Time slipped by, minute after minute.
One after another, the students who had sworn to reach the finish line began to fall.
Some collapsed without warning, their legs simply giving out beneath them. Others staggered a few more steps before crumpling to the ground, their breathing ragged and uneven.
Each time someone fell, Liam's voice followed without mercy.
"Tch. That's it? Thought you had backbone."
"Pathetic. Talking big earlier, now look at you."
His words cut deeper than the exhaustion gnawing at their bodies. If nothing else, he had a rare talent for drawing hatred. On the very first day, nearly everyone already viewed him as a devil they would gladly gang up on… If they had the strength to even stand.
By the seventieth lap, the field had transformed completely.
Most of the students lay sprawled across the ground, limbs heavy and unresponsive. Some stared blankly at the sky, their chests heaving. Others had fainted outright. A few struggled just to sit upright, unwilling to look completely broken in front of everyone else.
Only ten remained.
Ten figures were still running.
Liam narrowed his eyes slightly, a faint curve forming at the corner of his lips.
"Those who can endure seventy laps on the first day…" he muttered under his breath, "not bad. Worth grooming."
But when he spoke aloud, his tone was as harsh as ever.
"You lot said you'd run a hundred laps," he barked. "Seventy laps in and you're already done? Worst batch I've ever seen!"
Several of the fallen students flushed with shame. A few tried to force themselves back to their feet, only to collapse again after a few unsteady steps.
Now, all eyes turned to the remaining ten.
Their hope… rested on them.
If fewer than three people crossed the finish line, everyone would face punishment while already exhausted. No food. No rest.
That'd be no different than a death sentence for them.
Seventy-five laps.
Eighty laps.
Another one fell.
Then another.
Bodies hit the ground one after another, the rhythm of footsteps thinning with each passing moment.
Soon—
Only three remained.
Jason Cromwell.
Stephen.
Elsa.
Jason led the group, his pace still steady, his breathing controlled.
Stephen followed not far behind, his expression tense but focused.
At the rear, Elsa pressed forward with gritted teeth. Her face was flushed red, her steps unsteady, yet she refused to stop.
From the ground, Wilson Thorn watched them with bloodshot eyes.
He had collapsed at the seventy-sixth lap, face-first into the dirt.
Indignation burned in his chest.
Jason… he could accept. The heir of the Cromwell Clan, grandson of the Blood Tiger God. Losing to him was inevitable.
But Elsa?
The Sword Cloud Pavilion was barely clinging to its status, on the verge of falling into a second-rate faction.
And Stephen—
A nobody.
A commoner with no backing.
How dare he…
Hatred coiled tightly in Wilson's heart.
He had always been praised, lifted above others, treated as special within his family. Even if he wasn't as talented as his elder brother, with them being the only male descendants of this generation of the Thorn family, he had never once been overlooked.
And now—
Here, he had fallen.
While those he deemed beneath him kept moving forward.
His fingers dug into the ground.
I won't forget this.
Ahead, Stephen remained unaware of the storm brewing behind him.
He ran.
Step after step.
The blue sapling continued to pulse gently within his soul sea, releasing that strange, strengthening energy. His body felt like it was constantly on the edge of collapse… yet somehow holding together.
"Keep going! Keep going!"
The fallen students began shouting.
Their voices were hoarse, but filled with urgency.
"If one more falls, we're done!"
All their hopes now rested on the final three.
Liam clicked his tongue.
"Only three left… how pitiful," he said mockingly. "It's not that I didn't give you a chance. You just couldn't handle it."
"Hmph! Instructor, don't underestimate them!"
"They'll make it!"
Voices rose in defiance.
Even in their exhausted state, they clung to hope.
Eighty-eight laps.
Eighty-nine.
Ninety.
Elsa's steps faltered.
Her body swayed violently.
Just as she was about to collapse—
A hand caught her wrist.
She stiffened.
Stephen.
He had turned back.
Without a word, he slowed his pace, matching hers, steadying her movement as they continued forward.
The field fell silent.
Time seemed to stretch thin.
Only three figures moved across the vast expanse.
Ninety-first lap.
Ninety-second.
Ninety-third.
Elsa's breathing grew erratic.
She turned her head slightly, her voice faint.
"Go… without me…"
Stephen hesitated for a fraction of a second.
Then he nodded.
Gently, he released her wrist.
And surged forward.
Ninety-fourth lap.
His legs screamed.
The strength that had carried him this far began to drain away.
Even the sapling's energy felt faint now, like a flickering flame in the wind.
His vision blurred.
The world dimmed at the edges.
He took another step—
And another—
Then everything tilted.
His body swayed.
The ground rushed up to meet him—
But instead of cold hardness, he felt something soft.
A faint, gentle fragrance drifted into his senses.
He didn't have the strength to open his eyes.
Darkness swallowed him.
------------------------------------
Elsa staggered as she caught him, dropping to the ground under his weight.
She, too, was at her limit.
Around them, the students rushed forward in a chaotic wave, voices overlapping in concern.
"Give him space!"
"Careful!"
Liam appeared beside them in an instant.
He crouched down, his expression cold as he checked Stephen's condition.
A moment later, he snorted.
"Hmph. No need to push yourself to death," he said flatly. "He's fine. Move back. Let him breathe."
"Instructor, you're too cold-blooded!"
A female student burst into tears.
Even though they hadn't finished, Stephen and the others had fought for everyone.
Their effort had not gone unnoticed.
"Cold-blooded?" Liam straightened, his gaze sweeping across the crowd. "The world outside is filled with danger at every step. What you faced today is nothing."
His voice hardened.
"When you stand on the edge of death, you'll understand what true cruelty is."
Then he turned.
Jason was still running.
"Kid," Liam called out, "you're the only one left. No need to continue. Everyone—three days, no food, no rest."
Jason's steps slowed.
His breathing had grown heavy now. Even for him, the weight was beginning to take its toll.
The iron armor felt like a mountain pressing down on his body.
He stopped.
Then—
He turned around.
"It's not over yet," he said.
His voice was tired, but steady.
"They only lacked sixteen laps combined. Add my four… I'll run another twenty."
He met Liam's gaze directly.
"Will that count?"
Liam's eyes twitched.
For a brief moment, even his composure wavered.
Those eyes—
Calm. Steady. Unyielding.
Far too resolute for someone so young.
Around them, silence fell.
Every student looked at Jason.
At the one who had endured to the very end… and still chose to keep going.
"Can I run another twenty laps?" Jason repeated, his voice slightly hoarse, yet unwavering.
Liam exhaled slowly.
"Fine," he said at last. "I'll give you the chance."
A faint smirk appeared.
"If you complete twenty more laps… everyone's punishment is lifted."
A spark ignited in the crowd.
"Thank you, Instructor!"
Jason clenched his fist.
Then he turned—
And ran.
--------------------------------------
Time passed.
The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in deep shades of red and gold before fading into night.
Moonstones embedded around the training grounds lit up one by one, casting a soft, ethereal glow across the field.
No one left.
Not a single person.
They stood or sat where they were, watching.
Waiting.
Cheering.
"Go, Jason!"
"You can do it!"
Some of the female students had tears in their eyes as they shouted, their fists clenched tightly.
Behind him, a few who had recovered slightly forced themselves to stand, matching his pace as best they could, running alongside him in silent support.
On the platform, Liam stood with his arms crossed.
A faint smile rested on his lips.
"This batch…" he murmured softly, almost to himself, "is quite interesting."