The Simulation Field was a chaotic mess of neon light and screaming teenagers.
"Fireball!" "Shield Wall!" "Get off me, you pixelated wolf!"
Elian sprinted away from the starting zone. While the other two hundred candidates were busy fighting over the first few Holo-Goblins they saw, Elian was looking at the horizon.
The arena was simulated to be a dense forest, but it had boundaries. The "Exit Gate"—a swirling portal of white light—was located at the far north end, atop a holographic cliff.
There was only one way up that cliff: A narrow stone bridge spanning a digital gorge.
"Choke point," Elian muttered, his [Blueprint Sight] highlighting the topography in glowing orange lines. "Classic level design. Force the players into a funnel for a final confrontation."
Run speed analysis, the Ghost hummed. You have a ten-minute lead on the main pack. The bridge is unguarded.
"Not for long."
Elian reached the bridge. It was about ten meters long and three meters wide. Beneath it, the gorge dropped into a pitch-black void that simulated an instant-death fall.
Elian stood in the center of the bridge. He cracked his knuckles.
"Time to open for business."
He slapped his hands onto the stone floor.
[Class Skill: Edit Mode]
He didn't just build a wall. A wall could be climbed. He built a complex.
He pulled stone from the bridge itself, thinning the floor until it was precariously narrow. He used the excess material to construct a massive, curved barricade on the far side—a concave wall that would deflect projectiles back at the attackers.
Then, he used his [Material Synthesis] skill. He combined the loose dirt from the cliff edge with the water from his canteen.
[Mud Created.][Synthesizing: Mud + Mana Thread.][Result: Binding Sludge.]
He coated the floor of the bridge in the sticky, grey goo. Anyone who stepped on it would have their movement speed reduced by 80%.
Finally, he used the wood from a nearby holographic tree to build a small kiosk window in the center of his wall.
He carved a sign using his dagger and hung it up.
TOLL: 3 CORES.NO REFUNDS.
He sat down behind his window, crossed his arms, and waited.
The Rush
Twenty minutes later, the first candidate arrived.
It was a rogue—Group D, the same group as Elian. He was panting, covered in digital scratches, holding three glowing blue orbs.
"I made it!" the rogue cheered, sprinting toward the bridge. "I'm the first—"
SPLAT.
His boots hit the Binding Sludge. His momentum died instantly. He flailed, his feet stuck to the ground like he was walking in super-glue.
"What the...?" The rogue looked up.
Elian popped his head out of the kiosk window. "Welcome to the Vance Turnpike. Ticket, please."
The rogue blinked. "Who are you? Get out of my way! I have to reach the gate!"
"And you will," Elian said pleasantly. "For the low price of three Monster Cores."
"Three?!" The rogue's jaw dropped. "That's all I have! That's the passing requirement!"
"Correction," Elian wagged a finger. "The requirement is to reach the gate with three cores. If you pay me three, you pass the bridge... but you fail the test. Unless, of course, you go back and farm three more."
"You're crazy!" The rogue drew his daggers. "I'll just kill you!"
He tried to lunge. But his feet were stuck. He looked like a mime fighting the wind.
Elian leaned on the sill. "Sir, assaulting the toll booth operator is a federal offense. Also, look up."
The rogue looked up. Suspended above his head was a massive log, held in place by a single, shimmering Mana Thread.
"Pay the toll," Elian said, his voice dropping an octave. "Or get flattened."
The rogue looked at the log. He looked at the impossible wall. He looked at Elian's cold eyes.
"Fine!" The rogue screamed, throwing his three cores through the window. "Take them! You Vulture!"
"Thank you." Elian caught the cores.
He snapped his fingers. The sludge beneath the rogue's feet liquefied, releasing him. A section of the wall slid open, revealing a path to the gate.
The rogue scrambled through, cursing.
Elian pocketed the cores. "Three down. Only... everyone else to go."
As the hour mark approached, the bridge became a parking lot.
Fifty candidates were gathered on the near side of the gorge. They were shouting, waving weapons, and firing spells at Elian's wall.
Fireball!Lightning Bolt!Arrow Volley!
The attacks slammed into the curved stone barricade.
[Structure Integrity: 88%]
Elian sat behind the wall, calmly counting his loot. He had a pile of forty Monster Cores at his feet.
"This is an outrage!" a voice boomed over the crowd.
The sea of candidates parted. Valerius Thorne stepped forward. His silver armor was pristine. He held a glowing longsword.
"You!" Valerius pointed his sword at the kiosk. "Peasant! Do you know who I am?"
Elian peeked out. "A customer? That'll be five cores for you. Noble tax."
The crowd gasped.
"Insolence!" Valerius roared. "I am Valerius of House Thorne! I do not pay tolls to trash! Men, tear down this wall!"
Two of his lackeys—heavy warriors with hammers—charged the bridge.
They hit the sludge. They got stuck.
"Range attackers!" Valerius commanded. "Blast him!"
A dozen mages stepped up.
Elian sighed. "Okay, Ghost. Phase Two."
Activate the reflectors.
Elian placed his hand on the inner wall. [Edit Mode: Reshape].
He angled the curved surface of the barricade by five degrees.
"Fire!" Valerius yelled.
The mages unleashed a volley of magic missiles and firebolts. The spells screamed across the bridge. They hit Elian's curved wall.
But instead of exploding, the energy slid along the curve. The geometry redirected the kinetic force.
WHOOSH.
