The Harvester's massive fist crashed into the ground, but Scott's form had already blurred away.

A deep fissure split the earth, hurling soil, scorched petals, and glittering particulate into the air like embers. Then came the wave — a searing pulse of force and flame that tore through everything within a hundred meters. Flowers turned to dust. The earth blistered black. Even the air howled as the ethereal landscape—so pristine moments before—was reshaped by ruin.

For the first time, this world showed signs of damage.

Trees groaned beneath the inferno. Their bark, once vibrant with life, stood charred but unyielding—scarred survivors of the sudden onslaught.

Scott reappeared a few meters from the blast zone, eyes fixed on the colossus. His gaze swept over the scene—the devastation etched into the land—and he smiled.

Looks like this one might actually put up a fight.

He cracked his neck. Wouldn't want to disappoint it.

In a blur, he vanished again.

The Harvester roared, a guttural war cry that made the trees tremble. Flames surged out like tidal waves, ready to consume everything once more. But Scott was already gone, hidden in motion, until—

He reappeared beside the creature's burning skull.

The Harvester's eyes twitched toward him—too slow.

Scott drew his fist back, muscles flexing with feral purpose. This wasn't a casual blow, nor one born from desperation. It was clean. Precise. Brutal.

Crack!

His fist slammed into the creature's temple. Flames rippled. The skull shuddered, veined with jagged fractures that spiderwebbed across its surface. The creature staggered, but did not fall.

Still standing. Still alive.

From atop a tree, Scott watched with a wide, appreciative grin.

"You took that?" A low, eager laugh escaped his throat. "Let's see what else you can take."

He launched himself again, targeting the beast's midsection. Another punch followed—faster, deeper, laced with a crueler intent.

Boom!

The impact rippled through the Harvester's form, folding it backward like a ragdoll. It careened across the terrain, smashing through trees, carving a path of uprooted earth until it finally skidded to a pitiful stop.

Scott landed lightly, watching with growing amusement as the creature writhed.

"You survived that too?" His chuckle was softer now, mouth parted in admiration. "Impressive."

But the Harvester wasn't faring well. It groaned as it attempted to rise, limbs trembling, collapsing beneath their own weight. Thick blood oozed from its wounds, bubbling faintly as it seeped into the scorched ground.

A distinct, metallic tang reached Scott's nose. He turned toward the trail of blood, tracking it from where the Harvester had stood to where it now lay—broken and leaking.

"Don't think it's getting back up from that," he muttered, a wry smile tugging at his lips.

Judging from the volume of blood, its death was all but assured. Unless it possessed some hidden method of regeneration—which none of the previous variants had shown—this was the end.

He approached slowly, steps measured. Each pace brought him closer to the fallen behemoth. The Harvester still stirred, moaning weakly, struggling to lift its bulk. But each attempt grew weaker, until even its whimpers faded.

Scott halted twenty steps away.

He narrowed his eyes. The Harvester was no longer moving. No sounds escaped it.

"Is it dead?" He scanned the body, searching for signs—flowers, vines, life.

Nothing.

Seconds passed. Then minutes.

Scott didn't move. The smaller harvesters bloomed quickly after death, but something about this one felt different. He wasn't taking chances.

A notification blinked at the edge of his vision, urging him northeast—but he ignored it, leaning casually against a nearby tree, eyes fixed on the corpse.

Ten minutes passed.

Then — a twitch.

Scott straightened instantly, gaze locking onto the Harvester's arm. A thick vein pulsed beneath charred skin. Its flames had long gone out, but from those veins—flowers began to bloom.

Dozens at first. Then hundreds. Crimson, violet, pulsing like parasitic blossoms feeding off decay. It was as though the death of the harvester had fed the land a terrible feast, and now the soil was blooming with its triumph.

Scott frowned.

Is it just me… or is it getting bigger?

The corpse had begun to swell. Subtle at first. Barely perceptible. But real.

He took a step back. Then two. The swelling quickened. The flowers spread.

As thrilling as this was, I draw the line at a corpse bath, Scott mused grimly.

And with that, he sprinted away, seeking cover among the trees. He found higher ground and turned back, watching.

The corpse continued to bloat—grotesque, unnatural. No new harvesters had appeared, which was strange. But Scott's attention was fixed solely on the swelling carcass.

And then—

Pop.

The sound was sickening. Not sharp like a balloon, but wet. Final. Disgusting.

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The Harvester's body ruptured, releasing a deluge of thick crimson fluids, dissolved organs, half-melted bones, and a storm of steaming gore. The explosion painted the earth red. What remained of the creature had liquefied entirely.

Scott winced.

"Thank God I retreated earlier," Scott muttered, exhaling deeply.

Nothing within two hundred feet of the corpse had been spared from the bubbling flood. Worse still, rather than seeping into the scorched earth, the viscous fluid flowed like a crimson river, carving its way through the devastated path left by the Skull Harvester's rampage.

Scott's brows lifted, his lips parting slightly as he observed the aftermath. Wherever the fluid passed, life bloomed in its wake. Loose soil flattened into even terrain. Cracks sealed. Grass and vibrant flowers sprang forth, spreading like wildfire through the restored earth.

