The grasslands were beautiful.

Too beautiful, perhaps–peaceful in a way that felt almost intentional, as though the land itself wished to lull them into forgetting what waited beyond.

Dew clung to the grass in fine silver threads, cool beneath their boots. A gentle breeze passed through the open field, carrying the faint scent of moss and distant trees.

Diala exhaled softly.

"The dew here," she said, eyes sweeping the land, "is more refreshing than the grasslands beneath the Arshlands."

No one disagreed.

Before anyone could respond, the tokens reacted.

Seven trial tokens lifted simultaneously, drifting toward their respective owners as if pulled by invisible threads. They hovered briefly, then settled–each aligning itself with quiet precision.

Far ahead, the ground stirred.

A teleportation platform rose from the grasslands, its formation unfolding layer by layer. White light traced clean geometric lines across its surface as the array completed itself without command or chant.

The formation activated on its own.

At the same moment, the Association token in Hylisi's hand pulsed.

Light gathered around her feet, gentle but absolute, guiding her forward. Without resistance, her steps carried her toward the platform's center.

The remaining treasure hunters followed instinctively.

They stopped short.

A translucent shield bloomed into existence around the platform's edge–silent, seamless, and utterly unyielding. No fluctuation. No backlash. Just denial.

Hylisi turned.

"It seems," she said calmly, "I cannot guide any of you through this assessment."

She stepped back out of the formation and moved straight to Aizrel, pulling her into a firm embrace.

"Be careful," she murmured. "Mother will wait for you at the entrance."

Aizrel nodded, jaw tight.

Hylisi turned once more, meeting Azriel's gaze.

"Take care."

Then she stepped back onto the platform.

Standing at its center, she looked over them one last time.

"Observe before you act," she said evenly. "Evil beasts and insects are masters of camouflage. Watch closely. Do not be deceived. And do not eat or drink–"

The formation flared.

Her words were cut off mid-warning as light swallowed her whole.

She vanished.

–

Hylisi emerged into silence.

She stood within a vast chamber–alive.

Seven tables were arranged in a circular formation, each paired with differently colored feathers and ink. Above them floated a massive scroll, suspended without support, its surface blank and expectant.

The chamber itself was green.

Not painted–grown.

Massive oak branches formed the walls and ceiling, intertwined and breathing, their bark alive with faint pulses of vitality. Soft moss clung to the wood, glowing gently, as though nourished by unseen light.

It was her first time seeing such a place.

Seven gaps opened between the branches, evenly spaced.

She approached one and looked through.

Her reflection stared back.

Not glass.

Not water.

She raised a hand and touched the surface carefully.

Ripples spread–but no moisture clung to her skin. It wasn't liquid. It wasn't sap.

It only mirrored.

Back in the grasslands, the platform sank.

The formation folded inward and disappeared into the earth as though it had never existed.

Diala exhaled slowly.

"Lady Hylisi is gone," she said. "From now on… everything is on us."

"Indeed," Azriel replied quietly, releasing a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

Aizrel stepped forward, curiosity sharpening her gaze.

"Let's start with the numbers," she said. "Mine is negative eight-five-eight-nine."

She turned.

"Father–what's yours?"

Azriel checked his token.

"Negative eight-four-eight-five," he said, frowning. "That's… quite a gap."

Mu Long snorted.

"Negative ninety-nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine."

Ru and Yi glanced at each other.

"Negative six-zero-two-zero," they said together.

Princess Lainsa's expression darkened slightly.

"Negative nine-nine-nine-nine."

Diala inhaled once.

"Negative one hundred and fifty thousand."

All eyes turned.

"Patron?" Diala asked carefully.

Kiaria glanced at his token.

"Negative one million."

Silence detonated.

"One million?" someone whispered.

Kiaria inclined his head. "Yes."

Murmurs spread, disbelief rippling through the group.

"What is with these negative values?" Mu Long muttered. "Is this a joke?"

