Scott stepped into a new area filled with sturdy oaks and lush, verdant grasses. Blue skies stretched overhead without a single cloud streaking the heavens. Though no visible sun blazed down, the landscape remained warm and perfectly illuminated—almost unnaturally so.

But Scott's gaze didn't linger on the scenery.

He was more interested in the scattered groups within the grove. They watched him as he watched them.

At the same moment, a notification shimmered into view.

You have arrived at a Shared Silent Zone!

Nice, Scott thought. Good to know I still have some luck.

He barely glanced at the message before turning his attention back to the other champions. Their gazes ranged from hostile to curious to carefully unreadable, but Scott returned none of them—choosing not to focus on anyone in particular.

There are about fifty people here, he noted, studying the boot prints and scuffed trails in the dirt. And it looks like even more have wandered beyond this area.

Doesn't seem like anyone's claimed this place yet, he mused.

The atmosphere was too peaceful—too quiet—for a contested zone.

I should find somewhere to change into a new set of clothes, he mused, glancing down at his soaked figure. Several nearby champions had thrown curious glances his way. Understandably so—he looked like he'd taken a swim through madness.

"System, how many people are in the 8th zone?" Scott asked mentally.

Without delay, a notification appeared.

Current number of trialists in the 8th Zone: 609,874!

Scott nodded. As expected… the number keeps climbing.

"System, how many people are still in the active zones?"

Another notification blinked in beside the first.

Current number of trialists in Active Zones: 201,000!

"And in the shared silent zones?"

A third notification joined the others.

Current number of trialists in Silent Zones (Shared): 80,019!

Scott's eyes narrowed as he studied the numbers.

Huh… the silent zone count dropped.

He hummed silently to himself, mind flickering through various possibilities. There could be any number of reasons… but honestly, it's better for me if that number drops even more.

Now that I think about it… I might actually be able to thin out the competition in this trial alone. Between the Garden Servants, Hive members, and all the greedy champions, I'll have plenty of help doing it.

A brilliant smile spread across his face.

Seems I was worried for nothing, he thought, eyes resting on the count for the 8th zone. With the increased difficulty… I'd wager fewer champions will reach the final zone than those who even started the 9th Zone.

Once that happens, I would have completed my primary objective. The only real question is… how do I get the hell out of this expanse afterward?

Scott fell into brief silence, chewing on the thought.

Would eliminating all the champions end the trial?

He sighed.

Doubt it. Even if I somehow wiped out everyone else… I don't think this place would just let me go. That'd be too easy, he sighed again while shaking his head.

There's No point dwelling on what I can't control.

First, change clothes. Then move on. Doesn't seem like there are any treasures here anyway.

His gaze swept across the grove, searching for a private spot.

"System, has anyone reached the Final Zone yet?"

Another message blinked into place.

Current number of trialists in the Final Zone: 0!

Scott nodded. Thought so.

Still… how powerful would someone have to be to get there already?

He shook the thought away. I don't know if it's because of those long years alone, but I've gotten too used to worrying about pointless things.

He chuckled softly and began moving again. The gazes from nearby champions continued to follow him, but he ignored them and slipped deeper into the oak grove.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Maybe I'm wrong, he mused, but it doesn't seem like the arrowhead will show itself in a silent zone.

He paused for a beat, waiting—half-expecting the familiar beacon to flicker into life now that he'd mentioned it.

No sign. No signal. Nothing.

Eventually, he found a secluded clearing. As soon as he reached for the hem of his shirt to change, a new notification appeared.

Time left until you are evicted from the Shared Silent Zone: 330:55:09

Roughly two weeks, Scott estimated.

Doubt I'll be here that long.

Then he froze.

His head turned slowly toward the east—toward a seemingly ordinary tree.

"You've been following me for quite some time now," he said calmly. "Are you some kind of voyeur?"

Silence answered him.

Only the faint rustling of leaves in the breeze disturbed the stillness.

But Scott didn't look away.

"You not moving doesn't change the fact that I can see you," he added with a wry smile.

Still, nothing.

Scott sighed and shook his head. "Well… have it your way."

Scott threw the jacket onto a nearby branch, then removed his boots and placed them upside down to dry. He unbuckled his belt and glanced once more toward the tree before pulling off his pants.

At the same moment, new clothes manifested from his inventory. Without hesitation, he dressed in a sleek black short-sleeved shirt, streamlined grey pants, and black dress shoes. A small towel appeared next, and he ran it through his damp hair before hanging it beside his jacket.

Who knew I'd be grateful for Slim's obsession with fashion? Scott smiled, remembering how the musician insisted on looking classy while pummeling enemies.

Scott chuckled softly, shaking his head. Then his eyes shifted again toward the tree.

"It seems like you had a pleasant time," he said, his smile widening, "so much so that you even brought friends."

Strange, alluring chortles echoed in unison—like invisible crickets rubbing their wings.

Scott maintained his relaxed pose. One hand rested in his pocket, the other fiddled with the top shirt button he'd left undone.

The giggles lasted for a full minute. Then the air turned heavy, illusionary. A veil lifted—and blue-skinned, scantily clad figures materialized, perched on different branches.

