For a moment, there was nothing. Just the faint hum of the room and the uncomfortable pressure of sitting cross-legged for the first time in years. Then, slowly, he began to feel something—a warmth in his chest, faint and unsteady, like an ember struggling to catch fire.
His thoughts drifted. Memories bubbled up unbidden: Lena’s laughter, sharp and teasing; the frigid nights back in Venlo when he’d huddled under blankets, dreaming of something more. The warmth grew, then flickered. Something darker seeped in—a cold, gnawing void that whispered of failure and fear.
The ember wavered, then snuffed out.
Jimmy’s eyes snapped open, his breath sharp. The room was the same, but the hum in his chest was gone. He glanced at the System interface hovering above him. Instead of a glowing <mark>Dao</mark> symbol like the others, his screen displayed a single, unhelpful word:
Alignment: Undiscovered.
“Fantastic,” he muttered, standing. His legs ached from sitting still, and his frustration simmered just under the surface. He’d come here hoping for clarity, but instead, the System had handed him another question mark.
Jimmy exhaled slowly, letting the tension in his shoulders ease. The frustration was real, but giving in to it wouldn’t help. He glanced around the room again—at the still figures, the faint hum of power in the air. Whatever answers they had found, it wasn’t his turn yet. And that was fine. For now.
He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing deeply. In through his nose, out through his mouth. The ember he’d felt earlier flickered faintly in his mind’s eye, not gone entirely, just waiting. That was enough to quiet the knot in his chest.
Opening his eyes, Jimmy stepped off the cushion and adjusted his coat. Without another glance at the meditating figures or the intense glow of the man near the center, he made his way to the door.
The cold air hit him as he stepped outside, sharp and bracing. He pulled his hood tighter and started toward the next building, his thoughts shifting to the glowing sign of the Arena in the distance. Unlike the serene energy of the Meditation Hub, the Arena buzzed with chaos and urgency. The closer Jimmy got, the louder the noise—clanging weapons, muffled roars, and the low murmur of tense conversations.
The entrance was flanked by a pair of automated turrets, their barrels faintly glowing. A subtle reminder that not all danger in this place came from inside the combat floors.
Jimmy pushed through the heavy wooden doors into a cavernous hall. The first thing he noticed was the sheer number of people. Fighters strapped into mismatched armor haggled with merchants over potions and gear, while others leaned against the walls, silently sharpening weapons or scanning System interfaces that floated in front of them.
Above it all, a massive holographic screen hung in the air, displaying names, stats, and a shifting map of the floors. Bold text scrolled across the bottom:
Current Record: <mark>Magnus</mark> <mark>Ivanov</mark> – Cleared Floor 4/10.
Jimmy’s eyes lingered on the names in the rankings. <mark>Magnus</mark> <mark>Ivanov</mark> was at the top, of course, his Heaven Tier status practically screaming untouchable. Lower on the list, he spotted a familiar name: Lucas “Frost” Velasquez, currently attempting Floor 3.
The screen flickered, switching to a live feed of the ongoing run. Frost, a lithe man with ice-coated daggers, darted between a swarm of <mark>insectoid</mark> creatures. He moved like a blur, each strike leaving behind a trail of frozen corpses. The crowd murmured in approval, though Jimmy noted the tension in their voices.
“Think he’ll make it?” someone muttered nearby.
“No way,” another replied. “Floor 3 is where the real monsters start showing up.”
Jimmy kept walking, skirting around a group of heavily armored fighters arguing over a tattered map. He made his way to the center of the room, where a glowing pedestal projected a simple message:
Enter the Arena – Fee: 500 Essence.
“Five hundred?” Jimmy muttered. That was steep. He barely had enough essence to cover another day’s worth of food and lodging for the Thorn family, let alone risk it on a dungeon run.
A voice cut through his thoughts. “First time?”
Jimmy turned to see a man leaning casually against the pedestal. He was older, with streaks of gray in his hair and a jagged scar running down one cheek. His armor was well-worn but clearly cared for, the kind of gear that had seen years of use.Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
“Yeah,” Jimmy replied.
The man chuckled. “Don’t look so surprised. You’ve got that ‘fresh meat’ look about you. Let me guess—sizing up the Arena, wondering if it’s worth the risk?”
Jimmy crossed his arms. “Something like that.”
The man nodded toward the screen, where Frost was now fighting a towering beast that looked like a cross between a bear and a centipede. “It’s simple enough. You pay the fee, fight your way through as many floors as you can, and cash out before something eats you alive. The System rewards the brave—or the lucky.”
Jimmy’s eyes narrowed. “And the ones who aren’t lucky?”
The grin faded. “They don’t come back.”
Jimmy stayed silent, his gaze drifting back to the pedestal. The idea of throwing himself into a death trap for a shot at essence wasn’t exactly appealing, but the rewards…
“Floor <mark>1’s</mark> not so bad,” the man added, as if reading his thoughts. “Mostly low-tier mobs, good for warming up. But past that?” He shook his head. “It’s a different game.”
Jimmy nodded, filing the information away. “You’ve been through it?”
