The rich forward camp was like a beautiful prison. They were its prized exhibits, still covered in dried blood.

After the chaotic rush of arrivals, a tense agreement had been made between the king's man, the general, and the sage. No single power would get an advantage. The six heroes would stay in the neutral crimson tent. Treated as honored guests until the faction leaders could arrive to make their offers.

So they waited.

They were given fine silk cushions to sit on. Their tattered, gore-stained armor looked stark and ugly against all the luxury around them. Servants with calm, well-trained faces brought platters of strange juicy fruits. The fruits exploded with delicious unfamiliar flavors in their mouths. Tastes they'd never experienced before. They also brought goblets of deep purple wine so smooth it barely felt like drinking at all. It went down like silk.

The servants moved around them quietly, respectfully. Their eyes showed worship mixed with fear. They saw the heroes who had conquered the trial. They didn't see the broken, traumatized kids still picking pieces of their souls out of the mud. Still trying to figure out who they were after everything.

The team sat in a tight defensive circle. A habit formed in hundreds of brutal battles that they could not shake. The luxury was confusing. Uncomfortable. It was a language of peace and safety that their bodies had completely forgotten how to speak. They didn't know how to relax anymore. Didn't know how to feel safe.

Masha finally broke the heavy silence that hung over them. Her voice was low and thoughtful, but it seemed too loud in the quiet richness of the tent.

"What do you think happened to them?" she asked. Her gaze was distant, fixed on the busy activity happening outside the tent. "The other students. The ones who were left behind in the trial."

Her question was like a stone dropped into a still, dark pool. The ripples of its meaning washed over all of them, spreading through the group. They'd been so completely focused on their own survival, on the final brutal war they'd fought, they hadn't given a single thought to the dozens of other students trapped in that hell. All those faces they'd seen in the beginning. Where were they now?

Lana, casually polishing one of her daggers, let out a short, sharp laugh. No humor in it.

"What do you think happened to them?" she said. Her voice mixed pity with contempt. "The Goddess ended the trial when we killed the Warden. The pocket dimensions probably just erased. Everyone inside? Erased with them. Neat and tidy."

She shrugged. Complete indifference. "They're dead. All of them."

Brutal words. But probably true. Grim sadness settled over the group.

"It would be better if they were killed," Dante said quietly.

Every eye turned to him.

Masha's brow furrowed. "What do you mean, Dante? How is that better?"

He looked at her. At the stubborn spark of old-world morals in her eyes. He felt detached. Weary. She still didn't understand the basic nature of this universe.

"There's no way they could have survived," he stated coldly. Simple fact. "We all know that. We faced S-rank and SSS-rank monsters. We fought entire armies of the dead. We barely survived with all our skills and teamwork."

"They were scattered. Disorganized. Weak compared to us. Their survival was statistically impossible."

He leaned forward, hand resting on Soul-Drinker's hilt.

"So what if they weren't dead?" he asked. His voice dropped to a low, philosophical whisper. "What if the Goddess, in her so-called infinite mercy, simply left them there? Trapped in a world specifically designed to kill them. They'd die eventually. But not quickly. Not mercifully."

"They'd be hunted down every single day. Chased by monsters they couldn't defeat. They'd be forced to break. To betray each other just to survive one more hour. To become monsters themselves just to see another sunrise. Just to live one more miserable day."

His voice was cold as ice. Matter-of-fact.

"They'd cling to foolish hope. And every day that hope would get crushed into dust. Piece by piece. Until nothing was left but a screaming, hollow shell. And then they'd die."

He looked at the empty spaces in their circle. Where dead friends should be.

"A quick, clean death is mercy in a world like this," he said. "A final release is kinder than slow torture in false hope. Death was the best outcome for them. Just like it was for Rina, and Kael, and Eric."

Absolute silence.

He'd taken their grief and twisted it through his cold philosophy. Made death sound like a blessing. And the terrifying part? In this savage world, his logic was flawless.

"Well," Lana said, breaking the moment. Her voice dripped with mocking admiration. "Not to interrupt this lovely, cheerful conversation, but... now what?"

"What's the next move, oh leader?"

The title was deliberate. Pointed. Reminding him of her power over him.

He met her gaze. Expression unreadable. "I was a leader for the trial," he said flatly. "The trial is over. My leadership is over."

He looked at their stunned faces. "You can do whatever you want now. You're all free."

Not relief. Just shock. Like he'd pulled the ground from under them.

