The following day began not with a trumpet's call, but with a universal, Imperial System wide chime that resonated pleasantly in the mind of every contestant. It was a gentle, insidious sound, a reminder that we were all living and breathing within the Empire's grand, technological framework. I stood with my team in the stands of the Grand Ascendant Colosseum, the cool morning air electric with anticipation. My new [Predator's Gaze], was a constant, hum in the back of my mind, a sixth sense that painted the world in textures and temperatures of power I was still learning to decipher.

The previous day's trials had shaken up the standings. Mavia, with her quiet, shocking competence, was still firmly in second place. Volkov 'The Bull' of the Crimson Vultures held the top spot, his explosive power earning him high marks in the raw, physical challenges. The dynamic between them was the talk of the lower stands — raw strength versus precise skill. It was the exact narrative I had hoped to cultivate.

Amos floated to the center of the arena again, the pageantry as flawless as ever. "Challengers!" his amplified voice boomed. "Yesterday, you proved your mettle. Today, you face the Trials, a test of resilience, adaptability, and nerve!"

As he spoke, the very floor of the Colosseum began to transform. Polished grey stone retracted, replaced by a long, enclosed corridor that snaked its way across the entire length of the arena. It was constructed of some semi-translucent, crystalline material, allowing the spectators to see the blurred shapes of the contestants inside. Even from the stands, I could feel the immense, conflicting energies being pumped into the structure. This wasn't just an obstacle course; it was a calibrated engine of suffering.

"Your goal is simple: reach the other side," Amos announced, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. "But true aspirants do not merely survive; they excel. Throughout the Crucible, you will find data-wafers. Secure them for bonus points. A word of warning… they tend to be located in the most… inhospitable sections of the course."

One by one, contestants entered. My Gaze gave me a perfect, intuitive understanding of the trial. The Crucible was a shifting corridor of elemental and kinetic hell. The first section was a blistering inferno, where walls of plasma pulsed with heat so intense it felt like a physical pressure even from here. Next was a sub-zero zone, where the air itself seemed to crystallize, a field of absolute cold designed to sap stamina and crack unprotected gear. It was followed by a kinetic assault course, where pistons of pure, concussive force would slam out from the walls, and a final, disorienting section filled with a shimmering, psionic mist I could feel was designed to fray the nerves and induce vertigo.

Volkov went through like a battering ram, his rage-fueled power a roaring bonfire against the cold, and his sheer mass absorbing the kinetic blows. He ignored the data-wafers, focused only on the finish line, and set a brutal, punishing time.

Then it was Mavia's turn. I watched her, my face a mask of nervous hope, playing into my role as Jack. Inside, my Gaze was locked onto her, a silent, analytical focus on watching her perform. She entered the flame corridor and did not charge. Instead, she wove, her movements a fluid dance between the plasma pulses. My Gaze could feel the fine, almost invisible layer of mana she wrapped around her body — not a powerful, brute-force shield, but a shimmering, heat-dispersing field that cost her a fraction of the energy. She even darted into an alcove, snatching a data-wafer from a pillar of fire before retreating, her movements economical and breathtakingly precise. In the frost section, she did the opposite, generating a thin cloak of friction-heat.

Her progress was a constant topic of conversation around us. "She's clever," a Dweorg artisan from another team grumbled in admiration. "Not strong like that Vulture, but smart. Every move has a purpose."

The psionic mist was her greatest challenge. I could feel her own placid, controlled aura begin to flicker with static as the Kyorian technology tried to worm its way into her mind. For a moment, she faltered, her steps becoming unsteady. The crowd murmured. From my vantage point, I could feel her mana churn. Then, her will, forged from my own S+ Soul Strength, asserted itself. The chaotic static smoothed out, her focus returning like a needle-point of pure clarity. She navigated the rest of the mist with ease, emerging from the end of the Crucible second, just as before, but with three data-wafers to Volkov's zero. On the leaderboard, their point totals were now nearly identical.

As she was catching her breath, a uniformed Kyorian official approached her, his posture ramrod straight. He spoke to her, then gestured toward a private viewing area just below the VIP boxes. I leaned forward, every fiber of my being focused. This was it, they were finally making their move.

I watched as Mavia was escorted to a small, shielded balcony where the silver-haired woman from the VIP box was waiting. My Gaze reached for her again.

Her power felt like a frozen ocean, a depth of cold, controlled energy that was utterly immense. It wasn't the fiery, chaotic power of a warrior, but the crystalline, razor-sharp focus of a high-level psionic or an arcane master of the highest order. It was a power that didn't rage; it simply was, confident in its own absolute superiority. She was Tier 5, at a minimum. Perhaps higher. Her jamming device's capabilities was a testament to her station.

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

I couldn't hear their words, but I could read the interaction through my Gaze and Mavia's posture. The woman, who a nearby official referred to as Administrator Vex, projected an aura of casual, aristocratic grace. Mavia stood like a stone, her arms crossed, radiating a deep, unshakeable suspicion. The Administrator gestured, and a medical officer appeared, offering Mavia a small, single-use injector. Mavia hesitated. I felt the surge of Administrator Vex's aura, not as a threat, but as a persuasive, calming wave, like the soft tide washing against a stubborn rock.

