Scott’s gaze drifted from the ego to the pulsating system notification.

  I can’t remember the last time I saw an update… I thought it wasn’t even possible to receive one here, he mused, brows creasing.

  The fact that it was the first and only system prompt he’d seen in ages, and that it was tied to the condemned ego’s vow, stirred a fresh tide of questions. None of which he could answer.

  He turned his eyes back to the being. The ego remained motionless, looming over him. Though it lacked any visible eyes, Scott could feel its stare—heavy and expectant.

  “What of your innate abilities?” Scott asked. “Have those been taken from you too?”

  “I don’t know,” the ego admitted. “I am but a husk, stripped of purpose and memory. If I had any abilities… I wouldn’t know until I’m reborn.”

  Scott frowned. That could be a problem.

  There was a real chance its abilities—if any—could be useless… or even dangerous. Do I really need to take that risk?

  He couldn’t help but wonder what the ego had done to deserve such absolute erasure. And while it didn’t surprise him that the condemned egos harbored primal fear toward the gods, it did make him wonder if the gods themselves had played a hand in their downfall.

  Despite losing everything… left to rot in this place for who knows how long… it still wants to be reborn. Still searching for a purpose. Scott’s lips pressed into a line. Even if I have no idea what kind of power it might awaken, it can’t be that bad… right?

  His gaze lingered on the ego’s unmoving form. Its sheer will resonated with him. Though their circumstances were vastly different, he, too, was someone fighting the natural order just to survive.

  That guy did say an ego would make the weapon immeasurably stronger… even if its powers are mediocre, I can always find a way to erase it later.

  Then again, he couldn’t rule out the possibility that this was all part of someone else’s elaborate scheme.

  Scott raised a hand toward the hovering panel. His finger hovered over the options, gliding but not selecting.

  “How long have you been watching me?” he asked quietly.

  “Since the day you were rejected by the others,” the ego replied.

  “You’re not with them?”

  “They call my thoughts dangerous,” the ego said. “I’m an outcast among outcasts.”

  Scott gave a slow nod, then asked the most important question: “Why me?”

  This time, the answer didn’t come immediately. Scott didn’t press, letting the silence stretch.

  “Truthfully,” the ego said at last, “I don’t know. Like me, you’ve been condemned… yet you haven’t suffered like I have. I know you’ll question my motives. I’d do the same. But I can’t let fear dictate my choices anymore. If I lose this chance… I’ll truly be lost. And I don’t think another will come.”

  Scott stopped drumming his fingers.

  The notification vanished.

  He stared at it for a beat, then looked back at the ego. It hadn’t changed. Neither did he feel any changes in his form.

  “I’ll give you a chance to prove yourself,” Scott said coolly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “But if you ever plot against me, even once—by the time I’m done with you, you’ll beg to go back to being condemned.”

  “Thank you,” the ego said, without a trace of hesitation.

  Scott opened his mouth to speak, but the blacksmith’s voice suddenly echoed through the realm.

  “You finally got one. I’ll be taking him now.”

  Without warning, a massive hand tore through the skies above. It seized the ego in an instant and vanished. The rift closed as quickly as it had appeared, the heavens sealing shut with unnatural calm.

  Scott remained still, eyes locked on the now-untouched sky.

  If he’d intended to kill me, could I have stopped it? He already knew the answer.

  “Instead of worrying about what I can’t control…” he muttered, cracking his neck, “I should focus on what I can.”

  With that, he turned and made his way toward the distant grove of trees.

  Scott stood tall amidst a network of debris, sweat trailing down his bare chest. Around him lay the shattered remains of once-thriving trees. Crevices split the earth. Scorch marks marred the ground. Patches of soil had melted into black glass.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “That should do for today…” he said, wiping his face with the back of his hand.

  Now that I think about it… maybe I should build a cabin too. He chuckled. Would that guy happen to have a spare hammer?

  He strolled toward a massive log, settling onto the partially charred wood. Two bowls filled with neatly chopped, fleshy fruits materialized from his inventory, nestling beside him. Without hesitation, he began munching on the dissolvable slices.

  Now that I think about it… how will the champions stuck in the trial grounds react when they realize several years passed during the trial?

  Scott chuckled, imagining the chaos—confusion and sheer disbelief that would follow as hundreds of thousands of champions returned to their regions, only to find that time had marched on without them.

  At this point, I’ve spent more years away from Orion and the others than I ever knew them. He reached for another fruit, chewing slowly. I wonder how much they’ve changed...

  Then again, there was always the possibility that this entire trial—this space—existed in a special temporal zone. For all he knew, only days, weeks, or months might’ve passed in the real world.

  Whichever it is, I need to be prepared, he thought grimly.

  If years had truly gone by, then the Endless Bridge’s power dynamics had likely shifted. Hegemonies would’ve risen, established dominance. Whether they had managed to conquer ninety percent of the vast territories was anyone’s guess—but Scott was sure of one thing: The Endless Bridge awaiting him would be vastly different.

