Corinth met the Leviathan’s provocation with an icy stare, his cold blue eyes unreadable. The tension in the air thickened, a silent challenge lingering between them. The massive, scaled warrior grinned, his jagged teeth catching the dim light of the tavern’s flickering lanterns. But before the standoff could escalate, a sharp chime echoed through the room.

  The automaton stationed at the counter stirred to life. Its metallic frame clicked and whirred, its mechanical eyes flickering with blue light as it registered the hostility in the air. A stream of unknown words poured from its voice modulator, a language foreign to all present. Corinth tensed, hand ready to summon his weapon, but before anyone could react further, a pulse of shimmering light expanded outward from the automaton’s core.

  A series of glowing glyphs appeared before each of them, hovering momentarily before embedding themselves into their skin. A sensation like cold ink seeping into his mind made Corinth’s vision blur for a brief moment. When clarity returned, the automaton spoke again, but this time, the meaning of its words resonated in his mind.

  “No violence permitted within this establishment. Violation will result in immediate removal.”

  A murmur passed through the gathered warriors as they exchanged cautious glances, each absorbing the sudden shift in comprehension. The Leviathan let out a guttural scoff—more growl than laugh—but his predatory eyes narrowed with a glint of recognition. The automaton's authority was understood, if not respected.

  Pride lingered in the beast's gaze—a warrior’s pride, fierce and unbending. Yet there was intelligence too, a beastly cunning that understood the rules had changed.

  “Zaruuk hears the law of silence,” he rumbled, his voice deep like the crash of distant waves. “No fangs, no claws... not yet.”

  With a low grunt, he leaned back, folding his massive arms, settling like a coiled serpent—lethal, yet contained. His scaled hide shimmered darkly in the tavern's dim light, claws flexing idly, as though they longed for release.

  He added, his voice a dangerous whisper, “But know this—when the tide rises, flesh and bone will break all the same.”

  The tension lingered, thick and unresolved, yet momentarily restrained. A soft chime rang, and a translucent screen appeared before Corinth's eyes.

  [Quest Detected: Moments Reprieve]

  [Quest Objective Updated: Regroup and Rest]

  He exhaled slowly. A quiet signal—to pause, observe, and ready himself. If the system allowed a moment of reprieve, it made sense to use it.

  Curious, Corinth turned his gaze back to the automaton. “You—what are you?”

  The construct’s metal fingers tapped against the polished counter as it answered, its voice smooth yet unmistakably artificial. “I am a servitor of this establishment, designated to provide sustenance, information, and order within the premises.”

  “Information?” Corinth leaned forward slightly. “Then tell me—what is this place? And more importantly, what’s keeping us here?”

  The automaton tilted its head, a faint hum emanating from its core. “This domain exists within a stabilized field of concentrated mana. The unseen force encapsulating this area ensures structural integrity and regulates all external influences.”

  “Mana…” Corinth repeated, tasting the word. It was unfamiliar, but held an intimate weight, as though he had always known it yet never grasped its significance. “And this field—it’s what keeps us from leaving?”

  “Correct. The field binds all entities within its bounds until trial parameters are met.”

  Corinth frowned. This wasn’t chaos—it was structure. Rules guided every step, strict and unseen.

  He let out a slow breath. Best not to resist blindly. Not yet. First, he needed answers.

  He glanced around the tavern, where the other warriors, each bound to this strange and cruel fate, were beginning to settle. The Leviathan had already found a seat, grumbling but seemingly pacified for the time being. Others exchanged quiet words, assessing their situation, strategizing their next moves.

  But movement caught his eye—the panther-like therianthrope, silent until now, padded toward the door. Its sleek frame moved with predatory grace, tail flicking with agitation. As it neared the exit, a chime flared sharply from the automaton.

  "Departure is not authorized during the rest phase," the servitor intoned.

  The therianthrope paused but only for a moment, dismissing the warning with a low snarl. It reached for the handle.

  A sudden pulse of light rippled from the ceiling, slamming into the beast and pushing it back. It growled low, clearly agitated, but ultimately turned away with a reluctant snort, muscles still tense beneath its fur. It slunk to a corner, tail lashing.

  Corinth’s gaze lingered on the spot where the light had flared, his mind tracing the shape of the force that had intervened. Something about it felt familiar. The same subtle pressure that surged through his limbs when he triggered Burst Step?

  He turned back toward the automaton. "Was that mana?" he asked, voice low but curious.

  The automaton’s mechanical eyes flickered again, its posture rigid yet efficient as it answered. “Correct. That was the regulating force of mana. It can be harnessed in different ways depending on the user’s control. Through it, one can alter the body, the mind, the environment, and even the passage of time itself.”

  “Interesting,” Corinth muttered under his breath. “But if this mana... can do all that, does it also affect... skills? Like those cards I received?”

  The automaton tilted its head, processing. “Skill cards are manifestations of potential, granted when certain conditions are met. The environment, actions, and mindset all play a role in determining which skills are granted. They are not random—they are a reflection of your path.”

