The candidates marched toward their huts in a grim, orderly silence.
Exhaustion was a heavy cloak on every shoulder.
'Thirty huts. Ten wells. They knew exactly how many of us would survive,' Ashan observed, his eyes scanning the compound. The math was chilling.
His team reached Hut 7.
It was a modest structure of dark green wood, sturdy but simple.
An open doorway, no door, and a small window.
Inside, seven beds of wool and animal fur were laid out on the ground.
A clay pitcher for water sat in the corner.
Helma, the petite girl, collapsed onto the first bed and was instantly asleep, her light snores cutting through the quiet.
An awkward silence hung for a moment before Rodric, the boy with striking blue eyes, broke it. "We should introduce ourselves. We're a team now. I'm Rodric."
"Dris," the tall, black-haired boy grunted, claiming the bed next to Helma.
"Ballio," said the light-brown-haired boy.
"Damara," a girl replied sleepily.
"I'm Imla! Nice to meet you all!" the green-haired girl chirped.
'High energy,' Ashan noted dryly. All eyes turned to him.
"Ashan," he said, clearing his throat.
"Pleasure. Further talks can wait. Right now, we need sleep." He needed to establish himself as proactive, a decision-maker.
Lone wolves were romantic, but in this hell, loyal pawns were a better bet. For now.
The others nodded, the shared fatigue making words unnecessary. Ashan took the last bed.
'Time to summarize this insanity,' he thought, lying down. 'I passed the trials of the "Order of Arishadvarga." I unlocked this "Anupamah Siddhi" called Viksana. Training starts tomorrow.'
His mouth twitched. 'Not bad? Who am I kidding? One misstep and my second life is over.
No OP system, no hidden grandpa. Just this... thing. And that vision of the fire and the hooded figure... is that part of it?'
Curiosity overpowered exhaustion. 'Let's test it. On myself. I need to learn to control the flow.'
'Viksana,' he commanded silently.
Grayish-white spirals flickered in his eyes. A torrent of information assaulted his mind—the texture of the fur, the rhythm of Helma's breathing, the grain of the wood.
'Concentrate! Filter it!'
He focused, wrestling the flood into a single stream. A panel of text shimmered into clarity in his mind's eye.
[Information Panel]
Name: Ashan
Race: Human
Age: 11 years
Date of Birth: 9 Julvan, 304 DC (Divine Cycle of Time)
Current State: Fatigued, Minor Physical Strain
Anupamah Siddhi: Viksana
Description: A unique mystical power. The user is the 'Gazer' who perceives the essence of being, fate, and time.
Skills:
• [Analyse (Partial)] - Active. Discerns fundamental information.
• [Memory Drive] - Locked
• [Conceal] - Locked
• [Foresee] - Locked
• [Scrying] - Locked
'Shit.' The mental strain spiked. The spirals in his eyes dimmed and the panel dissolved.
He massaged his temples. 'So I'm the system now. Iconic.'
The ability was incredibly functional, a direct interface with reality itself. But it was raw, and unlocking the rest clearly depended on this "Sadhana."
The crucial question remained: should he reveal it? The voice had been private, but assuming his captors were fools was a fool's mistake. Paranoia was a survival tool. Showing power made you a target; hiding it made you vulnerable. For now, observe and understand. Then act.
***
GONG! GONG! GONG!
The iron bell shattered the pre-dawn silence.
'What sadist schedules this before sunrise?' Ashan groaned, forcing his eyes open.
The hut was still dark.
Around him, his teammates stirred sluggishly. Except Helma, who snored on.
Ashan splashed his face with cold water from the pitcher, the shock jolting him awake.
He unpacked his supplies: black robes with white stripes, a small rulebook, a rough cloth, and—blessedly—wooden slippers.
'New shoes. Small victories.'
"Everyone, get ready. Fast. We don't know what the punishment for being late is," he said, his voice cutting through the drowsy atmosphere.
Damara was shaking Helma. "Wake up!"
"So noisy," Dris yawned, ignoring them.
Ashan didn't wait.
He headed for the washroom, a stone-and-wood building to the north. It was functional, smelling of herbs and incense. 'Note to self: invent flush toilets.'
After a rushed routine, he ran back to the hut for his robe and towel. Helma was finally up, blinking owlishly.
"Who are you?" she mumbled.
'Unbelievable.' "Ashan. Your teammate. I suggest you move unless you want to find out what happens to stragglers."
Her eyes widened in panic, and she scrambled out.
'Life is definitely not going to be boring.'
At the bathhouse, he found a scene of chaotic urgency. And in the middle of it, Dris had a smaller boy by the collar.
"Hey, shit-face. This spot's mine. Piss off or I'll rearrange your face so even your dead mother wouldn't recognize you!" Dris snarled.
Ashan watched, a grim smile touching his lips.
'Teenage boys fighting over bathing rights. Some things are universal, even across worlds.' He found an empty spot, the familiar hostility a strangely comforting reminder of his past life's harshness.
The game was on.