Mavia eventually took the injector and administered it to her thigh. I felt a surge of pure, refined energy flood her system — a potent, high-grade stamina infusion. Her fatigue from the Crucible vanished. Vex said a few more words, a faint, condescendingly approving smile on her face, before turning and gliding away.

Mavia's return to our section was met with a barrage of quiet, worried questions.

"They offered me sponsorship," she said, her voice a low, clipped monotone that perfectly matched her persona. She held up the empty injector. "A 'gift,' to help me compete at my full potential. Said my 'efficiency was noteworthy.'"

"What's the catch?" Lucas asked, his eyes narrowed with the same suspicion I felt.

"The catch," Mavia said, her grey eyes hard as flint, "is that my success is now her success. It's a bet. She wagers a few resources, and if her chosen champion wins, her reputation for identifying talent grows." She scoffed. "I am a racing animal she has placed a wager on. Nothing more."

Nyx had played it to perfection. She accepted the aid not with gratitude, but with the cold pragmatism of a mercenary taking a beneficial contract. She had impressed them without compromising her cover.

That evening, the true nature of the Empire's "gilded leash" was put on full display. All competitors were invited to a grand banquet in the station's celestial dome. The room was breathtaking. The ceiling was a perfect, high-fidelity projection of the local star-field, complete with drifting, ethereal nebulae and the slow, majestic rotation of alien constellations. Floating platforms held musicians playing strange, hypnotic melodies. The air was filled with the scent of a thousand exotic dishes.

It was a feast designed to shatter the will of any homesteader. There were platters of glimmering fish sushi from a water-world, each piece glowing with a soft, internal light. There were roasted haunches of some great, scaled beast, its meat dark and rich and unlike anything I had ever tasted. Goblets would magically refill themselves with star-fruit wine that sparkled with captured motes of light, or with a dark, potent Dweorg ale that tasted of stone and mountain honey. It was a spectacle of effortless, overwhelming opulence.

My team was dumbstruck. Eliza was in heaven, trying to deconstruct the magical principles behind the self-refilling goblets. Silas, for the first time, looked genuinely intimidated. Even Lucas seemed shaken by the sheer, casual display of wealth and power. I ate, I drank, I played the part of the awed man, but all the while, I was working.

My Gaze swept the room. I watched Amos moving through the crowd, a predator in a finely tailored suit, offering a word of encouragement to a promising young warrior, a quiet promise of a commission to a grizzled mercenary captain. I felt the texture of their responses: the desperate hope of the young, the cynical calculation of the old. This wasn't a party; it was a recruitment drive of unparalleled sophistication.

Administrator Vex was there, holding court at a raised table. I focused my Gaze on her again, learning the feel of her cloaking device, the way it warped the energy around her. My own secrets were protected by a Mythic skill; hers, by advanced, targeted technology. Two sides of the same clandestine coin.

Toward the end of the banquet, Amos floated to the center of the dome, and a respectful silence fell. "Aspirants!" he declared. "Your individual trials are at an end. Tomorrow, the true Gauntlet begins. Tomorrow, you will fight not just for yourselves, but for your teams. Your first group trial is… The Sentinel's Vigil!"

The holographic sky above us shimmered and transformed into a simulated battlefield: a ruined cityscape pockmarked with craters and skeletal, derelict towers.

"Each team will be given a Nexus Beacon," Amos explained. "You will be deployed into the simulation. Your goal is twofold: defend your own Beacon at all costs. And hunt. Find the Beacons of the other teams and 'tag' them with your scanners to score points. The last team with an active Beacon, and the team with the most tags, will be declared the victors. This is a test of strategy, of teamwork, of will. Prepare yourselves."

A murmur of excitement and fear ran through the hall. The mood had shifted from one of awe to one of tense, focused competition. We filed out of the celestial dome, the taste of star-fruit wine turning to ash in my mouth.

Back in our sterile quarters, the opulence of the banquet felt a universe away. The five of us stood in the small common area, the weight of the coming battle settling upon us.

"They'll come for us first," Silas stated, his voice flat. "Mavia's performance painted a target on our backs. The Vultures, especially. They'll want to eliminate the competition early."

"Let them come," Lucas said, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword, a quiet fire in his eyes. "We didn't come this far to be intimidated."

I looked at them all — Lucas, the steadfast leader. Silas, the sharp and silent blade. Eliza, the unpredictable, brilliant mind. Mavia, my perfect, veiled weapon. And me, their healer. Their eyes and anchor.

"Get some rest," I said, my voice calm and steady. "Stay hydrated. We know our strategy. We just have to execute it. We protect our own, and we weather the storm. Together."

They nodded, a new, hard-won unity in their expressions. As they dispersed to their rooms, I remained standing in the quiet dark. Tomorrow, the real challenge begins. I hoped my team was ready, and with my Gaze watching over them, we would prevail.

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.