  A whisper pierced the silence.

  “Your weapons are almost ready,” the blacksmith announced.

  Scott sprang to his feet, a grin splitting his face. “Fuck yeah! About time,” he said, laughing.

  With a wave of his hand, the refreshments vanished into his inventory. He turned to move but paused mid-step.

  Wait… he said almost ready. Not ready.

  Scott frowned. Without a clear timeframe, “almost” could mean hours... or months. Or even years.

  He sighed, deflated, and sat down again. Instead of hovering around his forge like a lost soul, I’ll go back when he calls me—

  “They are ready,” the blacksmith’s voice cut in again, this time leaving no room for doubt.

  Scott shot up, vanishing in a streak of blinding speed. He blitzed through the devastated forest, across shattered terrain, and past groves long turned to ash. Within moments, he crossed into the misty gray he hadn’t seen in what felt like eons.

  He ran faster.

  I see him, he grinned, spotting the hulking silhouette of the blacksmith in the distance.

  Scott stopped two hundred paces away, his eyes drawn to the two items hovering beside the blacksmith—artifacts of impossible craftsmanship.

  The war hammer: an apocalyptic masterpiece. Sleek. Elegant. Yet seething with menace. Its obsidian shaft gleamed, etched with constellations that shifted when unobserved—not stars, but memories, devoured to temper its core.

  The hammerhead appeared delicate, but every curve hummed with finality. Veins of silvery-gold pulsed faintly beneath its surface, like the heartbeat of something ancient and slumbering.

  Yet one blemish marred its perfection.

  A single blackened patch sat at the head—charred, cracked, like a coal burned beyond flame. It didn’t pulse. It didn’t shift. But the air recoiled from it, as if the world itself recognized something wrong.

  Scott’s brows creased.

  This feeling…It matched what he’d felt when he first met the condemned ego.

  His gaze shifted to the second artifact.

  The chains: Snow-white, impossibly pristine. Each link glimmered faintly, untouched by time or tarnish. Smooth as polished ivory, yet exuding a cold light that wasn’t magic or metal—but something in between.

  They floated with the grace of silk, yet whispered like judgment.

  Now this… this is what I’m talking about, Scott grinned, stepping forward.

  The blacksmith raised a brow, observing him.

  “You’ve been busy,” he noted, eyes skimming over Scott’s toned, spotless frame. “Didn’t take you for the type to focus on physical might.”

  “Neither did I,” Scott chuckled. “Turns out, boredom’s a hell of a motivator.”

  He stopped a few steps short—just outside the invisible barrier of the all-consuming flame.

  “I see,” the blacksmith replied coolly.

  With a slight gesture, the weapons floated toward Scott.

  “I’ll leave the naming to you,” the blacksmith said. “You’ll discover their abilities once you return. Their forms will shift as they’re exposed to your authority… and your nihilistic domain.”

  The weapons floated to a stop before Scott. In the same breath, the snow-white chains shrank, while the war hammer morphed into a miniature, blackened pendant—its form compact and ominous. The pendant fastened itself to the chain, the two merging into a sleek, unassuming band.

  “I recall your previous weapons had similar synergistic properties,” the blacksmith remarked. “I assumed you'd appreciate the continuity.”

  “I do,” Scott said, reaching for the chain.

  It reacted instantly, coiling around his right wrist with fluid grace.

  He admired the newly formed band in silence. The craftsmanship spoke volumes—not just of the blacksmith’s skill, but of unfathomable might. He turned back to face the craftsman. “Thank you—”

  “No need,” the blacksmith cut in flatly. “It’s not like I had a choice to begin with.”

  “No,” Scott said, shaking his head, “you did have a choice. You could’ve made something ordinary—”

  “And ruin my reputation?” the blacksmith snapped, his tone sharp with mock offense. “Perish the thought.”

  Scott laughed softly. “Still, I know you went above and beyond. For that, I genuinely thank you.”

  He bowed slightly.

  “Hmph. At least you recognize quality,” the blacksmith muttered. “Now, if we’re done, you should go. I’ve got a backlog, and thanks to you, I’m way behind schedule.”

  Scott straightened and was about to speak, but the blacksmith’s voice cut in again—this time, quieter, heavier.

  “From here on out, the world won’t be as kind to you as it once was. Are you ready?”

  Kind to me? Scott almost laughed. If this twisted trial of pain, war, and survival counted as kindness, then he was morbidly curious to see what cruelty looked like.

  “I’m looking forward to it,” he said, smiling.

  “Is that so?” the blacksmith mused with a rare smirk. “Then I wish you good luck.”

  A familiar chime echoed in Scott’s ears—the mechanical tone of the system’s will.

  A glowing blue panel unfurled before him.

  Scott’s eyes flicked toward the blacksmith one last time—but before he could speak, the world warped.

  Light fractured. Space collapsed into itself.

  And in the blink of an eye, Scott stood once more in The Silent City—frozen in the same position he had left it, as though no time had passed at all.

  I’m finally back!