The first round is over.
Prepare for the second.
A deep, cold voice shattered the silence, crashing down on the fighters like an icy storm from which there was no escape. The forest froze in dead silence, like a predator lurking in wait, and this ominous calm spread across the battlefield, seeping into every corner, into the heart of every fighter.
The players stood frozen, as if the air itself had turned solid and cold, hindering their breath and squeezing out the last remnants of their confidence. Primal fear, sharp and grasping like icy claws, tightened around their chests and clouded their thoughts. Even the branches seemed to reach out to them, like the hands of ancient, ghostly shadows, reminding them of the fragility of their lives.
All around lay broken trees and blood-stained armor, fragments of shields, swords coated in dried blood, surrounded by thick patches of crimson ooze that had seeped into the cracked earth. The air was thick with the stinging smell of iron and decay, nauseating, while the silence bore down on them with an unbearable weight, drowning out even the sounds of their breathing.
One of the fighters collapsed to his knees, pressing his trembling, bloodied hands to his face, trying to hide behind them like a final shield against the overwhelming, suffocating reality. His fingers clenched into a fist, then relaxed, as if his body was instinctively reaching for the life that he felt slipping away. The mage, pale as a sheet, barely breathing, whispered in disbelief:
– That... was only the first round?
His words seemed to sink into the silence, like a fragile whisper on the edge of an abyss. In each mind echoed the same question, loud and persistent: – How did we survive?
A second thought slithered in, like a snake – scorching, unbearable:
– Can we do it again?
But following this bitter reminder of the impossibility of retreat, another quiet whisper spread:
– If we stop... everything will have been in vain.
An unsettling, poisonous knowledge filled the air, that fear was the only thing holding them together, like strands of a web. These thoughts lingered in the air, like a bitter truth from which there was no escape.
– Ha-ha... ha-ha! – a sharp, cracked laugh echoed, devoid of any joy, without a hint of relief.
It sounded hoarse, like cracked metal, as if from someone who had just grasped the hopelessness of their situation and laughed in the face of their fate, as if trying to deceive it with a single desperate outburst.
– You... must be joking... – another player whispered, and his bloodied sword clattered to the ground. His legs buckled, and cold dread gripped his heart at the thought that everything might happen again.
They exchanged glances – warriors, mages, archers – each searching for support, for strength in the others, but instead seeing only mirrored fear, reflected in their eyes. Fear had become part of them, like the last flicker of light in the night. A single question burned in those looks, hidden deep within: – What comes next? Another hell?
Suddenly, a message flared before them, cutting through the night's darkness with an unbearable, scorching light, like a lightning flash. They flinched, clutching their weapons, palms sweating, gripping the hilts in instinctive readiness for a new threat, hearts pounding under their ribs like trapped animals.
But as they read the words, they exchanged glances, seeking a glimmer of hope in each other's eyes.
The second round will begin in 7 days.
Prepare.
The message pulsed ominously in the darkness, as if it anticipated what awaited them ahead. The echo of these words reverberated in each mind, leaving a void behind, like an abyss from which there was no escape.
Silence wrapped over them again, like a heavy blanket.
Then one of the tanks, swaying, sank to the ground near the scattered bodies. His chest heaved with heavy breaths, and sweat mixed with dust dripped down his face in dirty streaks.
– Phew... if it had started now, we'd all be dead, – he muttered, staring into the void in front of him, as if still not believing he had survived.
– I'm utterly exhausted... – the words echoed through the ranks, resonating with each heart.
– Time to gather trophies, – someone reminded, bringing them back to reality.
Seven days – more than they could have hoped for. For a brief moment, fear receded, replaced by a faint, but palpable sense of hope. Now they had time to heal wounds, restore strength, and prepare for new trials.
The first round had swept over them like a fog: abilities had awakened spontaneously, and each barely had time to understand how to wield them. Now they could consciously look at their skills and strengthen them. The strongest were already preparing to use this time to master their powers and turn them into deadly weapons before the next round.
The leaders – William, Gizard, Fenri – gathered to start distributing the trophies, but the fighters were already filled with tense looks and clenched fists. William, the commander of the strongest team, was the first to propose an order, but he faced cold, relentless gazes – each of them believed they deserved the spoils no less than the others.
– Quiet, – William said, but his words were drowned in the noise of arguments. Fenri and Gizard, leaders of other teams, stood across, unwilling to yield their share to anyone. Gizard scowled, his gaze clearly showing he had no intention of obeying without question.
– You think you can command us, William? – Gizard said mockingly. – Each of us had our own sacrifices. No one has to listen to you.
