The days passed quietly, almost deceptively so, as if the world itself were holding its breath in anticipation. Participants spent the interval in various states of preparation—some resting, some training, and others, like Kaiser, quietly calculating. Each moment counted. Every second could mean the difference between survival and oblivion.
Then, without warning, the second Trial began.
Reality tore itself apart in an instant. The ground beneath everyone's feet dissolved, replaced by jagged stone, cracked earth, and skies marred with deep fissures, like a shattered mirror reflecting a dying sun. Fallen World #10700001 had claimed them. The air was dry and acrid, carrying the metallic tang of dust and decay, while distant echoes of crumbling structures suggested that civilizations had once thrived here, long ago, only to be swallowed by time and ruin.
And then, as if the world itself acknowledged the start of this stage, the Herald appeared. Its presence was overwhelming, yet it exuded a calm, inexorable authority—less a being, more a principle enforcing the rules of the Trial System.
"Now humans," the Herald's voice penetrated every mind simultaneously, "the second Trial will differ from the first."
"This is no longer a test of adaptation," it continued, a hint of finality threading through its words. "You will fight for survival. The monsters remain familiar… but altered."
The announcement ended, leaving silence in its wake, thick and oppressive. And then the first challengers revealed themselves.
Species #1070003—Red Hob Goblins.
They emerged from the ruins in disciplined formations, their bodies nearly twice the size of normal goblins. Their skin was dark, hardened like rough hide, and crude armor plates covered their torsos, clattering faintly as they moved. Twelve per unit, coordinated, precise. Even from a distance, the mechanical rhythm of their approach carried the promise of brutality.
Kaiser observed quietly, his expression unreadable beneath the obscuring mask.
"Red Hob Goblins," he murmured under his breath, almost conversationally. "Individually manageable. But numbers decide world ranking."
There was no Anonymous Ranking here. Nothing but the world ranking remained. Hesitation would cost far too much.
The first wave surged forward. Kaiser stepped out, moving calmly, deliberately. The second stage had begun.
Red Hob Goblins crashed out from the ruins, twelve at a time, their massive forms hammering the ground with every step. Blades and crude axes swung, scraping and hammering the rubble as they advanced. The sound of impact echoed through the broken landscape, and dust rose to meet the sunless sky.
Kaiser's hand tightened on his sword. The Eye of Judgment activated instantly. The battlefield fractured into layers of intent, of motion, of potential. Every weakness, every delayed reaction, every overextended limb revealed itself in real time, mapped out like a battlefield diagram only he could read.
The first goblin swung its jagged blade. Kaiser ducked effortlessly, the edge whistling past his head, the air itself singing in protest. His sword rose and descended with surgical precision. It cut through the creature's torso, cleaving armor and flesh alike. The goblin crumpled into a heap, its movement ceasing before it even realized it had been struck.
Two more charged at him at once. He pivoted smoothly between them, slashing, thrusting, spinning, every motion synchronized with an almost unnatural timing. Limbs flew. Armor cracked. Stone splintered under the force of his strikes. Blood sprayed across his boots, hot and slick, but he felt nothing—not a trace of hesitation.
By the time the first wave fell, the floor was a chaotic mess of broken bodies, shattered weapons, and splintered stone. The air was thick with metallic tang and dust, pressing against the participants like a living weight. The Red Hob Goblins moved with coordinated precision at first, but Kaiser's relentless, surgical attacks quickly broke their formations.
He did not pause. Another unit surged forward, twelve more hulking figures, and he met them without a thought. Each swing, each step, each turn was calculated. He targeted joints, necks, weapon hands—anything that would remove them from the fight instantly. Some tried to retreat. Others attempted to flank. But he pressed relentlessly, cutting down anyone who hesitated.
The longer the fight lasted, the heavier the air seemed to grow. Blood and stone coated every surface. Dust and gore mixed in the wind, carried across the ruined battlefield. Panic rippled through the remaining goblins, and then into the participants nearby, who froze as they watched the carnage unfold. The Red Hob Goblins had been formidable, disciplined. Now they were disorganized, terrified, desperate.
A dull ache pulsed behind Kaiser's right eye. The Eye of Judgment, pushed to its limits, was evolving in real time. It processed too much data, too many trajectories, too many patterns. Weak points, movement predictions, defensive flaws—they all streamed into his mind in waves of light and sensation. The strain was there, subtle at first, then sharper. Hallucinations of phantom enemies flickered in the corner of his vision, overlapping the battlefield. The afterimages of strikes, both real and projected, made his brain scream for clarity, yet he remained calm. Focused. Precise.
Finally, the last goblin fell. Silence followed, thick and heavy, pressing down over the ruined hall like a suffocating blanket. Kaiser exhaled slowly.
A sharp chime rang in his mind, metallic and precise.
Level Up!
Current Level: 27
He straightened, wiping the blood from his blade, observing the ruin of the battlefield around him. Bodies, weapons, rubble—everything bore the mark of his precision. Then the world dimmed.
Color drained abruptly, as if someone had lowered the saturation of reality itself. A thin beam of purple light shot down from the sky, piercing directly into Kaiser's right eye.
Pain followed. Deep, unyielding, unlike any physical strike he had felt. Vision fractured into overlapping layers. Every sound was muted, distant, refracted. Every movement left a ghosting afterimage. He staggered once, forcing his body to compensate.
"…Tch."
A burning sensation spread from his eye into his skull, as though something inside him was being rewritten by invisible hands. He clenched his teeth. Then, a notification surfaced before him:
Record:
Eye of Judgment has evolved.
Current Level: 2
Warning: Mental strain increased.
Extended use may cause sensory distortion.
Kaiser closed his eye, breathing slowly until the pain subsided. When he reopened it, the world was sharper. Details, even subtle ones, stood out more clearly—faint cracks in stone, micro-movements in dust and air, the rhythm of an enemy's breathing.
A metallic chime cut through the chaos in his mind, single, precise, impossible to ignore.
A translucent notification appeared:
Record Notification:
Talent Unlocked – Partial Activation
You have reached the requirements for unlocking a portion of your talent.
Eye of Judgment:
× {Precision Overload} — Striking an enemy immediately after reading their movement grants a critical effect: increased damage and likelihood of disabling key limbs or weapons.
Side Effect / Limitation:
Continuous use strains the mind: prolonged activation can cause sensory distortion, hallucinations of phantom enemies, or delayed perception of friendly targets. Using it on multiple enemies at once increases the risk of temporary mental paralysis.
Kaiser's gaze sharpened as he considered the scope of the evolution. Precision Overload was exactly what he needed. The ability to strike, anticipate, and cripple foes with devastating efficiency—perfect for the challenges that lay ahead. But the warning remained: overuse could fracture his mind.
He flexed his fingers around the hilt of his sword. Already, the battlefield replayed in his mind, every trajectory and strike, every collapsed goblin, every tiny gap in their formation. The Eye of Judgment was not merely a tool now—it was a weapon, a map, and a warning all at once.
The second Trial had begun, and already it demanded more than mere skill. Strategy, timing, mental endurance—they were as lethal as the Red Hob Goblins themselves. And Kaiser? He was ready.