The teleportation light faded, and Lasron cautiously opened his eyes, bracing himself for a new arena, a dark dungeon, or whatever harsh physical trial the S+ Gauntlet would throw at him next. But what appeared before him left him stunned.
It wasn't cold stone walls, nor blood-soaked sand, but a space that looked... peaceful. He was standing at the edge of a small village, with a few dozen simple thatched-roof huts, their leaves turned a dull brown. Cracked earthen walls, a few small, barren fields surrounding the village, planted with meager-looking, lifeless crops.
Narrow dirt paths wound between the houses. In the distance, a dense, gloomy forest enveloped the village like a natural rampart. The air here was noticeably fresher than in the previous two zones, carrying the faint scent of grass, damp earth after rain, and the weak smell of cooking fires from a few huts. A tranquility pervaded, broken only by the gentle rustling of leaves in the wind and the chirping of insects.
This peace was so unusual it made Lasron uneasy. He had learned that in the S+ Gauntlet, nothing was simple or kind. Just then, the familiar, cold system notification appeared, confirming his apprehension:
[Welcome to the S+ Trial - Zone 3: The Village of Last Hope!]
[Zone Difficulty: (Undetermined)]
[Mission: Within the designated safe zone – this entire village – eliminate one hundred and twelve (112) creatures to complete the trial.]
[Current Progress: 0/112]
[Reward for completing Zone 3: +20 basic stat points (stored, free allocation) and one special hidden status.]
[Note: This safe zone provides recovery effects for the trial participant. All mission progress will be saved.]
Lasron read the mission objective over and over, especially the phrases "eliminate 112 creatures" and "within the designated safe zone – this entire village." He looked around the small village.
Doors creaked open, a few figures beginning to appear, perhaps drawn by the light of his arrival. They were pitifully thin and pale, their clothes mostly old, tattered rags, patched extensively.
The children had swollen bellies, their skin stretched taut over bones, their eyes aged beyond their years. The adults were gaunt, their shoulders slumped from exhaustion and chronic hunger. They moved slowly, listlessly. He estimated the entire village held just over a hundred people.
"One hundred and twelve creatures... in this village..." A horrifying, cold thought crept into Lasron's mind. No... it couldn't be... could the "creatures" the System referred to be these villagers? These weak, starving people? The System wanted him... to slaughter the entire village? No! There must be some mistake. Perhaps there were monsters hidden in the village, or creatures invisible to the naked eye. He couldn't accept that terrible possibility.
The villagers saw Lasron, a strange child in tattered clothes, his lean body bearing the faint marks of past trials (though fully healed, the memories of injury remained), with initial curiosity that quickly shifted to indifference and wariness. They seemed accustomed to their isolated life, and the appearance of a stranger brought them no joy or hope, only caution.
Lasron tried to push aside the dreadful thought, focusing on observation. He noticed most villagers had gloomy, hunger-worn faces. The fields around the village were clearly insufficient to sustain them. Occasionally, a few slightly healthier-looking men would gaze towards the forest with a mixture of longing and fear. Perhaps they wanted to hunt but lacked the strength or courage to face the dangers within?
His "Monster Scan" skill was still available. Lasron decided to test his theory. He stealthily approached the edge of the forest bordering the village. Immediately, information appeared in his vision:
[Grey Wolf - Lv.5]
[Traits: Attacks in packs, sharp teeth.]
[Weaknesses: Fears fire, low defense.]
.
[Cunning Goblin - Lv.6]
[Traits: Agile, uses crude weapons, prefers sneak attacks.]
[Weaknesses: Low intelligence, fears bright light.]
.
[Rough-Skinned Crocodile - Lv.7]
[Traits: Hides underwater, powerful bite, thick hide.]
[Weaknesses: Slow on land, soft belly.]
Information on various other low-level creatures also appeared as he scanned the forest. All were between levels 5 and 7, far too weak for the current Lasron. With 30 basic stat points and his tempered resistance, dealing with them would be trivial.
"That's it! The 'creatures' in the mission must be these monsters!" Lasron thought, feeling a wave of relief. Perhaps the System wanted him to clear out this forest to protect the villagers? These monsters were a threat to them, after all.
Another thought occurred to him. These villagers were starving. If he helped them hunt, brought them food, he might complete the mission (or so he hoped) and help them at the same time. After everything he had been through, especially the presumed betrayal and torture in his imagined Zone 3 (if that had even been real), he craved something... decent. A chance to do the right thing.
No sooner thought than done, Lasron charged into the forest without hesitation. The movement and evasion skills honed through hundreds of hellish days were now maximally effective against these low-level monsters.
A Level 5 Grey Wolf lunged; Lasron sidestepped it with ease, then casually smashed its head with a rock he'd picked up. The wolf yelped and lay still. A group of Level 6 Goblins tried to ambush him from behind a tree, but with his sharpened senses, Lasron detected them and used his superior speed to take them down one by one before they could react. Even the large Level 7 Rough-Skinned Crocodile was easily lured ashore and dispatched with attacks to its vulnerable belly.