– This isn't about authority, – William replied calmly. – It's about survival. We must organize and divide the spoils fairly, or we'll just destroy each other.
– Fairly? – Gizard glanced at the other fighters. – And what do you propose?
Fenri intervened, trying to keep the situation under control.
– We all just escaped from hell. If we don't find a way to agree, an even worse fate awaits us, – he said, looking at William, Gizard, and the other leaders.
– And who are you, anyway? – one of the leaders jabbed a finger at Fenri.
At the peak of tension, something strange stilled in the air. Then, in the heart of the forest where the battle had just raged, a faint spark began to grow, glowing like a glimpse of something forbidden, ancient. The light gradually became brighter, as if someone or something there longed to be seen.
At the site of the recent slaughter, a silhouette appeared, faintly glowing, a dark shadow that grew denser, more tangible. And there, where their lives had nearly ended, rose a majestic temple of black stone, as if grown from the earth itself. Its walls absorbed the light, while shadows writhed along them, as though the temple was alive, anticipating their approach.
– Look! Something's there! – one of the fighters shouted.
A sudden silence engulfed them as they turned their attention to the strange anomaly. A massive temple appeared before them, as if carved from the very darkness of the night. Its walls reflected the cold light of the moon, while the dancing shadows seemed alive, as if the forest itself was trying to create a barrier between the players and this sinister structure, warning them of the danger.
The tension shifted to a feeling of uncertainty and unease. William understood that this temple was too significant to ignore, but it could also be their demise.
Arguments and murmurs instantly ceased as all eyes turned to the mysterious temple. It was as though someone from outside had forced them to realize: there were no enemies among them – the real threat lay ahead, behind those ominous, beckoning shadows. They all understood that discord would weaken them, and this place – it seemed to desire their division.
– Alright, – William finally said, his voice firm and resolute. – There's no point in arguing, not here and not now. Let fate decide: whoever is destined for the best shall receive it. The rest we'll divide among those who defended the outer perimeter.
Gizard frowned but nodded, realizing there was no other choice. Fenri supported William, and the other team leaders agreed. Each team cast lots, and luck determined who would get the best equipment and artifacts. The remaining spoils were divided equally among all who had participated in the final battle.
When the trophies were finally distributed, the players moved toward the temple, but as they reached its threshold, they stopped, as if hitting an invisible barrier. This entrance, crowned with menacing shadows, seemed not just a door but a gate into darkness itself, from which there was no return.
They exchanged glances, studying the ancient stone and the windows hiding their secrets in deep darkness. It seemed as though every dark contour on the walls breathed danger, warning against reckless steps.
They peered into the depths of the temple, and in every look was the same fear, vague and pressing, like the foreboding of inevitable doom. Perhaps it was a gift – or a curse, an even crueler test, preparing them for a new round... But no one knew for sure.
The minutes stretched like eternity. Some had already started whispering nervously, wondering whether it was worth entering at all. The tension enveloping them grew gradually, until finally, one of the smaller teams – two men and a woman, seemingly resolved to try their luck – exchanged glances, swallowed hard, and stepped toward the entrance. Their faces showed a mix of determination and fear, but no one stopped them, only watching each step, holding their breath.
– We'll go, – one of the men said, his voice trembling with excitement, but there was resolve in it.
– It could be dangerous, – someone attempted to protest, but the team had already made their decision.
The three dared to look at each other, concealing their anxiety, and, without delay, stepped forward. The temple's grand doors opened softly, engulfing them in darkness, and the shadows closed behind them, leaving the others in sudden silence. Those who remained outside froze, watching in suspense, holding their breath, uncertain of what the next moment would bring.
The massive doors opened effortlessly before them, revealing a spacious hall filled with quiet light. The air was cool, with a taste of ancient dust and wax, creating the feeling that they had entered another world.
Majestic silence enveloped them, broken only by the muffled echo of their footsteps. The temple's ceiling disappeared into shadows, while colossal statues rose on either side of the hall.
The statues depicted the ancient Exalted Ones, monumental figures carved with such precision they seemed almost alive.
The first statue towered above them, its base adorned with a name etched in silvery stone: Saint Reverend Bayos.
His face radiated wisdom, penetrating almost to the soul; it seemed that Bayos's gaze, calm and kind, saw through each one who dared step across the temple's threshold. His stance conveyed both forgiveness and guidance, strength and peace.
On the opposite side stood another statue – Demonic Judge Anfar, the name carved into the pedestal seemed to glow with a cold crimson light.
Anfar's face was stern, showing mercilessness and iron resolve. His gaze pierced like a blade, leaving no room for weakness, dooming all to inevitable retribution.