Did I just walk into an Avatar movie? Scott thought with a discreet chuckle.

The figures were tall, none shorter than six feet, with fur garments barely covering their ample chests and privates. Their bodies were flawless. Grey, pupil-less eyes stared at him, and their gem-pierced noses and lips shimmered in the light.

Scott scanned each one. Despite the silence, their stares held unblinking intensity—almost worshipful.

What the hell is this? Scott resisted the urge to laugh.

They were clearly all women, but he couldn't determine their race or guess what reason they had for watching him change. The most obvious answer crossed his mind briefly—but he discarded it as ludicrous. After all, he didn't see himself as someone with that kind of sex appeal.

"And you are?" Scott asked, unhurried.

Silence, once again, was his only reply.

Scott shook his head slightly. Since the women refused to speak, he wouldn't bother with them any further. They hadn't exuded any malicious intent or bloodlust, after all.

Peeping while I'm changing is one thing—but I don't care that much, he mused, stretching his arms overhead.

That was when he noticed something strange.

The women reacted.

Their heads shifted in perfect sync with his movement.

Scott frowned. Wait... are they not watching me for the reason I thought?

He extended his left hand slowly. Their gazes remained still.

Then he retracted it—and extended his right arm.

The dormant chain and war hammer clinked slightly, the faint jingle of metal breaking the quiet.

This time, the women stirred, following the motion of his right hand with eerie precision. Their glassy eyes glinted with intensity, lips parted, some even beginning to drool like puppies teased with a treat.

Scott's eyes narrowed. What the fuck...?

He wasn't done testing the theory.

He waved his right hand to the side. Their gazes followed. Lowered it—they looked down. Raised it—they looked up.

No hesitation. No deviation.

So… they're after my weapons?

He knew the look of bloodlust. He knew the look of greed. This wasn't quite either—but it was close. A kind of yearning burned in their eyes. Intense, but not hostile.

Scott's brows drew tighter. He hadn't cared about being watched—even while changing. But coveting his weapons? That was a line.

He opened his mouth to speak—but a tranquil, almost sultry voice echoed suddenly, clear and steady, "Weapons forged from Divine Ore."

Scott's frown vanished. A dazzling smile lit his face.

But the moment the words rang out, the surrounding women froze. Their expressions stiffened. Sweat rolled down several of their faces. No one moved. No one spoke. Their eyes now trembled—less with desire and more with terror.

Scott's gaze swept over them like a predator studying prey.

"If you don't give me a suitable explanation," he said coldly, "you're going to regret ever approaching me."

The voice returned, softer this time. Panicked.

"Please… stay your hand."

Scott's eyes narrowed, scanning the group—but even now, he couldn't tell who among them had spoken.

The voice returned—more panicked than before.

"Please, do not harm them. They were only following my instructions—"

"And who the hell are you supposed to be?" Scott cut in with a huff, arms crossed in clear annoyance.

One of the silver-haired women twitched. Her earrings glinted with a sudden brilliance—and her body jolted, as if waking from a spell. Slowly, she regained control.

She bowed politely but didn't dare approach.

"Pardon me," she said with calm restraint. "We didn't mean to be rude."

Still bowed, she continued, "We were drawn by your divinity."

Scott's brows knit together. My divinity? Since when did I have something like that?

Suppressing his thoughts, he asked, "What made you think my weapons were forged from Divine Ore?"

"Because I also possess a fragment of one," she replied immediately.

Her hand moved—slow, deliberate—toward her right earring. "This was forged from Divine Ore as well."

Scott studied the diamond earring. It looked ordinary enough, but...

If she could recognize the nature of my weapons just like that… That earring must have an ego.

"Your earring told you?" Scott asked flatly.

She nodded with grace. "Yes. It has an ego."

Scott didn't react—outwardly—but fired another question. "So why approach me?"

Her answer came with hesitation—and curiosity.

"I was warned not to. Especially since your weapon possesses a nascent ego… one undergoing rebirth. But…"

She paused, choosing her next words carefully.

"I wanted to see who could wield Divine Ore while still mortal. I wanted to know what kind of being is marked as Condemned by the egos... and yet survives. I wanted to see how I compared to such a person."

Scott eyed her in silence. If she's lying, she's one hell of an actor.

But she mentioned being Condemned. That wasn't public knowledge. Only someone familiar with the Chaos Vault would know that.

Could her ego originate from there too?

"You'd best learn to tame that curiosity," he said quietly, his gaze softening—though his words carried a razor's edge. "Lest it drags you closer to death's door."

At that moment, all the other women collapsed to the ground in unison—save for the one speaking.

"Don't worry about them," Scott added with a smile. "I won't hurt them… at least not yet. As long as you answer my questions honestly, I'll consider letting all of you leave in one piece. Can you do that?"

She nodded immediately, without hesitation.

Scott chuckled. "Good," he said, leaning back against a nearby tree.

"Alright then. What's this talk about mortals being unable to wield weapons forged from Divine Ore? You said so yourself—your earring is made from one."

He crossed his arms, waiting.

The woman drew a deep breath and slowly raised her head. Her voice was calm now—calm and clear.

"I believe you're mistaken," she said. "I never claimed to be a mortal."

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.