The answer arrived without sound.

Words formed in the air, precise and merciless.

–

Numbers represent the number of kills required to pass the Final Assessment.

The air tightened.

The Final Assessment begins after the Sword and Shield are claimed.

Locate your designated Sword and Shield by your own means.

Only assigned weapons may be used. No other weapons are permitted.

The words paused.

Then vanished.

"Damn… this assessment is far more troublesome than I expected," Ru muttered, gaze sweeping across the endless grasslands. "Killing thousands–no, tens of thousands–maybe even millions of beasts just to pass… This isn't just dangerous. It's absurd."

Yi exhaled slowly beside him. "Worse," he added, voice tight, "we're forbidden from using our own weapons. And none of us are true swordsmen or shield-bearers. This rule alone is enough to turn the assessment into a slaughterhouse."

"Enough," the Chief said calmly, cutting through their rising unease. "Stop prejudicing the situation before it even begins. Stay cautious. Stay observant. Lady Hylisi's warning about camouflage wasn't casual advice–it was survival instruction. Everything else, we deal with when it comes."

His tone grounded them.

Kiaria stepped forward, eyes lifted toward the vast grasslands stretching endlessly beneath the pale sky.

All attention turned to him.

"Have you decided," Kiaria asked evenly, "which direction to explore first–or how you plan to locate your destinations before dusk?"

The question landed heavier than expected.

Mu Long, the twin subordinates, and Aizrel all turned in unison–staring straight at the Chief.

Azriel felt it immediately.

"…Hey. Hey–don't look at me like that," he said, raising both hands defensively. "That skill won't work here. The time it requires alone is enough for each of us to explore entire regions independently."

"Tch. I knew it," Princess Lainsa muttered under her breath.

She looked toward Kiaria instead. "Patron. It's on you."

Kiaria didn't argue.

"Fine."

He stepped forward.

The Eyes of Insight opened fully.

At the same time, he extended his perception outward, carefully channeling Fairy Nature Essence into the grasslands. For a moment, even he wasn't certain it would respond–this was an Evil Island, after all.

Then–

It answered.

Faint. Subtle. But undeniably present.

The essence dispersed, threading itself into the land like breath through leaves. Dewdrops scattered across the grasslands shimmered softly as Kiaria exchanged vision with them–hundreds, then thousands, then tens of thousands of points of perception blooming simultaneously.

The land unfolded.

Seven locations revealed themselves almost at once.

Seven caves.

Each one marked unmistakably–massive pink orchids, blooming symmetrically on both sides of every cave entrance. Too perfect. Too deliberate.

Yet everything inside the caves remained obscured.

Undetectable.

No matter how deeply Kiaria probed, his vision refused to cross the threshold.

His brows drew together slightly.

Distances calculated themselves instinctively.

"…No," he murmured. "It's impossible to switch locations freely."

The moment he spoke, questions erupted.

"Patron, what did you see?"

"Have you found them?"

"Is there a problem?"

"Can we reach them safely?"

Even the Chief spoke over the others, urgency breaking through his composure.

Kiaria paused.

Then deliberately–

"Ahem."

The sound alone was enough.

Silence fell instantly.

They all looked at him now–too eager, too alert. Beneath the surface courage, enthusiasm, and forced confidence, Kiaria saw it clearly through his Eyes of Insight.

Nerves.

Carefully masked fear.

He sighed inwardly.

This journey really has changed them.

"Yes," Kiaria said at last. "I've located the directions to all swords and shields."

Relief flickered.

"But," he continued calmly, extinguishing it just as quickly, "they are hidden inside seven separate caves. Each cave is flanked by identical pink orchids. I cannot determine which numbered sword or shield lies within which cave."

He raised his gaze slightly. "There are no detectable teleportation formations. No spatial distortions. Nothing unusual along the routes."

A pause.

