Scott remained by the tree, unmoving, as two hours passed in silence. Not a single champion had wandered into the secluded clearing since his encounter with the Curse Widow. Though he continued to monitor the overall count of champions across the various zones, he hadn't paid attention to any individual movements. From what he'd gathered, the true nature of this trial likely wouldn't reveal itself until he reached the Fifth Zone.

They should be dry enough now, Scott mused, glancing toward his clothes draped over a branch.

Without a word, he straightened up and stretched his limbs. With a flick of his wrist, his dried clothes and shoes vanished into his inventory.

Scott rolled his shoulders and scanned the treeline.

Time to find the exit. Hopefully, this zone isn't too large.

He picked a direction at random. It didn't matter—once he hit the boundary of the Silent Zone, he'd simply follow its perimeter until he found the gate leading out.

Three hours later…

Scott now stood with several other champions in front of a nondescript bronze gate. A system notification hovered before them.

Do you wish to venture into Thirixis' Garden? Yes! No!

Scott didn't answer right away. Instead, he studied the others.

I don't recognize any of them—and they're not particularly strong, he thought, frowning slightly.

How did they make it past the increased difficulty? Were they lucky enough to land in docile zones?

But he didn't dwell on it. They were watching him as intently as he watched them. Some grouped up; others stood apart, wary. No one spoke. Silence pressed down like a fog, each waiting for someone to make the first move.

Scott exhaled softly, and that alone was enough to draw every eye to him. He ignored their stares.

Without a word, he tapped [Yes].

The panel vanished.

Scott stared at the bronze gate. Will it open just for me, or…

A low, grinding creak answered his thought. Every champion turned toward the gate. Though it groaned open, it revealed no visible movement—until mist bled in through the widening passage.

Only Scott saw what lay beyond.

The gates had fully opened, unveiling a fog-laced grove that bordered the Silent Zone.

From now on, no more dawdling in these zones, Scott decided. I'll brute force my way to the Final Zone.

He stepped forward without hesitation, ignoring the stunned looks and curious whispers behind him.

Mist swallowed him as he crossed the threshold. He didn't look back.

The fog thickened, clinging to twisted trees that spiraled and knotted around each other like vines in a haunted forest. The flora resembled a distorted wonderland—alien, grotesque, alive.

A notification blinked into view.

You have entered the territory of Hive Members!

Scott ignored it. Movement flickered in the corner of his vision, then again ahead, and again at the edges of the grove.

Figures approached.

They were humanoid in the loosest sense—elongated, grotesquely stretched, limbs unnaturally long, as though drawn by a hand that didn't understand anatomy. Their heads floated a few inches above their necks, disconnected yet tethered by unseen forces. Some tilted at odd angles, others remained upright.

Scott's eyes narrowed.

They look like damn zombies. But… what's inside their heads?

Within each floating skull, something slithered—a serpentine creature squirming and coiling without rest. Mutated tapeworms, or perhaps parasitic eels, endlessly circling the interior of the skulls. They never paused.

I don't have time to waste on these freaks. I'll clear them all out at once.

As the thought crossed his mind, a system message popped up.

The Overseer hope you will adhere to your responsibilities as the Primary Target!

Scott raised a brow.

They knew I was about to slaughter them?

He chuckled. I'll pretend I didn't see that.

By now, the twisted figures had fully emerged from the surrounding mist—over fifty of them. Yet none advanced. They stood in eerie silence, eyes—or what passed for them—locked on Scott.

They're not attacking? Did the Overseer stop them, or do they recognize me as the Primary Target?

He took a cautious step forward. Still, the figures didn't move.

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Then a new sound rose—the familiar chime of a beacon—and a glowing arrow appeared ahead, pointing directly through the forest, past the motionless creatures.

Scott walked forward, unbothered. On his tenth step, he stopped.

A familiar creak rang out again.

Scott turned around, noticing a tear-like crack in space leading to an unfamiliar meadow. Through the shimmering fracture, he could see a group of towering orcs marching forward.

So, the Silent Zones randomly assign us to different Active Zones, Scott mused, feeling as though something had clicked into place.

He watched the orcs for a moment, but quickly lost interest. Though the seven-man party carried an imposing, ruthless air, he felt no danger radiating from them.

Returning his attention to the flickering beacon, Scott prepared to resume his journey. But then he noticed something had changed.

The stationary humanoids began to stir.

The worms inside their floating heads writhed with renewed intensity, as if silently urging the twisted bodies to charge toward the newcomers.

And charge they did.

Limbs flailed grotesquely as the creatures tore across the landscape, covering the distance with disturbing speed.

Scott stood still, his expression unchanged. In seconds, they rushed past him, utterly ignoring his presence.

So they do recognize me, Scott thought with a quiet chuckle, not bothering to look back.

Then came the screams.

Grunts. Explosions. Shrill cries and the thunder of combat echoed behind him. The ground trembled beneath the fury unleashed.

Scott didn't flinch. He simply followed the beacon, stepping deeper into the warped wonderland.

The mist thickened. His vision dimmed, yet he walked unbothered.

Other humanoids occasionally emerged from the haze, their floating heads twisting to peer at him. But no one dared to approach. All of them surged in the opposite direction—toward the chaos he had left behind.

Some veered off in other directions. Scott suspected they were hunting other champions who had arrived through separate portals.

What could possibly be the treasure of a place like this? he wondered, casting glances at the grotesque forest.

The vegetation resembled desiccated wood, brittle and lifeless—yet somehow brimming with vitality. A paradox.