In just a few short hours, Lasron had defeated dozens of assorted monsters. He piled up his spoils – wolf meat, goblin meat (though it didn't look very appetizing), crocodile hide – and cheerfully dragged them back to the village. He hoped to see smiles, to hear sincere thanks.
But before entering the village, he carefully checked his mission panel again. It still read: [Current Progress: 0/112]. A sense of disappointment and confusion washed over Lasron. Why hadn't it changed? Weren't these monsters counted? Or did he have to kill exactly 112 of them before it updated?
Though slightly disheartened, Lasron decided to bring his spoils into the village anyway. Maybe the mission would update later, or at least he had helped the villagers get a full meal.
When Lasron dragged the pile of game into the village square, the villagers were initially timid and fearful. But when they saw it was food, a lot of food, their expressions gradually changed. Wariness gave way to unbridled joy. Small cheers erupted. Children ran forward, eyeing the meat greedily. Adults gathered, a few daring to touch the pile, then looked at Lasron with profound gratitude.
"Thank you! Thank you, boy!" a careworn woman said, her voice trembling. "You... you are our village's savior!" An old man with a white beard and hair also approached, bowing his head to Lasron.
For the first time in his life, Lasron felt the warmth of gratitude, of recognition from others. It was a strange, yet pleasant sensation, causing his frozen heart to stir faintly. He nodded shyly, then helped the villagers divide the meat, showing them how to prepare the animals he knew. The atmosphere in the village became cheerful, bustling. Lasron felt a small joy, a feeling that perhaps, this time, the trial wasn't entirely hell.
But that joy, that warmth, was merely a fragile illusion about to shatter.
A few days later, as the villagers were gradually getting used to Lasron's presence and the new source of food he regularly provided (and the mission progress stubbornly remained at 0/112), the first terrible tragedy struck.
One afternoon, as everyone was preparing dinner from wolf meat Lasron had brought the day before, three villagers – a healthy middle-aged man, a woman, and a teenager – suddenly cried out in agony. They clutched their stomachs, writhing, their faces turning purple, foaming at the mouth, and within a few short minutes, they died before the horrified and bewildered eyes of the others.
No one understood what had happened. The wolf meat they had eaten the previous day had been perfectly fine. The preparation method was no different. Why was it lethal today? Confusion and fear engulfed the village.
And then, the most dreadful thing happened to Lasron. The moment those three people drew their last breaths, his mission panel abruptly updated, the blood-red text searing itself into his mind:
[Current Progress: 3/112]
Three dead... and the mission count increased by three. Lasron stood frozen amidst the villagers' wails and screams. His entire body went cold as if doused with ice water in midwinter. His brain seemed to shut down. No... it couldn't be...
The horrific truth struck him like a sledgehammer. The "creatures"... were these villagers. The mission... was to make him kill them. One hundred and twelve people. The entire village. And he... he had unknowingly begun to carry out that mission. He had killed three people with his own kindness.
He remembered the times he brought meat back. It had been perfectly fresh when he brought it into the village. He had even used Monster Scan on it a few times; there were no toxins. So why...? There was only one explanation, an explanation so cruel and absurd it was almost unthinkable: the System. The System itself, the very rules of this Zone 3, had turned his kindness into a murder weapon. It had poisoned the food he brought after he gave it to the villagers, just to ensure he couldn't help them, just to force him down the path of slaughter.
Horror, revulsion, and an overwhelming sense of guilt engulfed Lasron like a tsunami. He wanted to scream, to explain, to say he didn't mean it. But he knew it was useless.
The villagers, after the initial shock and grief of losing their loved ones, quickly found their "culprit." They didn't need to understand the System's mechanics; they only knew that the food brought by that "strange boy" had killed their relatives. The little gratitude they had previously shown turned into extreme resentment and terror.
"Demon! He's a demon!" "He killed our people!" "Drive him out! Kill him!"
Hate-filled shouts erupted. They no longer looked at him with gratitude or caution, but with the murderous eyes of those who wanted to tear him limb from limb. Sticks, stones, anything they could grab, began to rain down on Lasron.
Lasron, his mind in turmoil, consumed by guilt and horror, offered no resistance. He let the blows, the curses, fall upon him. He could only turn and flee, run from the village, run from their hateful gazes, run from the terrible truth he had just discovered.
He ran headlong into the nearby forest, tears streaming down his face. This wasn't a trial of strength or skill; this was a torture of morality, a cruel trap set by the System. He was an outcast, hated by the very people he had tried to help. He was alone, completely alone, facing a mission he didn't want but couldn't refuse if he wanted to survive.
Zone 3, the Village of Last Hope, had revealed its true face as a new, earthly hell, even more terrifying than anything he had experienced before.