Erica's face crumpled completely. Pure panicked abandonment filled her eyes. Like he'd just stabbed her in the heart. She'd built her entire new identity around being his shield. His protector. What was she without a god to serve? Without a purpose?

Masha's expression showed pure, unadulterated frustration. Her jaw clenched. She'd just started, against her own better judgment, accepting his leadership. Seeing the terrible, brilliant logic in it. Understanding why he did things the way he did. And now he was simply... quitting? Just walking away? Leaving them to navigate this new, complex political landscape alone?

And Lana... her mocking smile vanished instantly. Replaced by a flash of raw, furious anger that she couldn't quite hide. Her eyes blazed. He was her prize. Her obsession. Her dark treasure. The dark star around which her entire chaotic universe revolved. For him to declare himself irrelevant—it wasn't freedom. It was rejection. Ultimate rejection.

Before anyone could protest, a new sound came from outside.

Vrrrrrrrm. Crunch. Crunch.

Multiple engines. Low and powerful. Tires crunching on gravel.

Dante moved to the pavilion's edge and looked out.

The scene was breathtaking. Disorienting. A spectacle of pure power and wealth. The clearing that had just one crimson camp when they arrived was now a sprawling, multi-colored city of pavilions and banners. It had transformed completely. Dozens of sleek black limousines, just like the one that first greeted them, were parked in neat, orderly rows. Each one flying the flag of a different noble house or political faction. Different colors. Different symbols. All representing power.

Hundreds of people in different uniforms and fancy clothes had formed neat lines. Standing perfectly. A silent, respectful audience awaiting the arrival of their masters. Waiting to see who would win the prize.

Then his gaze went to the sky.

Whoosh. Whoosh.

Huge, majestic creatures descended. Their vast wings beating the air with silent, powerful grace. Aether-Wing Rocs. Giant, eagle-like birds with feathers that shimmered with a faint silvery light. Their wings were partly see-through, almost transparent, like they were woven from pure light itself. On their backs were armored riders sitting in elaborate saddles. The elite sky-cavalry of one of the factions. They landed with a soft, gentle thud despite their massive size. Their riders dismounting with practiced, military precision. Every movement perfect.

A moment later, a new procession arrived on the ground. Coming down the main path. A magnificent, gilded carriage. Its every surface was plated in gold and platinum. Gleaming in the sunlight. It was being pulled by a team of six immense, lion-like beasts. Aurum Lions. Their coats were literally the color of spun gold. Shimmering. Their manes looked like polished platinum. Metallic and beautiful. They moved with silent, regal grace that was both beautiful and deeply intimidating. Power contained in elegant motion.

The carriage stopped. A servant rushed to open the door. A man stepped out wearing ornate golden armor. A heavy jewel-encrusted crown on his head.

A king.

From one limousine, a woman emerged. Severe dark blue military uniform. Her face showed hard-won authority. A general.

From another, a man in simple grey robes. His eyes held ancient wisdom. A sage.

One by one, the powers of this world arrived. Each with their own followers. Their own displays of wealth.

The team gathered behind Dante. Their argument forgotten in the face of this overwhelming spectacle.

"What... what is this?" Erica whispered. Awe and terror in her voice.

"This," Dante said quietly, "is the new battlefield."

The representatives descended on them at once. Moving forward as a group. The king's chamberlain. The general's aide-de-camp. The sage's acolyte. All talking together. Their voices formed a polite, civilized, and utterly greedy chorus. All competing.

"Heroes, His Majesty King Theron offers you places of honor in his royal court! Titles of nobility! Lands of your own! Riches beyond your wildest dreams!"

"The Archon offers you command of your own legion! An entire army under your control! Power to shape the very borders of this kingdom! Be true guardians of the realm!"

"The Lyceum offers you a key! A key to understanding the very fabric of this world! Access to knowledge and powers that make the wealth of kings and the armies of generals seem like the toys of children!"

Vultures. All of them. Circling the team like predators. Their words were a barrage of promises and temptations. Each one trying to outdo the others. They were trying to divide the heroes. To appeal to their individual desires. To break the very unity that had allowed them to survive. To split them up and claim them separately.

Dante looked at his team. At their stunned, completely overwhelmed faces. They looked lost. Confused. Scared.

His declaration of freedom, made just moments ago, now felt like a cruel joke. He had not freed them at all. He had simply thrown them into a new cage. A more complex one. An infinitely more dangerous one. And they had no idea how to navigate it.

And they were looking at him now. All of them. Their eyes full of a desperate, silent plea that needed no words.

Lead us.

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