Swamp Pest Description: Mutated variant of the Midnight Venus. Each of its multicolored petals contains a unique poison. Highly valuable for anti-venom synthesis.

Scott read through the system notification, his gaze drifting to the mesmerizing flower in his hand. With petals gleaming in radiant hues, it looked like a piece of living art—hardly the kind of thing one would associate with lethal toxins.

Didn't I pluck a Midnight Venus earlier? he mused, glancing toward a nearby patch of starlit blossoms—their petals twinkled like the night sky itself.

There are just too many strange plants in this place, Scott thought, storing the flower into his inventory.

He rose to his feet and stretched, letting out a quiet yawn. How much time is left on the cooldown?

As if in answer, the system chimed.

Cool Off Period: 00:03:18!

Three more minutes, he noted, surveying the ravaged area around him.

The signs of his pillaging spree were hard to miss—freshly severed stems, gouged earth, trampled trails, and scattered roots marked his passage through the once-verdant zone.

I might've gone a little overboard, he chuckled, continuing his stretches.

No big deal. The harvesters will respawn soon enough.

A grin tugged at his lips as he posed another question.

"System, how many champions are in the 9th zone right now?"

The familiar shimmer of a system panel appeared.

Current number of trialists in the 8th Zone: 40,039!

Scott whistled. "That's a lot of people."

He swept back a stray lock of hair. "And in the active zones?"

Current number of trialists in Active Zones: 12,000!

Scott chuckled again, shaking his head. Anyone who hasn't reached the first shared Silent Zone is in for a nasty surprise.

He could practically see the scene: thousands of champions wandering across lush terrain, pillaging and exploring under the guidance of the system's glowing beacons. All of them blissfully unaware of how short-lived their peace truly was.

I wonder if anyone else is in this same active zone, he considered.

It didn't matter. Whether he was alone or not, the outcome wouldn't change. Still, he entertained the thought that he might've been placed on a specialized path—isolated from the others.

"System, how many champions have entered a shared Silent Zone?"

A brief pause. Then came the chime.

Current number of trialists in Shared Silent Zones: 4,565!

Looks like the cool down period is just enough for most people to make it through the active zone, Scott mused.

Some of them must already be fighting for control. He smirked, shaking his head in amusement.

Stretching once more, he eyed the lingering timer.

Cool Off Period: 00:00:10!

He grinned.

Three… two… one… zero!

A deafening howl tore through the air. The earth trembled beneath his feet.

The Cool Off Period has ended!

Scott turned toward the source of the howls—but the sound came from everywhere. His brow furrowed.

How many of them spawned this time?

Before the thought even fully formed, he spotted them—harvesters bathed in neon-grey flames hurtling toward him from all directions. The bipedal and smaller variants were noticeably absent.

Scott watched them approach, eyes narrowing.

I thought there was going to be something different this time, but it's still Skull Harvesters, he sighed.

Their arrival confirmed it: the first active zone housed only Skull Harvesters.

Billowing flames surged behind them, licking at the edges of the battlefield. As before, the fire left the vegetation untouched.

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Scott exhaled a second time, disappointed.

"Sorry boys," he muttered, stretching his arm forward. "I don't have time to play with you guys."

He stretched forth his right hand, and the inert war hammer transformed into its true state. Scott silently raised the weapon, his gaze lingering coldly on the approaching creatures. His movements were languid—almost nonchalant—compared to the beasts promising mayhem and a violent death.

With less than a hundred feet between him and the snarling horde, his arm began to slowly descend.

At that moment, tremors rocked the ground. The towering wall of flames vanished, snuffed out as if by an unseen cosmic force. The earth convulsed violently, tremors shredding the packed soil.

The Skull Harvesters dropped, crashing face-first into the ground, limbs bent at grotesque angles beneath the crushing weight of gravity. They whimpered and wailed, but their cries were lost beneath the earth's unrelenting rumble.

Trees buckled under the force, splintering and imploding as their fragments slammed against the dirt—denied even the freedom to fly.

Scott's arm continued its measured descent. Within a fifty-mile radius, everything—living or otherwise—had been brutally suppressed, mangled, and buried in the ground.

Finally, his hand lowered completely, revealing the aftermath: devastation laid bare. In the far distance, untouched stretches of the garden shimmered beyond the field of ruin. But within the blast zone, all had been crushed beyond recognition.

Yet, within the fractured earth, life stirred.

Patches of ground pulsed with vitality. Saplings broke free from the cracked soil, growing at unnatural speeds. Grasses and flowerbeds bloomed in pockets of the ruined terrain.

The blood of those harvesters must be the true treasure here, Scott mused.

