The wolf‑man's corpse hit the floor with a dull thud, blood pooling beneath him and staining the cracked tiles dark red. Han Chen stood over it, panting, his breath heavy and uneven. The silence that followed his last strike throbbed through the hall like a living thing—raw, tense, jagged.
His muscles twitched under the weight of exhaustion, and he gripped the rod tightly to keep himself from stumbling. His right leg still burned where the wolf‑man's sword had cut deep into the flesh. The metallic tang of blood mixed with the bitter stench of burned herbs from the dead furnaces.
Across the room, eight pairs of eyes watched him with unblinking intensity. Among them were three beast‑men—a foxman with burned red fur along his arms and sharp canines peeking from the corner of his mouth, a fishman with slick, scaled skin and pale gills, and a girl from the leopard tribe whose gaze darted warily between Han Chen and the blood‑stained floor.
The remaining five were human—each breathing unsteadily, their hands trembling slightly but their eyes gleaming with the desperate will to survive. For a brief moment, no one moved. The heavy breathing of mortals filled the vacant hall, mixing with the distant hum of dying flames.
Then... one man—the same who had earlier slaughtered the seven alchemists—sheathed his saber with a slow, deliberate motion.
The others turned toward him, and when they saw that all the refiners were indeed dead, their fear shifted into brief relief, even satisfaction.
"Haha, good! You killed them."
"Yes… if not, those seven would've finished refining, and we'd already be done for."
"That was smart thinking, brother!"
The man gave a calm nod, his thin lips twisting into a faint grin. His saber dripped crimson, glinting in the pale furnace light. His eyes, dark and sharp as broken glass, flicked briefly toward Han Chen—assessing, not friendly, not hostile… something in between.
He accepted the praise in silence, his breathing steady. For now, it seemed, they saw him as one of them.
Han Chen, still catching his breath, opened his eyes narrowly, his expression void of emotion though his mind raced."They're happy," he thought grimly. "Idiot scavengers. They think his act's in their favor. They don't even realize how dangerous someone like him is."
He adjusted his footing subtly, forcing his injured leg to bear weight. If they attacked now, he'd have no chance of taking all eight down. The wound still pulsed, sending hot waves of pain through his flesh.
The foxman stepped forward, clutching a spear that shimmered faintly with embedded metal shards. His voice slithered through the heavy air. "Look at him," the foxman said coldly, his green eyes narrowing toward Han Chen. "He's exhausted. Even the wolf‑man couldn't kill him one‑on‑one. You all saw that. So what do we do?"
He raised his spear and slammed its end against the floor with a clang. "We kill him before he recovers. Don't give him time to breathe." A ripple moved through the crowd.
"He's right…" another man muttered.
"If we wait, he'll slaughter us one by one."
"Yeah. Together, he can't block us all."
Murmurs grew louder, sharper.
"Yes, let's do it."
"Everyone at once."
"Kill him and move on!"
Han Chen tightened his grip on his weapons, exhaling slowly."Shit…" he thought, glancing around as bodies closed in from all directions.
The nine survivors began moving toward him, weapons drawn. The foxman led the charge, spear braced under his arm, followed by the fishman slashing the air with a curved blade that sang faintly when swung. The leopard girl carried twin daggers; the humans were armed with sabers, a sword, a jagged pole, and one even held a nunchaku with twin crescent blades attached at both ends.
It was a ring of death closing around him. Han Chen fixed his stance, pain screaming through his thigh as he shifted to hold the iron rod defensively before him. "I need to wait for an opening… if they rush too close, I can at least take one down..." he thought grimly.
They were almost upon him when it happened. A faint whistle cut through the air.
Han Chen blinked—half‑expecting an attack from the foxman's spear—but instead, the foxman's movement halted abruptly. His eyes widened in confusion.
Pchhk—The sound came sharp, wet, and final.
A blade burst clean through the fox‑man's chest, its point glinting through fur and flesh.
The foxman froze mid‑step, gaze lowering in disbelief to the saber jutting through his ribs. His grip on the weapon slackened. Blood poured from his mouth as he coughed weakly.
"Wha… why…" he rasped, his voice trembling. "Why…?"
His knees buckled beneath him. The saber slid free as he collapsed onto the blood‑slick stone. The others' faces paled in instant shock. It was the same man—the one who had killed the seven refiners earlier. His saber still dripped crimson. This time, though, he stood behind the fallen fox‑man, a wide, twisted grin spreading across his face as he slowly lifted his weapon again.
His voice broke into a maniacal laugh that echoed through the hall, unbalanced and sharp as the clashing steel."Ahahaha! Why not?" he shouted, eyes wild. "Since when did I say I was on your side?"
Han Chen blinked, his brow furrowing deeply. "What the hell is this lunatic doing?"
The others staggered back in disbelief, shouting over one another.
"What the fuck are you doing!?"
"Are you insane!?"
"You just killed him!"
"We were supposed to kill him!" one yelled, pointing at Han Chen.
The man tilted his head, the flicker of crazy amusement dancing in his eyes. His laughter softened into something almost childlike. "You all wanted to kill someone, didn't you?" he said, mockingly calm now, swinging the blood‑soaked saber in lazy arcs. "But to me, it doesn't matter to me whose blood spills first…"
Han Chen's face twisted into quiet annoyance as he shifted slightly, preparing himself."...What a mess," he muttered coldly. "I barely started healing, and now this lunatic shows up."