  Corinth's curiosity deepened. "So, I can gain more skills by fulfilling... these conditions?"

  "Correct. Skills that align with your journey will appear when prerequisites are fulfilled. The power of mana amplifies these abilities."

  Corinth absorbed this new layer of information, trying to grasp the full scope of it. If mana was as versatile as the automaton implied, his potential here could be vast. Still, there were so many unknowns.

  Before he could ask more, a voice broke through his thoughts.

  “You. There.”

  The elf’s voice was sharp, cutting through the murmur of the tavern. She moved with a fluid grace, her long, silver hair shimmering like moonlight in the dim glow of the lanterns. Her eyes, pale as the winter sky, gleamed with an almost predatory sharpness as she approached.

  Standing tall and slender, she was draped in finely crafted leather armor, its surface marked only by a few faint scratches—a testament to her experience, yet still pristine in its form. The emerald green of the armor contrasted sharply with the pale hue of her skin, and her presence radiated an air of superiority, as though the space itself bent to her will.

  She gave Corinth a quick, dismissive once-over, her gaze lingering with distaste. Her lips curled into a sneer, and she scoffed, her voice dripping with disdain.

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  “Do you have no decency?” she demanded, her tone as cold as ice. “Look at you—dirtying the tavern with your unsightly appearance.”

  Corinth’s eyes flicked downward at himself. His body, still clad in blood-streaked rags from his last battle, felt like an affront to the elf’s delicate sensibilities. Compared to her pristine, battle-worn elegance, he was a walking mess.

  "Ah, yes, clothing..." he murmured, a wry smirk tugging at his lips. "Indeed, if I had seen myself in a mirror, anyone would find me unsightly."

  Zaruuk, who had been observing the interaction with lazy amusement, rumbled with a deep chuckle from the corner of the room. "Zaruuk sees no problem with it. Why do land dwellers feel the need to cover themselves with garbage?" He tilted his head, casting a glance at Corinth, who didn’t seem bothered by the comment. "He shows strength. No need for cloth to hide what nature gave him."

  "You're no better, beast. At least your kind has scales. But you,” The elf’s nostrils flared, and her ears twitched with annoyance. Pointing towards Corinth, she continued, “You look like something dragged out of a gutter."

  Zaruuk grinned widely, his sharp teeth glinting in the low light. "If you do not like it, look away." He folded his massive arms, clearly pleased with the reaction he had stirred.

  The elf shot him an angry glare, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. "You're both impossible," she muttered, turning her back to them and striding off in a huff.

  As the elf moved away, the automaton, ever watchful, chimed in. "If a change of attire is desired, an equipment shop is available. The selection may suit your needs."

  Corinth turned towards it, mildly surprised by its timely intervention. “An equipment shop?” He raised an eyebrow. “Well, that’s... convenient.” A brief, almost imperceptible smile passed over his face.

  Corinth made his way to the shop, thoughts focused on finding something practical—anything that might help him survive this strange and hostile place. The tavern's odd atmosphere was beginning to wear thin. Clothing and weapons were now pressing concerns.

  The shop sat in a quiet corner, its simple wooden door marked with faint, cryptic runes etched into the frame. Inside, dim light from the forge flickered, casting long shadows across rows of weapons and armor that lined the walls. Before the flames stood a massive suit of armor, its gleaming surface shimmering in the shifting light, reflecting the fire’s glow like a silent sentinel.

  Corinth’s steps slowed as he approached, recognition stirring in his chest. He had seen it earlier in the tavern, standing motionless as if it were a statue. But now, up close, the truth struck him—it was one of the trial takers.

  How had it come by such fine gear? He had no chance to acquire any—his only potential spoils had been the ruined armor from the previous trial, too damaged to be of any use. Yet here it stood, pristine and imposing, like an immovable guardian.

  The craftsmanship was flawless, each plate shaped with precision, but there was something unsettling about it. It felt hollow, as if there was no one inside, no bearer of the armor. Corinth stepped closer, his instincts prickling. The light from the forge flickered again, casting shadows that seemed to stretch and move around the suit, making it seem less like cold metal and more like something alive.

  Before he could process the unsettling thought, a quiet voice rang out, deep and resonant, echoing through the forge.

  “Not all things are as they seem,” the voice intoned, calm yet commanding. “I stand as I must, where I am called. And I wait, as all warriors must.”

  Corinth froze, narrowing his eyes as the voice reverberated in his mind. “Who… are you?” he asked, curiosity mixing with caution.

  The armor shifted slightly, a faint metallic creak, but did not move. “I am Korrun,” the voice replied solemnly. “I am bound by duty, forged in the crucible of battle.”

  Corinth’s frown deepened. “Are you a trial taker like me?”

  There was a long pause, as if Korrun was considering the question. “Indeed.”

  Corinth continued, “But how did you acquire such fine armor? I thought we were all bound by the same rules. I had no chance to claim anything.”

  Korrun’s voice remained steady, unwavering. “The rules are not the same for all. Some paths are chosen, others earned. Strength alone does not determine the worth of the weapon or the warrior.”