Even the trees weren't excluded. Though their healing was slower than the reborn ground beneath them, they had begun to shed the scorch marks that marred their bark—quietly returning to grace.

Scott watched, momentarily lost in thought.

Then a sharp ding broke the silence.

A new notification unfurled before him:

Congratulations! You're the first trialist to slay the sentry Skull Harvester in this round! The Right of Difficulty has been enforced!

"The Right of Difficulty has been enforced," Scott echoed, frowning.

"What does that even mean?"

The system answered promptly.

The level of Skull Harvesters will now improve considerably across the first active zones! The change will become effective after the Cool Off Period!

Scott's fingers slowly rubbed at his chin as he reread the message.

"So they're raising the stakes mid-trial?" he mused aloud. His lips curled into a grin. "I like it."

A devious thought suddenly took root, and Scott's smile turned even more sly.

"System," he said, eyes glinting, "if I eliminate the next batch of Skull Harvesters… would the difficulty go up again?"

The response came instantly.

Yes!

Scott puffed his cheeks slightly, shaking his head as laughter bubbled up in his throat.

"Perfect."

With confirmation in hand, his course was clear.

I was wondering how to thin the herd a bit more. Looks like I can 'borrow' the strength of this place.

He chuckled under his breath.

Why do I feel like some bad guy? He laughed harder, brushing the thought aside.

He wasn't a saint—he knew that. But he wasn't a villain either. Survival was his top priority. Whether others entered the trial by choice or not didn't change the simple truth: He would always choose himself first.

If that made him a villain in someone else's story, so be it.

"How long is the Cool Off Period?" he asked aloud.

The system chimed again.

Cool Off Period: 3:50:49

He stared at the fading panel.

I've got no idea if that's enough to reach the end of the active zone, but it's more than I expected.

Still, he hesitated.

Can I really afford to burn four hours here just to screw over others who'll be arriving later?

No answer came.

He knew that not all champions started in the same active zone. But the fact that his actions were affecting other zones as well? That was an unexpected—and welcome—bonus.

I'm not naïve to believe that it will stop everyone. But if I raise the difficulty high enough, the number of survivors will drop.

That's a fair trade.

He nodded slowly, settling into the idea.

His eyes drifted toward the rejuvenated land. The destruction from earlier had been wiped clean. No scars. No signs of violence. Just rolling beauty—flowers, trees, and rich grass—like the battle never happened.

"System," he asked mentally, "how many people are in the 8th Zone?"

Another notification blinked into existence.

Current number of trialists in the 8th Zone: 1039!

Scott's brows rose sharply.

Huh. I was wrong.

He hadn't expected so many to complete their bloodline assimilation so quickly.

He still believed that the distributed bloodlines varied in rarity and strength. Just because someone ascended didn't mean they were the cream of the crop—but it didn't mean they were weak either.

Some of them probably have terrifying abilities hidden beneath the surface.

He nodded again, muttering:

"A little under four hours, huh... All right then."

Then a new thought crossed his mind, and a frown creased his brow.

"System, how many people have entered the Active Zones?"

The reply came fast.

Current number of trialists in Active Zones: 2!

Scott blinked—then cackled uncontrollably, his hand rising to partially cover his eyes.

"Only two?"

He shook his head, still laughing.

"I was worried for no reason."

It's unlikely the others have even found their safe zone exits. Most are probably still poking around, testing their shiny new bloodlines like kids with toys they don't know how to use.

Scott chuckled. He should've considered that sooner. Suddenly, four hours felt short. Most champions would still be tiptoeing through their zones, cautious and slow to act. Of course, there'd be a few like him—reckless and impatient, charging headfirst into whatever the garden threw their way.

System, how many people have died in the 8th zone so far? he asked mentally.

Current number of deaths in the current run: 50!

"Not as high as I expected," Scott murmured, eyes sweeping over the meadow of flowers.

The system said we could take whatever we wanted from this place… but I still don't know what's actually valuable.

He hopped down from his perch and landed near the spot where a harvester's corpse once lay. A faint chill lingered around a tulip-like flower. Its petals shimmered with frost, and a fresh, clean scent hung in the air.

Scott plucked it.

Pride of the North Bay Description: Named after the icy tundra in the frozen lands of the north. It is an excellent supplementary material for preparing cold resistant potions and runestones. When its petals are chewed raw, they provide an excellent repellant against icy winds.

"Good stuff," he muttered, sending it to his inventory.

There were thousands more flowers just like it—each one humming with potential. Scott grinned.

Orion would probably consider this place as a treasure trove of data, Scott chuckled softly.

Who am I kidding? That data maniac considers everywhere and anywhere a treasure trove of information…

Chuckling at his thoughts, a new notification suddenly manifested.

Trialists without the appropriate permission have wandered to restricted zones! Do you wish to banish the trialists to The Hive? Yes! No!

Scott sighed. "Again?"

He didn't hesitate long. He clicked [No!].

The overseer is thoroughly displeased and incensed with your inaction! Maintaining and strengthening The Hive is a key part of your duties!

Blah, blah, blah… Scott waved off the glowing text and plucked another flower.

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