Across the hall, the fishman and leopard girl exchanged terrified glances. For the first time since the trial began, none of them knew who the real enemy was anymore.
And above it all, the voice of the dome remained silent, as if watching this bloody chaos with amusement.
...
The room had gone utterly silent.
Nine bodies remained breathing in the hall, each positioned away from the others, weapons drawn, eyes wild with wariness. The stone floor, slick with blood, reflected the dim orange light of the furnaces. The faint smell of burnt medicine and death filled every exhale.
No one trusted anyone anymore.
Each step backward was cautious, measured, deliberate—like wild animals retreating from the edge of uncontrollable violence. Even their own shadows felt like potential threats. Every move carried the weight of suspicion.
Han Chen stood a few paces back from the chaos, his dagger low and his rod resting lightly on his shoulder. He kept his posture deceptively relaxed, though inside, his chest still burned with tension.
The deep gash on his thigh had finally stopped bleeding, the muscle knitting just enough for him to stand properly again. The scab had dried, but he knew one wrong movement—something sharp, sudden, or heavy—and it would split open again.
He rotated the leg slowly once, testing it. The pain dulled into a dull, bearable ache. "Unexpe—ctedly," he thought with a faint inward smirk, "this played out in my favor."
The bloodthirsty tension that once radiated through the survivors now turned inward.
None of them dared strike first anymore. None trusted the others. Every second they hesitated, Han Chen's breathing evened, his mind clearing and patience returning.
That fragile moment of stillness—born of fear—became his recovery. The man holding the saber, the same one who had killed the seven refiners and betrayed the fox‑man, broke the quiet first.
He began to walk slowly toward the leopard‑tribe girl. Her skin was faintly tanned, marked by the patterned spots along her neck and collarbone, her eyes green and wary. The curved dagger in her grip gleamed under the trembling light. "What do you want?" she asked sharply, narrowing her gaze.
The man stopped a few paces away, lowering his saber slightly. Then, with an odd display of politeness that didn't match his earlier madness, he bowed his head lightly. "Lady," he began, his tone suddenly calm, "you don't have to be wary of me." The girl's lips pressed tight, saying nothing.
He continued, voice smooth, almost charming. "Four can still pass the trial. The wolf‑man's dead, the fox‑man's dead, the refiners are gone. There's opportunity left for those who act with reason instead of fear." His smile widened faintly, his words like honey hiding the smell of blood. "I want to take you with me—that makes two."
Then his hand lifted slightly, and he pointed toward Han Chen. The girl tensed, her attention flicking to Han Chen across the hall. "Even the wolf‑man couldn't kill him one‑on‑one," the saber‑holder went on, his tone almost respectful.
"He may very well be a Core Formation or even a Nascent Soul monster forced into a mortal body by the dome. You felt how the air changed when he fought, didn't you?" His reasoning sounded logical. Terrifyingly so.
The leopard girl didn't answer but didn't reject the idea either. She lowered her dagger slightly.
Seeing her hesitation, the man pressed further. "If we take him with us, that makes three. A trio—enough to control this trial." He turned his gaze toward the fishman standing at the far corner, his silver scales dull under the uneven light. "As for the rest," he said with a cold shift in tone, "we can pick you, fishman. Then together, we kill the remaining humans."
The fishman's pale gills twitched slightly, his throat bulging as he swallowed nervously. His gaze darted from the treacherous saber‑man to Han Chen. But when he realized they were offering him inclusion, his eyes brightened in relief.
"Okay," the fishman said quickly, clutching his curved blade tighter. "Okay, I'll join you. Let's kill these humans and take our four spots."
The remaining five humans froze completely, their faces draining of color. Some tightened their grips on their weapons; others took a shaky step back. They could see their deaths written in the eyes of the beast‑blooded trio forming before them.
Han Chen's eyes flickered—calculating, sharp."So that's his game…" he thought coldly. "He's turning fear into structure." If they joined forces, they could wipe the others out easily.
But Han Chen's mind lingered on one thing—the saber man's tone when he pointed toward him. There was admiration in it. Manipulative, perhaps, but useful for now.
He exhaled slowly, the corners of his lips twisting into a faint grin. "Let's make use of them," he thought, voice cold in his mind. "After I'm done recovering fully, I can kill them all anyway."
The fishman and the leopard girl exchanged brief nods with the saber‑man before they turned toward Han Chen. The air thickened again, charged with tension, though none dared make a sudden move.
They approached him carefully—step by step—still guarded against both him and each other. The saber‑man bowed his head slightly once more, speaking in measured tones. "Please," he said, "become our leader."
The words hung in the air.
Han Chen's eyes narrowed. "You are the most powerful person in this room," the man continued, voice confident now. "Even if you do nothing else, your presence alone can anchor us. Help us end this, and we can all leave alive."
The five remaining pairs of eyes turned toward Han Chen—some trembling, others calculating, but all waiting. Han Chen said nothing.
Han Chen acted tough, challenging the man, "What makes you think you're worthy to team up with me?" The man calmly responded, "What if we offer you the heads of those five remaining people?" Han Chen's mind raced with calculations.
He thought, if they kill those five, he can't absorb there death qi. Despite his injuries and being outnumbered, letting them fight among themselves would only benefit him. If he refused, they would likely attack him anyway.
The gains outweighed the risks clearly, so he said, "Alright."
-----TO BE CONTINUED-----