  Corinth stood motionless, absorbing the weight of the armor’s words. There was an ancient quality to its presence—an undeniable sense of honor, experience, and mystery. It seemed the suit of armor was bound by duty, its true nature cloaked in secrecy.

  Korrun fell silent again, and the only sound in the room was the crackle of the forge. Corinth glanced at the armor one more time before turning away.

  Just then, a dwarf emerged from behind the flames, wiping sweat from his brow. He paused when he saw the armor, his eyes reflecting a mix of admiration and recognition. Then, his gaze shifted to Corinth, noticing his ragged attire.

  “Looks like ye don’t have much in the way of gear,” the dwarf said gruffly, gesturing to Corinth’s bloodied rags. “Not the best way to walk through this place.”

  Corinth blinked in surprise but didn’t respond immediately. He had grown used to the rough conditions, but the dwarf's blunt observation made him feel momentarily self-conscious.

  The dwarf grunted, walked over to a nearby shelf, and grabbed a sword. He held it out, the blade gleaming even in the dim light of the forge. "This here’s a fine sword, solid steel with a good edge," the dwarf said, a note of pride in his voice. "It’ll serve ye well in a fight, if yer lookin’ for somethin’ to protect yerself with."

  Corinth glanced at the sword, then back at the dwarf, shaking his head. “I don’t need weapons,” he said quietly. There was no need since his skill already gave him one.

  The dwarf snorted in amusement. “Aye, ye might be able to hold yer own, but everyone needs somethin' when the odds turn against ‘em.” He set the sword down with a grunt, undeterred. “Still, if ye change yer mind, just let me know.”

  Without missing a beat, the dwarf reached for something else—a suit of armor hanging nearby. He hefted it over, showing it to Corinth. The armor wasn’t as impressive as Korrun’s, but it was well-crafted: sturdy leather with metal reinforcements and a few added features for comfort and flexibility.

  “This one’s lighter, but decent enough to keep yer hide intact,” the dwarf explained. “Not as fancy as that big one yer eyeing, but it'll do the job just fine. Good balance of protection and mobility.”

  Corinth studied the armor. It was a good fit for someone like him—light enough to move freely, but strong enough to take a few hits. It was a far cry from Korrun’s majestic suit, but perhaps it was what he needed. He glanced up at the dwarf. “How much?”

  The dwarf looked him over with a shrewd smile, eyes twinkling with a mix of mischief and pragmatism. “How much ya got?”

  Corinth hesitated, his hand absentmindedly brushing over an absent coin pouch. “I don’t have any gold,” he admitted.

  The dwarf raised an eyebrow, unfazed. “Aye, you must be a newbie. Let’s see what yer workin’ with, eh?”

  Corinth gave him a puzzled look, but the dwarf simply waved him off with a dismissive flick of his hand. “Say the word, lad. Status.”

  Corinth was confused for a moment, but curiosity got the better of him. “Status,” he muttered under his breath.

  Instantly, a translucent window appeared in midair in front of him. It flickered softly, its edges glowing faintly, revealing a list of stats—his name, race, title—along with numbers and attributes that quantified his strength, agility, and other capabilities. At the bottom, there was one more line:

  [Gold: 1,000]

  Corinth blinked in disbelief, his eyes wide. “What... is this?” The information felt a lot to take in all at once.

  The dwarf crossed his arms and watched with a satisfied smirk. “That’s yer status window, lad. The trial system keeps track of everything about ya. All yer skills, abilities, even yer health. They track everything from yer physical condition to yer gold count.” He motioned to the line at the bottom. “See there? You start with a bit o' gold—just enough to get by early on. It’s enough to buy supplies, trade for some basic gear like what you’ve got there.”

  Corinth tilted his head and propped his chin, trying to make sense of it all. “System? I didn’t know this existed... I thought it was just... some sort of trial.”

  The dwarf gave a knowing chuckle. “Aye, most don’t know about it at first. This here’s no ordinary trial, lad. It’s also a game of sorts, one that tracks yer progress, upgrades yer abilities, and... well, lets you buy things like weapons, armor, and more.” He paused for a moment, watching Corinth carefully. “But don’t worry too much about it for now. This early on, it won’t make much difference. You’ll be relying more on yer wits and what you can get through the trials, rather than gold or fancy items. The system’s just there to help when you need it.”

  Corinth’s gaze shifted back to the window, processing the information. His thoughts turned inward, and he focused on the words floating in front of him. “So... this system decides what we get?”

  “Not exactly,” the dwarf answered, his voice softening as he took a step closer. “It gives ya options, tracks yer progress, helps ya with the basics. But the real test is yer strength, yer skill, and how well you adapt. Gold won’t save ya in the end, lad. It’s yer actions, yer decisions that’ll make the difference.”

  Corinth felt a sliver of understanding, but it was still all so new, so foreign. The window before him flickered slightly as if it had a life of its own.

  The dwarf sighed, a little grunt escaping him. “Yer a long way from understanding it all, I can tell. Don’t worry too much about the gold just yet. Focus on surviving the trials and learning what you can. The rest will come.”