Every fold of his garment, every sharp contour of his face spoke of authority and cold, unwavering justice, before which all were equal. The runes carved on his armor glowed faintly, as though ancient power continued to live within the stone.
As they ventured deeper into the temple, they encountered endless corridors, branching like black veins of a subterranean creature burrowing into darkness. Massive walls adorned with bas-reliefs disappeared into the distance, shrouded in semi-darkness, where lone lamp flames cast ominous silence.
Halls and rooms were arranged in chaotic order, as if this temple was a living labyrinth, unwilling to release those who dared enter.
Moving further into the hall, the three brave ones glanced around in eerie silence. Suddenly, right before them, words appeared, as if carved by lightning into the air, glowing a sinister gold:
Do you wish to undergo a Memory?
It felt as though they heard a faint, barely perceptible whisper, as if from an ancient past, resonating in their minds, alluring, promising to unveil forgotten secrets.
By reliving your forgotten Memory, you can recall forgotten skills and enhance those already known.
Yes / No
The three adventurers exchanged glances, their hearts beating rapidly, their faces reflecting a mix of wonder and astonishment.
– Wow! We can restore our greyed-out skills! – one of them exclaimed, his voice filled with amazement and hope.
– What's a Memory? How does it work? – asked another, her eyes shining with excitement and confusion.
– I don't know, – muttered the third, quickly making the decision and pressing "Yes," tempted by the thought that it might be a hidden event similar to in-game special quests.
Echoes of surprise and joy unexpectedly filled the temple's halls, reverberating off its dark arches like a multi-voiced, whispering echo. The voices of those who had entered sounded strangely distant, as if coming from another world, reaching out to those outside, mesmerizing and evoking an irresistible desire to find out what lay hidden behind those walls.
– Restore skills? – one of the fighters repeated, hearing their words. – So, this temple is like in games, a place to learn skills?
– Let's go, let's not waste time, – one of the leaders said decisively, and the players began cautiously entering the temple, gradually filling its spacious hall.
Once inside, they noticed the three sitting on benches before the statues. Their faces expressed a mix of deep concentration and an inner process, as if they were in another dimension.
– Hey, what are you doing? – one of the players shouted, wanting to ask them about what was happening, but a message suddenly appeared before him:
This player is undergoing a Memory. Do not disturb.
– They went straight for the skill restoration? Well, we'll just ask them what it's like when they come back, – Fenri smirked, observing the process.
The others, hearing his words, nodded, deciding to ignore the Memory notification for now. But some players grew impatient – they didn't want to waste time and immediately pressed "Yes."
As soon as they confirmed their decision, their faces froze in expressions of deep concentration. They, seemingly guided by an unseen force, stood up and moved toward the benches before the statues.
– Hey, where are you going? – one of the players tried to stop his comrade, but the latter, as if not hearing, pushed him aside and continued moving, as though under someone's control.
– I think it's set up by the system, – William said thoughtfully, observing the situation. – While you're undergoing the trial, you sit before these statues. This might all be part of the system.
The players exchanged glances, tense and wary. Their faces were like frozen masks, but in their eyes, there was a shadow of understanding – they quickly realized that here, in this strange place, they shouldn't interfere with each other. Gizard, watching them, nodded slightly with a faint smile, silently approving this unspoken agreement.
Nevertheless, not everyone had such restraint. Some, merely glancing at the ghostly statues, felt an overwhelming temptation, and the desire to regain their locked abilities outweighed their caution.
One player, unable to take his eyes off Anfar's statue, took a deep breath and stepped forward confidently, as if he had already made up his mind. A few other fighters followed him, while others froze in place, watching with open fear and trepidation, as though held back by an unseen force.
William closely observed each one of them, his gaze remaining inscrutable. He didn't stop those who went forward, but when one of his teammates attempted to approach the statue, he calmly but firmly placed a hand on his shoulder. Their eyes met, and William's gaze held a warning. He leaned in and quietly said:
– Don't rush. We still don't know what these Memories are or what they might do to us.
The comrade swallowed and stepped back, nodding in response. A sense of unease lit up within each of them, but Gizard, standing a bit farther away, merely smiled and allowed those willing to take the risk. A few players stood by him, and seeing their leader's calmness, they too refrained from rash decisions, exchanging glances, ready to wait for the first chance to learn what the Memories held.
– Well, let's wait until they return and tell us what these Memories are, – he murmured, crossing his arms over his chest.
Meanwhile, others chose to explore the temple. Venturing deeper into the hall, they discovered numerous corridors leading to various parts of the building. The temple was vast and labyrinthine, with countless halls and rooms.
