Ryu rubbed the drowsiness from his eyes with a loud exhale. He had gone unbothered through the night, it seemed. Or maybe the afterlife was forest-themed. He couldn’t exactly bring himself to care. Between the healing pill and the cost of his Skill, his body was depleted and sore. He stood up, back pressed against the tree he’d slept against.

His fatigued mind felt the abnormalities in his pockets immediately. Right. His loot. He crushed the Qi crystals without another thought, directing the energy into his Class.

Level Up: Level 3 -> Level 5

Profession Point available. Use it now? Y/N

He mentally selected yes with a sigh. A new screen appeared, one that had three glowing orbs. One said | Weapons |, the next said | Governance |, and the last read | Warfare |. He frowned. Governance did not interest him at all. The other two were intriguing, however. What did the system consider different between the two? He selected | Weapons |, and the bright orb burst into a constellation of similar orbs. The choices were as he’d expected, simply a list of weapons. He moved over to warfare. The orbs on this side were more diverse, if less helpful for his current situation. They included things such as | Small Unit Tactics | and | Troop Drilling |.

At this point, it was a question of immediate benefit versus long-term benefit. A Profession Point would increase his natural talent in a specific area, but it would not make him a genius or prodigy unless his talent was already high in that area. Among the Professions that would help him survive in the Trial, he had to decide between doubling down on his strengths or shoring up his weaknesses.

His mind drifted to Haru, his biological father. Anger kindled in his gut, but he suppressed it. What would that man choose? Jinn, the man who had raised Ryu, would have selected something under the | Governance | option, he knew. Jinn was not a Master Class, however. Haru was, and Haru would pick… the sword. Yes. Ryu was a natural talent at the sword. If that increased, he could shorten the distance between himself and lifelong swordsmen.

He selected | Two-handed Blades |, feeling… nothing. He sighed. Not everything had to be announced with bells and whistles, he supposed. Still, this was progress. Although his goals had become muddled with the discovery of his true parentage, he was starting to have a clearer idea of why he had to keep going. He wanted… He wanted to be strong. Strong enough to make a world where good men like Jinn weren’t ground beneath the boots of those like Haru. Strong enough to help the house. Strong enough to take Haru’s place.

Normally, he would've waited to consult with his house about leveling, but hesitating would be foolish in the Trial. The traditions of the Red Sun Faction prevented Classers from sharing too much information with the UnClassed to make sure they earned their Class options on their merit alone. In other words, they had thrust Ryu in this hell hole with nothing.

He stretched his sore body. That meant it was time to move. The next layer was waiting, and it would be much more dangerous than this one had been.

The best way to describe the third layer was to imagine the qualities of a cave: dark, quiet, and full of faintly glowing moss. Well maybe the moss thing was unique to this jungle, but it was what he imagined would be in a sufficiently magical cave. No part of the layer was well lit; whatever heavenly object that lit the small world of the trial could not shine through the leafy boughs of the jungle trees above. It was like the layer was held under a permanent night. He had to admit it was… creepy. And that was before he heard the scream.

A shrill screech carried through the silence of the layer, followed by the sounds of combat. He stopped walking, tilting his head to listen to the noise. He knew the screech was that of a banshee- the bat-like monsters who patrolled this layer. Heard alone, the sound wouldn’t have caused him to stop, but the familiar sounds of combat were unmistakable. Were there other people in the Trial? Should he approach them? He let out a small huff. It would be easier to ignore the sound, yet the part of him that was still Jinn’s son hesitated. Those people could die without his help. Could he live with himself if he let them die? He started walking towards the noise.

As he jogged, a dark thought tickled the back of his mind. Meeting others in a Trial was considered bad luck, for they were often the last faces an adventurer saw. Whether that death came from monsters or the people, he would have to find out....

---

Keira ducked under a clawed hand, driving the sharp end of her staff into the monster while triggering her Spell. The creature’s leathery wings flapped, but she was already turning. It was dead, it just didn’t know it yet. Her eyes locked onto the single light source in the jungle that wasn’t blue. Marshal, as always, was making a scene of himself. His sword glowed with the red light of a combat Skill as he thrusted it towards the three banshees in front of him. His shield came up to block a blow, but even from her spot thirty feet away, she could tell he was barely holding on. On the ground below him was the third member of their little group, Tam. Despite being more of an archer, the man always felt the need to help Marshal on the front lines, a trait that she both loved and hated.

Already, she could feel the symptoms of mental exhaustion creeping in, the penalty of overusing her Spells, but she rattled off a quick chant anyways. The dark magic of her first Spell, [Hex], leapt from the gnarled wood of her staff, hitting one of the banshees attacking Marshal. The open cuts on the beast's body grew dark and festered. It slowed and weakened immediately.

Under normal circumstances, this was how the group would work. Marshal would attract attention and deal damage up close, Tam would cover him from range, Keira would harry the enemies with her Witch class, and their healer, Cynthia, would keep them standing. Instead, Marshal was taking on enemies with no ranged support, and Cynthia was doing her best to keep him on his feet. Tam, unable to watch his friend be injured so heavily, had run to help the man, leaving only Keira to do her best in the back. Damnit. Why had the Trial limited them to only four people?

