then, they remembered the shock, awe, and relief that had washed over them when Gil managed—by some entirely unknown, supernatural means—to slay one of those tormentors, bringing the bloodbath to a sudden halt.
No wonder he attracted the attention of those powerful executives,
some thought inwardly, recalling the words of the Jailer.
When it came to Gil, the feelings of those in the arena were highly conflicted.
Some were simply too caught up in the horror of the moment to spare him a thought.
Others were immensely grateful for his hints and for killing the monster, which had indirectly saved many of their lives.
Yet, there were those who weren't quite so grateful. Instead, they nursed dark, unvoiced thoughts in the corners of their minds.
Why didn't he say anything earlier, when we were ascending to the arena?
Why didn't he warn us that those beasts could transform?
What is this strange power he used?
Why does he have it, and not me?
Why didn't he just use that power to kill the monsters sooner if he was capable of it?
Though these individuals were somewhat aware of the deeply unreasonable nature of their thoughts and kept themselves from voicing them aloud, the bitter questions continued to linger in the backs of their minds, refusing to leave.
And finally, there was the terrifying prowess of the man who had carried Gil away.
His strength was simply too overwhelming; it had even made his own peers wary of him.
One move.
Only one effortless gesture was all it took for Hector to slaughter the remaining transformed monstrosities that had threatened to consume them all.
That single moment, that devastating display of absolute power, was forever burned into the minds of the young captives.
Aside from the raw awe it inspired, it lit an irresistible, burning yearning for strength inside of them.
A few individuals in particular were visibly shaken, their worldview entirely upended.
The young woman who led the first group, though harboring that same intense yearning for strength, was far more composed than most.
Even if her occasionally trembling hands and lost look betrayed her inner turmoil, she steadfastly prioritized her people first.
In that brutal test, her group—which had been doing so well initially—found itself with just thirteen people left, herself included.
They had taken devastating losses.
The reason for their heavy casualties, ironically, stemmed from their early success. Though they hadn't managed to actually kill one of the creatures, they had been incredibly close; they had not only blinded it, but had pushed it to the absolute brink of death.
Alas, once the monster transformed, they were forced to face the full, unbridled brunt of its vengeful wrath, which cost many of them their lives.
But despite being so heavily hit, the survivors of her group didn't cast a single shred of blame on her.
On the contrary, the looks in their eyes were full of profound gratitude and respect. Even now, despite being weary, battered, and thoroughly exhausted, she still took it upon herself to check on them one by one, consoling the suffering and offering genuine words of encouragement to those staring blankly at the dirt.
"It will be fine. Don't lose hope," she whispered to them, her voice gentle, steady, and remarkably warm. "As long as we're alive, there's hope."
Touched by her words and actions, those around her slowly managed to pull themselves out of the dark haze hanging over their minds.
Their gazes lost their previous dullness and confusion, replaced by an increasingly fervent, reverent light as they looked at their beautiful leader.
They couldn't help but think to themselves: Yes. As long as she is here, there is hope.
While morale was slowly recovering in the first group, the situation in the second faction wasn't nearly as good.
This group had also taken losses, though marginally fewer than the first, leaving their number at fifteen people.
But while they possessed a slight numerical advantage in comparison, that was about the only thing they could boast about.
Indeed, aside from the extra bodies, everything else was a complete mess, and much of the blame lay squarely on their leader.
To say it was entirely his fault was somewhat unfair; it was simply that, in comparison to the young woman on the other side, the scholar was undeniably lacking.
Just after they had distanced themselves from the corpses strewn across the ground, his people nursed their wounds, looking around completely lost as to what they should do next.
Witnessing the comforting scenes unfolding on the other side, they looked toward him eagerly, hoping for guidance. But they were sorely disappointed.
The scholar, whether by sheer luck or some other factor, was surprisingly unscathed, and he had been entirely lost in his own thoughts for quite some time.
He wasn't thinking about how to help them.
Instead, his mind was entirely consumed by Gil's final, miraculous strike.
So that is why he got their attention. He is just like them...
Why does someone like him receive that kind of power while someone like me, who actually thinks before acting, gets nothing?
If I could also find a way to wield such power myself, then...
His breathing quickened at the thought.
A dangerous mixture of greed and ambition took deep root in his heart, refusing to leave.
By the time he finally snapped out of his wandering thoughts, his people had already begun drifting away, crossing over to the other side to seek solace from the young woman.
Seeing this, the scholar's expression grew tight and strained, but he didn't lash out.
Instead, learning from his past mistakes, he quickly tried to mimic her actions and began helping out the wounded.
But whether it was in raw charisma, genuine thoughtfulness, or the tactical strategy displayed during the test, he fell miserably short.
Knowing this, he chose not to compete against her—at least, not overtly—and simply tried to make himself useful to save what little face he had left.
And in the midst of this silent, traumatic hustle and bustle, nobody took any notice of two specific people.
Unlike the rest of the captives, these two did not belong to either of the two major factions, yet they had somehow weathered the entire horrific test completely unnoticed by almost everyone.