"The problem," he finished, "is that once one of you enters a cave, you cannot switch places. The only way to share information would be to return physically–or possess a means of long-distance communication."

Mu Long clicked his tongue. "So either we move fast… or we die ignorant."

"Perhaps we can communicate through the tokens," the Chief suggested.

Princess Lainsa shook her head immediately. "No. The Final Assessment won't be that generous. If communication exists, it won't be that direct."

"I agree with Lainsa," Aizrel said without hesitation.

"Then let's stop wasting time and split up," Mu Long declared.

"Wait."

Diala's voice cut through them sharply.

All eyes turned to her.

"Patron," she asked carefully, "can you describe the orchids?"

Kiaria's gaze sharpened.

"I expected that question," he admitted. "My instincts reached the same conclusion."

He turned slightly toward the grasslands.

"Those orchids are not decoration," Kiaria said slowly. "They are deliberate. And most likely–camouflage."

–

Hylisi stood alone within the chamber.

Through the seven gaps woven into the living oak walls, the grasslands unfolded before her–each opening bound to a single figure. The images were not reflections, nor illusions. They were direct observations, precise and unwavering, as if the chamber itself had assigned her the role of witness.

No sound carried through.

Only sight.

She felt it then.

Not like participation.

Like responsibility.

Like standing watch atop a gate that decided who passed–and who never returned.

Hylisi exhaled slowly and stepped forward.

Seven tables waited in silence.

Her gaze moved across them, then stopped.

The blue feather.

The moment her fingers closed around it, the chamber reacted.

The massive floating scroll above trembled once–then split.

A smaller scroll separated from its body as smoothly as a leaf detaching from a branch, drifting downward toward the table before her. Its surface shifted as it settled, the pale parchment deepening into a muted blue, veins of light threading faintly beneath it.

Hylisi stiffened.

She had not activated anything.

The feather slipped from her hand.

Before she could react, it dipped itself into the ink–slow, deliberate–then lifted, hovering above the scroll.

The first stroke descended.

Ink bled across the surface on its own.

A name formed.

Aizrel.

At the same instant, the gap before her pulsed.

The image sharpened.

Not widened–focused.

Aizrel's figure filled the opening in greater clarity than the others, every breath, every micro-shift of posture captured with unsettling intimacy. It was not surveillance in the crude sense.

It was evaluation.

Hylisi's heart tightened.

"…So that's how it is," she murmured.

Her fingers hovered above the scroll.

What am I supposed to write?

The feather waited.

Perfectly still.

As if patience itself had been taught to it.

Hylisi looked once more at Aizrel's image–at the quiet resolve in her eyes, at the storm she had already endured, at the weight she continued to carry without complaint.

Her hand trembled.

This…

This is judgment.

And for the first time since entering the chamber, Hylisi understood–

The Final Assessment was not only testing strength.

It was recording something beyond it.

Not feats alone.

Not survival alone.

It was recording origin.

Deviation.

Truth buried beneath assumed names and borrowed banners.

Hylisi's fingers tightened.

She had never seen this in any Association record. Never heard of an assessment that demanded numbers like these–tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands, even millions. This was not a trial meant to filter the capable.

It was meant to erase the excessive.

Her gaze drifted, unwillingly, to the figures moving across the grasslands beyond the gaps.

They were not natives of this land.

Foreign blood. Foreign roots.

Entry into the ruins should have been forbidden to them.

She had known that.

And yet–

I am the one who ordered it, she thought bitterly.

False origins.

Manufactured belief.

A fabricated cult name dredged from swamp legends no one bothered to verify.

It had been the only way to slip them past the outer seals without alerting the higher registries.

If this record reaches deeper than the surface layer…

Her breath slowed.

Then may this chamber remain blind.

Her gaze lowered to the blank space beneath Aizrel's name.

The feather drifted closer.

Waiting.

The chamber did not urge her.

It did not forgive her either.

And Hylisi still did not know what she should write.

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