They discovered an entrance to a dungeon, a dark cellar, cozy guest rooms with carved decorations, a massive library filled with ancient books, and a spacious training hall.
– Look, there's both a library and a training hall here, – one of the players said, pointing down one of the corridors. – Maybe we'll find something useful to help prepare for the next round.
The players, as if hypnotized, dispersed into various halls, each of which beckoned in its own way, as though sensing their thoughts. Some headed to the library – its ancient arches breathed mystery, and shelves filled with dusty tomes held the wisdom of ages, hidden from those who were not strong enough.
Others moved to the training hall, where the air was thick with the spirit of battles, and the stones seemed to absorb the strength of every blow. Each sought something that could help them survive, sharpen their skills, and endure the upcoming battles.
The temple's atmosphere was filled with anticipation, as if it itself was watching their actions, preparing to unveil its secrets to those who dared to test themselves.
The first hall the players entered was the library. Shelves covered in centuries-old dust rose high, disappearing into the shadows beneath the vaulted ceiling. The dim light of magical lanterns pierced the haze, illuminating ancient books, each seemingly holding secret knowledge. A couple of fighters entered without hesitation, glancing at the shelves in awe.
– Look, there are plenty of books with abilities and spells! – one of the players exclaimed excitedly, his voice trembling with anticipation, as though he stood before the most powerful artifact.
The news quickly spread, and soon the library filled with people, darting back and forth in search of useful books. The players eagerly grabbed the books, quickly flipping through the pages.
Everyone who disturbed the library's peace with noise or loud arguments instantly vanished in a blinding flash of light. Outside, they reappeared, disoriented and confused, as if someone had abruptly expelled them from the dark depths of that place. It was a stark reminder that the library lived by its own rules and did not forgive those who disrespected its silence.
– What the...?!
– I got thrown out!
– Read the rules before entering! – Gizard smirked, pointing at a small plaque by the library's entrance.
A small plaque at the entrance, carved from black marble with silver letters, read: Library of the Path-Seeking.
Under the title were strict rules inscribed in ancient runes:
Do not remove books. Do not disturb the silence. Do not cause disorder. No fighting.
These words seemed more than just a warning; they carried a silent threat to those who dared disobey.
The embarrassed players muttered apologies and, now cautious, attempted to re-enter, this time moving quietly.
Opening the books, they saw messages:
Learn the book (title) for (cost) skill points
Below, the number of skill points the player had in reserve was displayed. Skill points matched the character's level: one level equaled one skill point. It was essential to consider carefully how to spend them.
One player, finding an old book, read its title, and a message appeared before him:
Learn the book Hand of Flame for 5 skill points?
Yes / No
He was level 60, meaning he had 60 points. Holding his breath, he confidently pressed Yes.
As soon as he chose Yes, a sharp, piercing pain shot through his mind, as if someone had driven a burning blade of knowledge into his consciousness. A powerful stream of information surged into his head like a waterfall crashing against rocks.
His nerve endings burned, his body trembled slightly, but through the haze of pain, he saw his skill panel change, now showing a new spell – Hand of Flame. A message about the level of understanding appeared on his screen, as if it were etched directly into his consciousness.
Each skill now had an understanding level, showing how deeply the player mastered the ability. For example, frequently used skills had a 20-25% level, while his overall understanding of elemental magic was only 5%.
Then another message appeared:
Skill and spell understanding levels. The higher the understanding level, the more powerful the skill and the less energy it requires. Increase the understanding level in two ways: slowly – through frequent use and in-depth study, or quickly – using skill points.
He decided to invest another 5 points to raise his understanding of elemental magic to 10%. The pain shot through him again, but with it came clarity: he could now sense the magical energy in the air as if it had become part of him.
Immediately, a new notification appeared:
After completing the first round, you have one chance to reset all skill points invested in understanding.
While some players were deeply focused on learning new skills, others faced a much harsher test – the Memory. As each immersed themselves in it, they encountered ghostly images of past battles and painful events connected to their character.
No one had expected such realism: in the Memories, they felt every blow, every fear, every pain, and loss that had befallen their characters. The identities they had transformed into pulled them into their nightmares, with no escape.
Meanwhile, as the others were absorbed in their tasks, Gizard and his companions settled onto the cold stone bench at the base of the statue of Demonic Judge Anfar.
The dark eyes of the carved figure seemed to watch their every move, and the air around them thickened, saturated with hidden power. Suddenly, words flashed before them, as if Anfar's very thoughts had materialized into a command:
Do you wish to undergo a Memory?
Yes / No
They exchanged glances, feeling a mix of unease and fear, but still pressed Yes, unaware of where this choice would lead them.