By the morning of the fifth day, the forest trial had begun to eat back.
Not in the way of ambush predators or monstrous ambi-legged horrors. No. Something far crueler. Slower. More effective.
Starvation.
For the first two days, most students had survived on raw meat from minor beasts or wild fruit they scouted early. Some, overconfident and cocky, had even tossed the excess away.
By day three, the meat had become harder to find.
By day four, the smaller beasts had vanished altogether.
And now, on day five, hunger had become a breathing creature of its own, crawling up spines, stealing sleep, and draining every movement of purpose.
What most students didn't understand—what their training had never prepared them for—was the simple biology of mana wielders.
High-level mages could, in theory, absorb ambient mana and operate with minimal food. Knights, once awakened, could recycle energy with their internal mana cores. But low-level trainees? They were still human. Weak, slow, inefficient.
They burned calories faster when they used mana. Their bodies demanded more nutrients, not less.
And now, their reserves were gone.
"I can't even cast a basic fire spark," mumbled one girl, hugging her knees under a leaf-covered lean-to.
Her teammate beside her muttered, "Forget casting. I tripped over a rock, and my vision blacked out."
Their faces were pale, their hands shaking. Every movement cost energy. Every breath required effort. Some students had begun hallucinating. A few muttered to themselves as they chewed unripe fruit or licked the moisture off moss.
> Their systems were consuming their own muscle for fuel.
Their minds were foggy from mineral imbalance.
Their spells fizzled like dying embers.
They were not just tired.
They were dying slowly.
Only one group still moved with energy in their limbs and clarity in their eyes.
The Alchemy Students.
Though they were mocked early on for being "nerds with vials" and "useless in combat," the tables had turned.
They knew what berries were poisonous.
They knew which mushrooms contained trace nutrients.
They could boil pine bark into semi-edible paste, extract vitamin-rich sap, and filter water with charcoal rocks.
In the span of two days, they became the most valuable members of the trial.
Several students attempted to trade with them. Others begged. A few threatened.
One student even attempted to steal an alchemist's bag.
He was found two hours later, violently purple and unconscious.
> Turns out, glow-moss wasn't edible after all.
---
Meanwhile… in the Deep Brush
Zane crouched low, staring through a thicket at a student's temporary camp nestled near a dry streambed.
The fire was out. Their tent sagged. The lone occupant, a tall male alchemy student, looked like he'd been awake for days. Sweat coated his forehead, but not from heat—from stress. And fatigue.
Zane didn't care about any of that.
His focus was on the small locked case the alchemist kept checking obsessively. Inside were glowing high-grade potions. Healing. Stamina. Mana regeneration.
Treasure.
Zane hadn't eaten meat in over twenty-four hours. The small prey was gone. Squirrels. Rabbits. Mana-worms. All extinct in his hunting range. The only signs of life were other students.
> 🔹 [S.A.S.S.]: I sense temptation. Are you about to rob the only person with useful knowledge in this forest?
Zane's eyes narrowed.
"Not rob. Just… high-efficiency loot relocation."
> 🔹 [S.A.S.S.]: Ah yes. The saintly path of redistributing wealth via boot to the back of the head.
The alchemist stood, groaning. He moved sluggishly, bottle in hand, heading into the nearby shrubs. Likely to scavenge or urinate—Zane didn't care which.
That was his opening.
He moved like smoke. Quiet. Low. Fast.
He reached the camp in six seconds. The chest wasn't locked with magic—just a metal latch. Rookie mistake.
Click.
Two vials. Glowing red. One pale blue. One green.
Zane grinned. Jackpot.
> 🔹 [System Notification]:
You have acquired:
– x2 High-Grade Healing Potion
– x1 Mana Rejuvenation Draught
– x1 Physical Vitality Elixir (Short-Term Buff)
Zane slipped them into his pouch and vanished into the undergrowth just as the alchemist turned around—
"Wait… what the—HEY!"
He sprinted back, realizing instantly what had happened.
"WHO'S THERE?! COME BACK, YOU THIEVING SWINE!"
He hurled a bottle blindly into the trees. It shattered.
Zane was already gone. No noise. No trace.
But the alchemist wasn't done.
Fueled by rage and adrenaline, he chased into the brush, roaring curses. "I SWEAR, WHOEVER YOU ARE, I'LL RIP YOUR—!"
He stopped.
Because Zane was waiting.
A silent blur from behind. One palm to the jaw. One leg sweep.
WHAM. The alchemist hit the ground so hard the air burst from his lungs.
Zane leaned in, face half-shadowed, eyes glinting with quiet amusement.
"Nice potions," he said softly. "You should label them 'Free.'"
The alchemist snarled and swung—
Zane dodged like he was swatting a leaf.
A knee to the gut. A firm boot to the ribs.
Then silence.
He didn't kill him. Didn't even break bones. But the message was loud.
Don't chase ghosts.
Especially ghosts that overtrained like lunatics in secret squirrel wars.
From a nearby clearing, a group of students heard the commotion.
A sudden scream.
"DAMN YOU! SHOW YOURSELF! I'LL END YOU!"
They froze.
"That sounded like Dren. The alchemy guy."
"What happened?"
"I thought he was solo—why's he shouting like someone stole his soul?"
Silence returned. The birds didn't chirp. The wind didn't move.
Then one student muttered what everyone else was thinking:
"…Something's wrong with this trial."