The world did not open gently.
Light tore at Luke's senses as the teleportation pulse faded, and the next moment, he stood alone—surrounded by towering trunks of ancient bark and a canopy so thick it muted the sky. A heavy silence hung between the distant cries of unseen beasts, and the air was thick with damp, earthy breath.
Then came the burn.
His left hand instinctively rose to his chest. Beneath his shirt, the flower-shaped scar that had been with him since he could remember was glowing faintly, pulsing once, then again. The sensation was brief—a slow, warming sting, like something within him had been stirred. He exhaled once, slow and steady, before forcing his hand back down.
Not now.
Whatever it was—an echo of his past or a reaction to the teleportation—it didn't matter. He would survive this exam and make it to Ashgrove.
His eyes scanned the immediate area.
The forest was dense, more so than most First Order biomes he'd trained in. Trees towered overhead, their roots gnarled and protruding like skeletal limbs. The air hummed with mana—wild and unrestrained. Even without seeing them, Luke knew he wasn't alone. The creatures here would be hungry, territorial, and worse—they'd grow stronger with time.
He moved low, keeping to the undergrowth.
Shelter first. The exam would last thirty days—or until only a thousand remained—and he doubted the rest were weak enough to be culled in a few hours.
He couldn't afford to wander aimlessly. Elevation, wind direction, light angle—every detail was processed and categorized. He had been taught by Maria the intricacies of surviving in the wild. Soldiers were occasionally trapped without a way back.
The sun was dimmed by the canopy but slanted enough to suggest late morning. A stream could be heard faintly downhill—he avoided it. Water drew predators.
Minutes passed.
Eventually, his eyes caught what he was looking for: a slope of shattered granite veiled in moss and underbrush. It rose into a jagged cliff face about four meters high. Near its base, a break in the stone. A shadow too perfect. Luke knelt by it, brushed aside ferns, and found a gap wide enough to crawl through.
A natural cave.
He drew his blade—opalescent steel reflecting muted green light—and angled the flat along the entrance wall. Then, inch by inch, he moved in. The smell was dry, faintly mineral. The floor was uneven but clear of bones or nests. Still, he checked every shadow, pressed his hand to the rock to sense residual mana, and only after circling the hollow space twice did he relax.
It would do.
The cave wasn't deep—maybe four meters across and five deep—but defensible. Concealed. He etched a subtle mark into the stone outside, a directional cue, then set a mental map in place. Shelter secured. Exit routes minimal. Visibility poor. While that meant the risk of being trapped by a stronger opponent was high, it was acceptable since he couldn't be ambushed.
He'd return here if he needed to recover. For now, he needed intel.
As he emerged, the air around him shimmered.
A single chime rang out—clear, toneless, and final. Then the sky darkened for a breath, and lines of golden light began forming in the space before him. Letters. Symbols. Words. Each drawn mid-air with perfect precision.
---
< SYSTEM NOTICE >
Phase One: Survival
You have been transported to a First Order Beast World. There are currently 12,489 participants active within this domain.
Objective:
Survive for 30 days, or be among the last 1,000 candidates remaining.
Rules:
1. Death is possible. If you are no longer able to continue, speak the phrase:
"I give up on the exam."
You will be safely removed from the trial.
2. Beast strength will increase daily. On the final day, the strongest threats will begin at the Second Order.
3. Teaming up is permitted.
4. All spatial equipment is disabled for the duration of this phase.
5. Each kill grants points. These points will determine your ranking at the end of Phase One.
---
The final line burned briefly before fading:
> Begin.
The text dissolved like ash in the wind, and the silence returned.
Luke inhaled once. Calm. Measured. His sword hung loose at his side, his stance steady—but the weight in his chest settled heavier now. This wasn't a mock scenario. This was real. Death was real. The Academy was not looking for soldiers. It was looking for survivors.
He moved.
The terrain grew steeper as he advanced northeast, the slope pulling toward a ridge where the trees thinned slightly. From there, he could gather perspective. He moved with care—eyes flicking from branch to root, always watching for signs: broken twigs, claw marks, trails. At one point, he crouched and placed his fingers in soft mud—pawprints, wide and shallow.
Fresh.
A quadruped. Mid-weight. Quite possibly alone.
A scout beast, or a predator seeking territory.
He followed.
The forest dimmed again as the ridge gave way to a hollow. There, in a clearing, he saw it—motionless at first, crouched near a fallen log. A wolf, thick-furred and grey-blue, with faint streaks of mana-light glowing beneath its coat.
He crouched silently atop a thick branch, scanning the clearing below. This moment felt like a perfect time to test the current strength of the beasts on this world—one he intended to take deliberately.
Without hesitation, he dropped down. The thud of his landing caught the wolf's attention. It whipped its head toward him, eyes narrowing—not with rage, but something he could only describe as caution. Then it howled, the sound sharp and deliberate, before lunging.
Luke stepped aside with fluid ease, pivoting as his fist struck the beast in the ribs, launching it a few feet to the side.
Its intelligence is low, he thought as he calmly dodged a flurry of follow-up attacks.
The wolf circled him, teeth bared, but its movements were predictable. When it finally connected—a swipe grazing across his chest—he allowed it, letting the blow land to gauge its force.
Strength is also low. Barely First Order. Speed's about the same.
He raised his sword. In a single clean arc, he slashed deep across the beast's side. Blood gushed, staining the dirt beneath. The wolf backed off, posture tightening, movements becoming more deliberate now.
Durability is around early First Order. Decent instinct. If this is what they've prepared for us, then this phase will be easy.
Luke surged forward, his blade flashing. One powerful swing severed the creature's head. It dropped with a dull thud, blood spraying in a red arc. He exhaled slowly, cleaning his blade with a practiced motion before sliding it back into its sheath.
Just as he turned to leave, something struck him—the silence.
No birds. No wind. Not even the usual distant rustle of movement in the underbrush.
He froze.
"…Shit," he muttered, eyes scanning the treeline. His expression tightened as he remembered something about wolves.
Wolves weren't solitary hunters. They moved in packs. And that howl—it hadn't been a cry of aggression. It had been a signal.
It wasn't stupid. It was buying time.
Then came the howls.
Not one, but many. A chorus echoing through the forest from every direction, each voice adding to a looming crescendo.
They were here.