The hall didn't empty.
It shifted.
What had once been scattered clusters of survivors became something sharper, more deliberate. Conversations tightened, voices lowered, movements became purposeful instead of reactive. No one here was careless anymore.
They had seen what happened to those who were.
Bran moved along the edge of it all, not isolating himself, not joining anyone either—just observing. The second test had stripped away noise. What remained now was intent.
Fragments of conversation drifted past him.
"…We move together this time. No splitting."
"…You think they'll allow that?"
"They allowed worse."
A short silence followed.
Then—
"…Fair."
A few meters away, a group of four stood close, speaking in quick, controlled bursts.
"…We prioritize targets, not territory."
"…No. Resources first. Then control."
"…You're thinking too small."
Elsewhere, someone laughed quietly.
Not amused.
Just… ready.
Bran's gaze swept across the hall.
Different reactions.
Different levels of understanding.
Some students were already preparing like they knew what was coming. Calm. Efficient. No wasted motion.
Others weren't.
Their eyes moved too much. Their posture gave them away. They were thinking, calculating, trying to catch up to something they hadn't fully grasped yet.
Then the air changed.
Subtle.
Immediate.
Silence fell.
The man stood at the front once more. No entrance. No spectacle. Just presence.
"Third trial."
That was enough.
Every voice died instantly.
A projection formed above them.
The image unfolded slowly.
Dense forest. Jagged terrain. Broken ridges carving through uneven land like scars that refused to heal. Ruins scattered across the landscape—structures too deliberate to be natural, yet too broken to belong to anything living. Mist clung low, shifting just enough to distort depth and swallow movement.
"The Shattered Wilds."
The name settled.
His gaze moved across them, calm, measured, weighing without urgency.
"You'll be deployed at random points across this zone."
Points of light scattered across the projection.
Then—
Movement.
Shapes.
Something alive.
The image sharpened.
Creatures moved through the forest.
Not human.
Not controlled.
Wild.
The reaction was immediate—but uneven.
"…What are those?"
"…Beasts?"
"…Mana beasts?"
The term spread, but not evenly.
Some voices carried confusion.
Others—recognition.
A few students didn't react at all. Their expressions didn't shift, their posture didn't change. Only their eyes sharpened slightly, like they were seeing something expected rather than new.
Bran's gaze remained fixed on the projection.
Mana beasts.
The term didn't feel entirely foreign.
But it wasn't familiar either.
Then something surfaced.
A memory.
"…portals have been opening more frequently…"
That voice again.
Bran's eyes narrowed slightly.
So that's what she meant… maybe.
Not certainty.
Not confirmation.
Just a possibility forming where there hadn't been one before.
His gaze lingered on the terrain.
The density of mana.
The way the creatures moved.
The structure of the environment itself.
Something about it felt… contained.
Not like a natural wilderness.
More like something—
Placed.
Or maybe he was overthinking it.
The man spoke again.
"You'll hunt them."
No elaboration.
No explanation.
Just a statement.
The projection shifted.
Crystals appeared.
Embedded within the beasts.
Faintly glowing.
"You collect what they leave behind."
A brief pause.
"The more you gather, the better your chances."
That was enough.
Understanding spread quickly.
"…So it's a count system…"
"…We just stack as many as possible…"
"…Or—"
A quieter voice cut in.
"…we take it from someone who already has it."
Silence followed.
Not shocked.
Just accepted.
The man didn't react.
He didn't need to.
Then—
A hand went up.
It didn't belong.
Not here.
Not at this stage.
The movement drew attention immediately.
A boy.
Mid-tier at best.
His posture wasn't steady. His shoulders were tight, his fingers slightly curled like he wasn't sure if he should be doing this.
But he raised his hand anyway.
"…What if we don't want to continue?"
The words hung in the air.
A few heads turned.
Not many.
But enough.
The boy swallowed slightly, then pushed on.
"What if… mid-test, someone decides to quit? Or even now?"
The hall didn't react loudly.
But something shifted.
Not tension.
Clarity.
The man looked at him.
Not annoyed. Not surprised.
Just still.
Then he answered.
"Once the trial begins…"
A brief pause.
"…it ends."
The words were simple.
Flat.
Absolute.
"No withdrawal. No external intervention. No exceptions."
Silence deepened.
The boy's expression tightened.
"…So there's no way out?"
"There is."
A pause.
"Complete the trial."
That was all.
No reassurance.
No comfort.
Just truth.
The boy lowered his hand slowly.
Too slowly.
Because now—
Everyone had seen him.
And more importantly—
Everyone had understood something.
He wasn't ready.
And in a place like this—
That mattered more than strength.
Bran didn't look at him again.
He didn't need to.
The damage was already done.
The man continued.
"Duration ends when one hundred and eighty candidates remain."
A pause.
Then—
"Prepare."
This time, something new happened.
The air behind the man distorted—
Then split.
Portals opened.
Not one.
Not a few.
Dozens.
Circular fractures in space, each one shimmering with unstable light, edges flickering like they couldn't fully decide on a shape. Through them, glimpses of the Wilds could be seen—trees, mist, broken terrain.
The hall stilled.
This wasn't passive.
This wasn't forced.
This was a choice.
Step forward.
Or stay behind.
No one stayed.
Movement broke instantly.
Students advanced toward the portals in waves—some confidently, some cautiously, some too quickly. Groups tried to enter together, clustering toward the same openings, but the moment someone crossed the threshold, they vanished without a trace.
No delay.
No overlap.
No guarantee.
Random.
Bran watched one group of three step through the same portal—
All gone in the same instant.
No sign they remained together.
Scattered.
Good.
That meant no predictable alliances.
That flicker returned.
Hidden Function Detected
Access Requirements Not Met
Level Requirement: ???
Gone.
Bran exhaled slowly.
Level.
Then that's what I'm getting.
He stepped forward.
Not rushing.
Not hesitating.
Just choosing.
The portal in front of him flickered faintly, unstable at the edges, the image beyond it shifting between trees and broken ground.
For a brief moment—
He felt it.
That same subtle sensation.
Like something beyond the portal wasn't just a place—
But a boundary.
Then he stepped through.
The world folded.
The forest swallowed him whole.
Bran landed in motion, his body adjusting instantly as uneven ground met his feet. The air here was heavier, denser with mana. The mist shifted slowly, limiting visibility, distorting depth.
He didn't move immediately.
He listened.
No voices.
No movement.
Good.
He exhaled once.
Then—
He moved.
And somewhere, not too far from where he landed—
Another boy stumbled.
The same one.
The one who had asked the question.
His breathing was uneven.
His movements uncertain.
And in the distance—
Something was already watching him.