Despite his calm demeanor, his eyes prowled the battlefield, vigilant for any sign of movement. At the same time, he silently counted the seconds.

The howls came again—ragged and discordant this time. From the forest, wave after wave of Skull Harvesters surged into the clearing, bathed in neon-gray flame. This time, some had two heads.

Auxiliary heads launched cannonball-like bursts of flame, while the main heads conjured the familiar flaming waves.

Scott chuckled. "Two heads now… and a little bigger. Still not enough."

Over fifty harvesters had already charged into the regenerating battlefield, with more pouring in from all sides.

He raised the war hammer again. It began its slow descent.

Mayhem followed.

No matter how sturdy or fanatical, the harvesters all met the same fate: bone-shattering death under the crushing weight of gravity. Their flames evaporated—leaving no trace, not even smoke.

The fractured earth groaned, deeper crevices tearing open. Yet the onslaught didn't cease.

Scott watched, detached. One after another, the creatures died—yet more kept coming. There was no fear in them. No hesitation. Only the blind drive to charge and die.

Then came the giants.

Not one. Not two. Not even three.

Dozens of towering harvesters burst forth, rage twisting their features into grotesque masks. But like the smaller ones before them, they were mercilessly flattened—reduced to paste and fluids under the unrelenting force.

Scott smiled ruefully. At this rate, there won't be any blood left to collect.

His gaze dropped to the chain wrapped around his wrist.

I guess it's time to see what you can do.

The thought had barely formed when the chain stirred. A deep rustling overtook the battlefield, smothering the screams of the dying.

The gleaming white chains slithered from his wrists, writhing midair like serpents. They swelled, thickened, and towered over Scott—each one alive with a silent, terrible purpose.

The ground beneath his feet and across the entire devastated zone began to dry, moisture leeching away as the chains expanded.

Then, they lunged.

The chains ignored the gravitational anomaly entirely, streaking toward spared harvesters. As they approached, the gravitational force lifted from these few—but before the creatures could celebrate, the chains loomed over them like specters of judgment.

The harvesters snarled and growled, but the chains didn't move.

Scott narrowed his eyes, watching intently. He had an idea what would come next—but whether it would meet his expectations, he wasn't sure.

A towering harvester bellowed and lunged forward—only to freeze mid-step. Its eyes bulged, trembling. Its body undulated, warping like bubbling water trapped in a balloon.

Across the field, the same grotesque transformation began.

Then, one by one, they screamed.

Soul-churning howls tore through the land as their bodies warped violently. Their forms convulsed—and then came the stench. Blood, thick and cloying, erupted from their mouths, nostrils, and wounds. No—not just blood. They were purging everything within them tainted by blood. Vomiting it out, choking on it, collapsing under it.

And the chains remained.

Silent. Watching.

Awaiting the next soul to judge.

Thick spheres of blood slammed into the chains—but barely stained their pristine sheen. The harvesters' husks collapsed like emptied skins, discarded and limp.

In a flash, over twenty harvesters had surrendered their blood essence. Their hollowed remains were swept away by the gravitational force.

For the first time, neither massive nor minor Harvesters dared to enter the barren patch. They stood motionless—watching the remnants of their kin sink into the earth.

The chains loomed silently in their separate positions. Only a small portion of their links were stained crimson.

From afar, Scott smiled.

He lowered his arm. The chains slithered back, returning to their dormant form. The war hammer followed suit.

Yet not a single harvester dared to cross the invisible threshold.

You have obtained the Blood Essence of Skull Harvesters! The Overseer is somewhat pleased that you obtained a precious tonic! The Overseer urges you to use it to energize members of The Hive!

Scott scanned the messages but dismissed the Overseer's suggestion. He hadn't collected the blood for The Hive—he intended to experiment with it through Orion.

If they're too scared to attack, it's only a matter of time before they're wiped out.

Suddenly, several dull thuds echoed in his mind.

As expected, the rods had annihilated the Harvesters.

Scott didn't bother seeking their source. He already knew—something was interfering with his senses.

Congratulations! You're the first trialist to slay a mutant Skull Harvester in this round! The right of difficulty has been enforced!

Scott chuckled. They'd curse me if they knew I was the reason for the sudden difficulty spike.

"System, how long is the cool-off period?"

A soft chime responded.

Cool Off Period: 3:58:59!

Scott nodded, his eyes on the flickering arrow guiding him northeast.

There could be a silent zone awaiting me, or it could be another active zone. Nothing said they would alternate.

He pondered for a moment.

Regardless of where the arrowhead leads, there's no reason for me to remain here anymore, he believed.

He didn't believe for one second that most champions undergoing the trial would be able to contend with the new batch of Skull Harvesters when the cool off period elapsed

With his mind made up, Scott began to move.

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