Could they be feeding off death energy? he pondered, his stride never slowing.

He didn't stop to investigate. Reaching the Final Zone was all that mattered. Anything that delayed him would be swiftly and mercilessly removed.

And so, he walked. For five hours.

Twisted humanoids continued to appear sporadically, though none attacked. Some watched him briefly before merging with nearby trees, vanishing without a trace.

Not once did he encounter another champion. Still, the sounds of distant battles—explosions, shrieks, howls—drifted to him from time to time.

And yet, the terrain remained unchanged. The same warped flora stretched endlessly ahead, a nightmarish maze of agony and silence.

Ten hours later...

Finally, something shifted.

The mist began to thin. The twisted vegetation grew less grotesque. In fact, a few trees bore patches of green—though Scott could count them on one hand.

He pressed forward silently, the beacon guiding his every step.

With each stride, the world grew more... normal. The trees straightened. Fewer gnarled branches curled toward the path. Greenery began to stretch out along both sides of his trail.

Then, Scott stopped.

Ahead lay hundreds of fallen trees, cleanly split in half.

A battle was fought here, he deduced, scanning the scene.

Some trunks bore scorch marks. Others were lacerated or gouged. Deep crevices marred the ground between the fallen logs. A faint, smoky scent of ash still lingered in the air.

Yet, strangely, there were no corpses. No remains of the twisted humanoids. No bodies of champions. Not even blood.

It's as if someone scrubbed the entire battlefield, Scott thought, frowning.

But why?

The beacon flickered ahead, undeterred by the wreckage.

Scott didn't hesitate. With minimal effort, he leapt onto a fallen log, then another, and another—crossing the chaotic field in bounding strides.

On his fiftieth jump, he paused.

Roughly a hundred feet ahead sat a figure on a vertical log, perched cross-legged in a meditative pose.

Human? Or something that just looks like one?

Scott studied the man closely.

He wore a blackened toga patterned with soft pink petals. A crimson skull brooch fastened it at the shoulder. His skin was a dusky brown, and his thick arms were covered in curly hair. His bald head glistened faintly, completely bare—no eyebrows, no eyelashes. No beard, no mustache. Just silence.

The man's eyes were closed, and he muttered words too soft to hear.

Scott watched him for a few more seconds, then looked away.

He continued on, following the beacon's call. The man—whoever or whatever he was—didn't concern him.

If he became a threat, he'd be dealt with like all the others.

He continued leaping from log to log, noting how the fallen trunks had grown significantly larger the deeper he ventured.

Twenty minutes later, Scott paused again.

Another figure.

Seated atop a raised log, motionless, meditating. But unlike the last, this one was unmistakably a lizardman.

Is this a coincidence? Or something deeper? Scott wondered.

Outwardly calm, his senses worked in overdrive—scanning for any flicker of threat. Yet no matter how hard he searched, nothing seemed out of place. Only the quiet, meditating champions.

Did they figure something out? Scott glanced around.

It was possible. Maybe they'd uncovered a hidden clue, something missed in the chaos of this twisted zone.

But I'm not like Orion. Whatever it is, I'm not wasting time here.

If it turns out to be something important, I'll deal with it then. For now… I'll move forward.

Without hesitation, Scott continued.

Time passed, bleeding from minutes into hours. He encountered over ten more champions—each one seated atop an upright log, each one lost in meditation. None spoke. None moved. All ignored him.

And still, the path of felled trees continued. Neatly cut. Perfectly aligned. As though some godlike blade had swept through the forest and carved a fifty-mile scar into the earth.

What kind of ability can cut down so many trees at once?

Scott's pace didn't slow—but he couldn't help but marvel.

Then—

Another one?

Ahead, a figure stood atop a towering log—much taller than the rest.

This one wore mismatched armor, pieces of varying metals and lusters, thrown together like an afterthought. His scarred face remained uncovered, and unlike the others, his eyes were wide open—locked directly on Scott.

A sadistic smile curled across his lips.

Then he stood. Slowly. Deliberately. His eyes never straying.

"The goddess was right," he said, voice rough and low, but clear. "You finally showed up."

He cracked his neck. "Finally."

At that moment, the ground trembled.

It wasn't like the Thumpers—this was different.

It sounded like giant logs being slammed into the earth from all directions. A resonating, wooden thunder.

Scott turned, watching as colored lights surged across the sky, racing from every direction—converging. Reaching upward. Intertwining.

Are they forming a dome? he wondered, gaze narrowing.

A crimson beam erupted from beneath the armored champion, streaking upward and merging with the swirling lights.

Then came the sound.

A deep, resonating gong.

It wasn't just loud—it was disorienting, rattling, as if awakening something primal.

Still, Scott didn't flinch. He watched the man with flat eyes.

Then came footsteps.

Not one. Not two. Fourteen.

Fourteen champions hovered into view, descending through the mist—each one floating with unnatural ease.

Recognition flashed through Scott's eyes.

They were the same meditating figures he'd passed along the path. Every last one of them.

Suddenly, fourteen logs surged upright from the ground. The champions descended upon them, each settling into place like chess pieces around a king.

Scott now stood surrounded.

Calmly, he glanced from one face to the next, reading their expressions, weighing their threats.

Then his eyes returned to the scarred man in mismatched armor.

"I hope you know what you're signing up for," Scott said, smiling faintly.

The man chuckled. "Oh, trust me—I know."

His grey eyes began to pale, turning bone-white.

"We've been waiting for you, our delicious Primary Target."

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