The spells ricocheted back toward the crowd.
"Incoming!" someone screamed.
The candidates scattered as their own fireballs exploded amongst them. Valerius had to raise his shield to block a stray lightning bolt.
Smoke cleared. Elian's wall was scorched, but standing.
"Physics," Elian called out from the smoke. "It's a harsh mistress."
Valerius was shaking with rage. His face was a mask of fury.
"I will end you," Valerius hissed. He stepped onto the bridge.
He didn't run. He activated a skill: [Holy Steps]. His boots glowed with golden light, hovering an inch above the sludge.
"Oh," Elian blinked. "He has a hover skill. That's cheating."
Valerius walked across the goo, immune to the trap. He raised his sword, gathering a massive charge of holy energy. [Judgment Slash].
"No more tricks, builder," Valerius sneered, now only five meters away. "Your wall cannot withstand a Rank-C skill."
Elian looked at the glowing sword. Kaelen's memory identified it immediately. Damage output: 4000. It will slice the stone like butter. And you with it.
"True," Elian admitted. "My wall can't take that."
Valerius grinned. "Then surrender."
"But," Elian continued, his hand drifting to the floor. "I didn't reinforce the wall to stop you. I reinforced it to anchor myself."
"What?"
Elian triggered [Edit Mode].
[Target: The Bridge Floor (Section 2)][Action: Delete.]
Elian removed the stone beneath Valerius's feet.
There was no sound. Just gravity.
Valerius's eyes went wide. His Holy Steps allowed him to hover over ground, not air.
He dropped.
"AAAAHHH!"
Valerius plunged into the black void of the gorge.
The crowd went silent. The Golden Boy. The favorite to win. Just... fell.
Elian quickly used [Edit Mode] to rebuild the floor a second later.
A moment later, a buzzer sounded.
[Candidate Valerius Thorne: Disqualified (Fall Damage).]
Elian dusted off his hands. "Next customer?"
The Cultist
The psychological victory was total. No one else tried to fight.
A line formed.
"Here's my three cores." "Pass." "Here." "Pass."
Elian was efficient. He took the cores, opened the gate, and let them through. He kept three for himself to pass, and hid the rest (over a hundred now) in a hollowed-out section of the wall to retrieve later.
The line was dwindling. The timer was almost up.
Then, he stepped up to the window.
The unassuming man in the robes. The one Elian had identified as the Acolyte of Decay.
He held out three cores. His hands were pale, his fingernails black.
"Payment," the man said softly. His voice sounded like dry leaves skittering on pavement.
Elian looked at him. The Blueprint Sight flared red. [Danger: Void-Bomb active. Detonation ready.]
Careful, Kaelen warned. If you provoke him, he blows himself up here. You die. The bridge breaks. Everyone fails.
Elian took the cores. His fingers brushed the man's cold skin.
"You have a unique mana signature," Elian said quietly, leaning in so only the Cultist could hear. "Smells like... purple."
The Cultist's head snapped up. His eyes, previously dull, sharpened into slits. "You have a keen nose, builder. Curiosity kills cats."
"And bombs kill crowds," Elian whispered.
The Cultist froze. A smile, terrifying and devoid of humor, spread across his face. "Then you know I hold the trigger. Let me pass. Or I bring the whole mountain down."
It was a stalemate. Elian could trap him. He could drop the floor. But if the Cultist died, the bomb triggered. The explosion would be massive.
"Go," Elian said, stepping back.
The Cultist chuckled. He walked past the toll booth.
As he passed, he whispered, "See you in the Third Round, Architect."
He disappeared into the Exit Gate.
Elian let out a breath. His hands were shaking slightly.
"That guy," Elian muttered. "Is a problem."
The Results
The horn blew. [Test Concluded.]
The simulation dissolved. The forest faded back into the sand of the arena.
The scoreboard lit up.
[Candidates Passing: 84 / 200][Top Score (Cores Collected):]1. Elian Vance - 142 Cores2. Sera - 12 Cores3. Goran - 8 Cores
The entire stadium stared at the scoreboard. Then they stared at Elian, who was standing in the middle of the arena, holding a sack the size of a beanbag chair filled with glowing orbs.
The Proctor walked over. He looked at the sack. He looked at Elian.
"Did you..." The Proctor rubbed his temples. "Did you mug half the candidates?"
"It was a business transaction," Elian corrected. "Supply and demand, sir."
Up in the VIP box, the Guild Masters were talking excitedly. "A Builder who dominates the field?" "Did you see how he removed the floor? That timing was frame-perfect." "He took out the Thorne boy without drawing a weapon."
Except for one. The Guild Master of the Crimson Dawn, a massive man named General Ironwood, frowned. "He let the Priest pass," Ironwood noted. "He stopped the Noble, but let the weakling pass without a toll. Why?"
Sera, standing in the Blood-Rose box, narrowed her eyes. "He's hoarding resources," she whispered. "142 cores... he's going to use them for crafting."
Down in the arena, Elian felt the weight of the attention. He hated it. He wanted to be invisible. But he needed the cores.
Because the Third Round was the Tournament. 1 vs 1 combat. And as a Builder, he couldn't beat a Combat Class in a fair fight. So he wasn't going to fight fair. He was going to spend the intermission crafting an arsenal.
"Round Three starts in one hour!" the Proctor announced.
Elian dragged his sack of loot toward the crafting stations.
"Time to build some toys," he grinned.
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