The man chuckled, straightening up. “A few times. Name’s Marcus <mark>Kincaid</mark>.” He jerked a thumb toward the rankings. “You probably saw me on there. Earth Tier, Grade 1, Tier 5.”
Jimmy raised an eyebrow. “You’re pretty far down the list.”
<mark>Kincaid</mark> smirked. “Yeah, but I’m not dead. That’s the trick—not getting too ambitious. It’s a marathon, not a sprint.”
Jimmy allowed himself a faint smirk. “Good advice.”
<mark>Kincaid</mark> waved a hand. “It’s free. The next part’s not. If you ever decide to take a swing at it, look me up. I can give you a few pointers—for a price, of course.”
“Of course,” Jimmy replied, his smirk widening slightly.
<mark>Kincaid</mark> waved him off with a chuckle, disappearing into the crowd. Jimmy lingered for a moment longer, his eyes tracing the glowing floor map projected above the pedestal. Floor 1 looked simple enough, but the deeper levels were a tangle of corridors, traps, and hazard zones.
He shook his head and turned to leave. This wasn’t the time. Not yet.
Jimmy started toward the exit but paused, his gaze drawn to the massive screen overhead. Lucas “Frost” Velasquez was still battling on Floor 3, the ice-coated daggers in his hands moving with lethal precision. Jimmy lingered near the edge of the crowd, curious.
Frost darted around the battlefield, using his speed and agility to stay ahead of a hulking monster that looked like a twisted amalgamation of wolf and centipede. The beast’s sinewy body rippled as it lunged, snapping its jagged, saliva-slick jaws. Frost dodged just in time, slashing upward in a blur. The air shimmered, and frost crept over the monster’s body, slowing its movements.
“Smart,” Jimmy muttered to himself. Frost’s strategy was clear: control the fight by slowing the enemy, whittling it down until he could land a decisive blow. It wasn’t brute force—it was finesse. Every move was calculated, designed to conserve energy while forcing the monster to burn through its own.
The crowd around him murmured, some cheering Frost’s precision strikes, others muttering about his odds of survival.
“That freeze tech is good, but he’s not hitting the core,” someone nearby muttered.
Jimmy frowned. The “core” must’ve been the weak point, something the System likely flagged but didn’t make obvious. Frost kept dancing around the monster, landing shallow cuts that built frostbite along its limbs, but the beast wasn’t slowing enough.
Then it happened.
The monster roared, a deep, guttural sound that sent a shiver up Jimmy’s spine even from the safety of the stream. Its segmented tail lashed out, catching Frost mid-dodge. He spun in the air, his aura flickering as he crashed into a jagged outcropping.
“Damn it!” Frost’s voice came through the interface, sharp with frustration. He staggered to his feet, blood dripping from his temple. The frost magic on his daggers glimmered faintly, a sign that his energy reserves were running dangerously low.
The beast lunged again, faster this time, its movements no longer slowed by the residual frost. Frost managed to roll away, but his movements were sloppy now, his precision slipping with each passing second.
Jimmy’s eyes narrowed. He could see the cracks forming in Frost’s plan—the hesitation in his dodges, the extra second it took to switch stances. He wasn’t just losing the fight; he was losing his rhythm.
The monster lashed out again, its tail smashing into the ground where Frost had been a heartbeat earlier. The impact sent shards of stone flying, one of which clipped Frost’s leg. He stumbled, his balance faltering.
“Damn it, damn it, damn it!” Frost cursed, his voice rising. He spun wildly, landing another glancing blow, but it was clear he wasn’t aiming anymore—just reacting.
The screen flickered, and a faint prompt appeared next to Frost: Health Critical. 5% Remaining.
Frost’s hand shot up, his fingers swiping through the air. A glowing interface appeared beside him, even as the monster roared again, preparing for a final strike.
The System voice rang out: Combatant Lucas “Frost” Velasquez has chosen to exit the Arena. Transport commencing.
The screen zoomed in on Frost as the System’s energy wrapped around him, creating a barrier that shimmered like glass. The monster slammed into it, claws screeching against the surface, but Frost was already disappearing. A second later, the battlefield was empty, and the feed cut back to the rankings.
Lucas “Frost” Velasquez remained on the list, his position unchanged, but there was no celebration. The crowd around Jimmy began to disperse, their interest waning now that the show was over.
Jimmy stared at the screen, his mind racing. Frost had been good—better than most, by the look of it—but even he couldn’t clear Floor 3. The Arena didn’t just demand strength; it demanded perfection. One slip, one missed opportunity, and you were done.
He pulled his hood tighter against the cold as he stepped out of the chaotic hall. The night air hit him with biting clarity, cutting through the noise still buzzing in his thoughts.
“Frivolous,” he muttered to himself. He had far more important things to worry about. Lena. The Thorn family. Finding a way through this damn Trial.
Time wasn’t waiting for him.
Jimmy took a long breath and turned toward the path back to the Thorns’ lodgings, forcing his thoughts away from the Arena. But no matter how much he tried to shove it aside, one thought refused to leave him.
If even Frost could escape… maybe I could too.