Alex opened his eyes and let out a huge yawn, his mouth stretching wide as he blinked away the last traces of sleep. He stretched his arms above his head, then pushed his legs out in front of him, feeling the pleasant ache of waking muscles. Glancing around, he saw the cave was still bathed in the soft glow of mana stones. They twinkled gently, casting shifting patterns of blue and other cool colors across the rough walls, filling the small space with a calming, magical light.
Alex turned his head toward the far left corner of the cave, where the one-eyed monster had always hovered or floated, never quite touching the ground. As he expected, it was still there, its single eye fixed on him, unblinking, never moving so much as an inch from its usual spot. Or at least, as far as Alex could tell, it hadn't budged at all.
Alex narrowed his eyes in suspicion, wondering if that floating, one-eyed ball even had eyelids. Did it ever blink, or was it destined to stare at him forever, wide-eyed and unmoving?
Alex rose from where he had been sitting, stretching a little to work out the lingering stiffness. He gripped his daggers in both hands, and he started to consider his next move.
Alex hadn't tried to attack the one-eyed monster yet. Part of it was because he had no idea what kind of creature it was, or how strong it might be—his status window couldn't even display its name or level. But the other reason was simpler: the monster hadn't shown any malice, not once. It just hovered there, watching him like some kind of silent sentinel, never making a move against him. Honestly, he wasn't sure if he could kill it even if he tried. Back then, his body was still a wreck, aching in places he didn't even know could hurt, and even after downing a healing potion, he felt exhausted and weak. There were wounds that hadn't quite closed yet, leaving him vulnerable. So, back then, he had let the monster be.
His decision had been correct so far, as the monster had not done anything to him. So, he decided not to do anything about it.
Healing had been his top priority, and after drinking the potion, Alex had drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep. Now, though, his body felt almost brand new. The soreness was gone, replaced by a surprising energy, and even the wounds that had resisted healing were now closed, though they had left behind thin scars along his knees and legs. His dragon blood could heal him on its own, but it worked slowly. The potion had done most of the heavy lifting. For the first time in a long while after being tossed around the battlefield, Alex felt ready to fight again.
But Alex wasn't naive. He knew he wasn't about to pull off anything spectacular in the coming battles. He'd already witnessed just how terrifyingly strong the other examinees were, and he was painfully aware of how weak he was by comparison. Scoring a kill seemed almost impossible unless he got creative—maybe setting traps and ambushing someone when they least expected it. That was probably his only shot.
It was a decent plan, but he barely knew the terrain. Since being teleported into this battleground, he'd mostly seen forest, and he'd need to get a better sense of the lay of the land before he could set any traps. On top of that, he had no idea how much time was left. He glanced around the cave again, but there was no timer—nothing like the countdown he'd seen when Lara carried him before that could tell him how much time was left, but a nagging feeling in his gut told him the exam was nearly over.
Alex raised his right hand, peering at the back of his palm. A small tattoo in the shape of a white wing was etched there, and just below it was a big, fat zero. Zero points. He hadn't accomplished anything yet.
Alex gritted his teeth and made up his mind. No more hesitation. It was better to die with honor out there than to get swallowed up by that black vortex when the zone started shrinking again.
It struck him as strange, thinking about the zone shrinking—he was still alive. He didn't know how much time had passed, but the battleground hadn't forced him out yet. Was his luck actually holding up for once? That seemed unlikely, not after the way the elf had toyed with him and left him half-dead. It was a miracle he'd survived at all.
Suddenly, an odd cold feeling settled in his chest. Was he taking life too lightly, treating all of this as just a game? Even if dying here wasn't the same as dying for real, death was still death. The thought should have scared him, especially after coming so close to it, but somehow, he didn't feel afraid. Maybe back then, he was just too numb from pain and exhaustion to really process what it meant to stand at death's door.
"Haah..." Alex sighed, thinking about how much his life had changed since he left home. Everything was exciting and dangerous all at once, and so much had happened in such a short time that it was hard to keep up.
He slapped his cheeks lightly with both hands, trying to shake off the lingering thoughts, and then slipped his daggers back into his dimensional space.
"Focus. Now's not the time for all this," he muttered to himself, forcing his mind back to the present, where it belonged.
Alex looked down at his battered armor. It was in pieces now, torn open in places and hanging off him by threads, leaving patches of scarred skin exposed. He began removing it, but the process was nothing short of agony. Some pieces had gotten embedded in his skin, and pulling them out made him grit his teeth against the pain.
"Arrgghh!" Alex couldn't help but yell out as he tore the last piece of armor free from where it had pierced deep into his back. He could feel blood oozing down, but there wasn't much he could do except rip off some of his already tattered clothing and press it tightly against the wound, hoping to slow the bleeding.
He tossed the ruined armor onto the ground and, oddly enough, felt lighter—almost alive, as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. It was such a stark contrast to the first time he'd worn it, when it had felt light and comfortable. Now, after all the beatings, the hits from the elf, and being tossed around like a rag doll, the armor was nothing more than a pile of battered scraps.
***
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