They were moved before they could speak again.
Hands never touched them, yet the pressure was unmistakable. The walls themselves seemed to guide their steps, subtle shifts in stone narrowing their options until Seo Jun and Do Hyun were funneled into separate corridors. parallel paths that never quite intersected.
Seo Jun glanced sideways once.
Do Hyun didn't look back.
That, more than anything else, confirmed Min Jae's intent.
Isolation creates clarity, Seo Jun thought grimly. And clarity creates decisions.
The corridor Seo Jun was led through spiraled downward, deeper than the holding chamber. The air grew heavier with each step, thick with dust and something older, iron, maybe, soaked into the stone over centuries. Symbols etched into the walls glowed faintly as he passed, reacting not to light but to presence.
Bloodline recognition.
He ignored it.
At the end of the corridor waited another chamber, larger this time, oval-shaped, with a floor of cracked slate and walls embedded with narrow slits. No doors were visible once he stepped inside. The entrance sealed behind him with a sound like grinding teeth.
Seo Jun rolled his shoulders slowly, loosening tension.
This wasn't a holding room.
It was an arena.
A voice echoed from nowhere and everywhere at once.
"Second Trial: Pressure."
The word settled heavily.
"You will not be hunted," the voice continued. "You will not be instructed. You will not be opposed directly."
Seo Jun frowned.
"You will be observed."
The slits in the walls widened.
From them poured sound.
Screams.
Not loud, worse. Muffled. Cut short. Layered. Dozens of voices overlapping, some pleading, some furious, some eerily calm. They echoed off the stone, impossible to locate, impossible to escape.
Seo Jun's breath caught for half a second.
Then he forced itsteadilyy.
This wasn't physical.
It was psychological attrition.
The screams weren't random. He recognized patterns, cadence, rhythm, and repetition—the same voices replayed with slight variations, each iteration clearer than the last.
A man begging for mercy.A woman choking on blood.A child crying for someone who never answered.
Seo Jun clenched his jaw.
It's not real.
But his body didn't care.
His pulse quickened. His palms grew slick. His senses strained uselessly, searching for threats that didn't exist.
"Duration: unknown," the voice said calmly. "You may sit. You may stand. You may move."
No objective.
That was the trap.
Minutes passed. Or hours. Time blurred.
Seo Jun tried focusing on his breathing, on the feel of the stone beneath his feet. But the sounds wormed their way in, slipping past logic and straight into instinct.
A scream broke differently this time.
Familiar.
Seo Jun's eyes snapped open.
His father's voice echoed faintly through the chamber.
"Seo Jun run!"
His chest tightened violently.
"No," he whispered.
The voice repeated, distorted, stretched.
Run.
Seo Jun staggered back a step before catching himself. His fingers dug into his palm hard enough to draw blood.
"This isn't real," he said aloud, forcing the words into the space.
The chamber didn't respond.
The screams only grew clearer.
Seo Jun sank to one knee, breathing hard, not in panic, but in fury.
This is what they do, he realized. They don't test strength. They test what you'll abandon.
He stood again.
Slowly.
Carefully.
"If you want me to break," he said evenly to the unseen watchers, "you'll have to do better than ghosts."
The screams faltered.
Just slightly.
Seo Jun didn't relax.
Instead, he focused inward, not on memory, but on choice. On the feeling he'd had when his blade struck true in the previous Trial. Not pleasure. Not fear.
Control.
The chamber shook once, subtly.
"Assessment ongoing," the voice said.
The screams faded.
Darkness followed.
When Seo Jun woke again, he wasn't alone.
This time, the room was lit.
A square chamber. Clean. Minimal. Stone bench along one wall.
Han Tae Seong stood across from him.
Seo Jun sat up instantly. "Father."
Tae Seong's expression was calm, but his eyes were sharp, too sharp for this to be a simple reunion.
"This isn't a rescue," Tae Seong said quietly.
Seo Jun nodded. "I didn't think it was."
"You passed," Tae Seong continued. "Not because you endured. Because you refused to let them define what mattered."
Seo Jun exhaled slowly. "Do Hyun?"
"He passed as well," Tae Seong said. "Differently."
Seo Jun didn't ask how.
"They're accelerating the Trials," Tae Seong went on. "Your existence disrupted their pacing."
Seo Jun gave a humorless huff. "Sorry."
Tae Seong's lips twitched briefly. "Don't apologize for surviving."
Silence stretched.
Then Seo Jun asked the question that had been circling his mind.
"Are they trying to make us fight?"
Tae Seong didn't answer immediately.
"Yes," he said at last. "Eventually."
Seo Jun's jaw tightened. "I won't."
"That may not be your choice," Tae Seong replied. "But how you fight will be."
Footsteps approached.
Han Min Jae entered the chamber, hands clasped behind his back.
"Father and son," he observed mildly. "Still intact. Impressive."
Seo Jun met his gaze without flinching.
"You enjoyed that Trial," Seo Jun said.
Min Jae smiled faintly. "Enjoyment is irrelevant. Results are not."
He turned to Tae Seong. "Your son is becoming difficult."
"That was inevitable," Tae Seong replied.
Min Jae's eyes returned to Seo Jun. "The next phase begins tomorrow."
"What phase?" Seo Jun asked.
Min Jae's smile sharpened.
"Separation," he said.