She refocused on the large banshee in the back. Wrapped up in its large leathery wings, it stood head and shoulders above the others. They’d confirmed it wasn’t the boss, merely a stronger version of its smaller counterparts. As if detecting her gaze, the monster turned its bat-like head towards her, issuing a shriek that shook her to the very core. She dropped to her knees. This was the same ability that had thrown Tam to the ground moments earlier, and like an idiot, she’d gotten trapped in it as well.

Fear rose in her breast. With her out of the battle temporarily, Marshal would have to fight harder than ever. If it were anybody else, she would panic. Marshal wasn’t just anybody, though. This Trial was the latest in a series of challenges for the dark-skinned man, and he hadn’t failed yet.

Focusing on her companions as she was, she almost missed the dark figure speeding at the large banshee’s back. In moments, steel protruded from the banshee’s chest. It keeled to the side, writhing in death. A man stood in its wake, the blue light of the jungle painting his sharp features in aquamarine. His sword, held out to the side, had a slight curve. She almost wept in relief.

She continued to watch as feeling returned to her body. Marshal and the newcomer fought together against the remaining banshees. Tam, finally back on his feet, peppered the banshees on the outskirts of the group. Cynthia was on her knees to Keira’s left, fatigued from constant spellcasting. She sighed. She was only good for another Spell or two, but with the fight moving away from her, it was hard to make the banshees out from between the trees.

Making a decision, she stood on shaky legs. She walked over to their healer. The woman usually looked like nothing more than a queen with her wavy blonde hair and blue eyes, but with her white robes stained by dirt and her own sick, she looked positively miserable. In any other situation, Keira would laugh at the girl’s sweat plastered face. Sadly, that moment would have to wait until after they fought off the banshees. If they fought off the banshees. She pulled the robed healer to her feet, setting off towards the sounds of combat in front of her. Damn you Tam for always getting yourself in trouble. And damn you Marshal for always pulling him out of it, she thought.

Coming from a guild in the Second Ring, Keira’s group knew each other well. She knew Marshal was reckless, she knew Cynthia was overly cautious, and she knew Tam was short-sighted. This was critical for successful teamwork. Each person knew where to pick up slack for the team. She didn’t know about the newcomer in this way, however. Would he fold under pressure? Would he sacrifice Marshal for his own gain? Would he push too far into the banshee line? She didn’t know. The man might not even be interested in helping them. She knew people who just loved to fight. It was potentially dangerous for Marshal and Tam to cover for an unknown fighter without her or Cynthia’s assistance, or so she told herself as she dragged the pretty blonde like a sack of potatoes.

“Slow down, Keira. I’m going to be sick,” Cynthia grumbled.

“You’ve already been sick. Do you not have any mental restoratives?”

“Already used them.”

“Fantastic,” Keira said, stopping to fumble at her belt. She pulled out a small blue pill from a pouch and shoved it in her friend’s hand. “You owe me one after this is over.”

Cynthia nodded slowly. Keira turned to her left. Between a few trees, she could vaguely make out movement. The darkness was really starting to bother her. She ran forward hoping to help in any way she could. This was the first time they’d dealt with such numbers in the Trial. She finally burst through some vegetation, seeing her companion’s fighting back a tide of black. She frowned. It was worse than she’d thought.

---

Heroes jumped in fights to protect others, didn’t they? Jinn would’ve, he knew. Maybe the man Ryu hoped to become would, too, although it seemed more and more unlikely with every passing second. His foot clipped a root. He stumbled, his thoughts fleeing into the darkness around him. His elegant idea of swordplay disappeared as he hacked and punched at the leathery skin of his opponents. A sword wasn’t meant for a fight like this. Hells, it was as likely he’d stab himself as the enemy in the dim light. It was meant to fight other humans, preferably those with a sword of their own.

Another stumble brought him face to face with a snapping, ugly mouth. His forehead snapped into the banshee’s face. He almost laughed. Talent? Skill? These things didn’t exist. Not anymore. This was only mayhem, this melee in the dark exposing his pitiful weakness in a new way. A sloppy cut split the thing’s skull, and he almost fell on the bloody ground trying to pull it free.

A sharp pain lanced through his back. Fuck. He’d tore his wounds back open. It’d have to wait. If he survived. A new sound made him turn, and he almost brained the figure before recognizing it was the dark-skinned man from before. They shared a nod. Ryu moved on.

Madness. Bloody madness. It seemed to follow him through the dark. It was a witness to his dark deeds. It watched him choke and beat the life from a scratching banshee. It watched him get a bite taken out of his chest. It watched him pay that wound back tenfold, turning the banshee’s head into a caved in mess. Tears came and went, and blood flowed even more freely than that. There was no shame in those brief moments of violence in the dark forest, only fear and a healthy dose of survival instinct. He turned a stumble into a tackle, abandoning his sword to press a restraining hand against the banshee’s head. It tried to bite his neck. Ryu bit first, wrenching its throat out with a sharp twist. The acrid taste of blood lathered his tongue, and the copper scent of the beast’s lifeforce sickened him.

He wanted to lay there. The adrenaline had long faded, and his only company was the pain in his chest and body. Another body hit the ground beside him. It was a banshee, thankfully, an arrow sprouting from its skull. He heard one of the monster’s screech at the sight of its fallen brothers. His body seemed to stand on his own. He knew damn sure his mind hadn’t told it to that. He’d already given up on that. His muddled thoughts seemed to narrow on the running monster, and he roared, lifting leaden legs to charge at the startled monster. Clarity was long gone, replaced by a world of pain, darkness, and most importantly, blood.