The morning was grey, with thick clouds obscuring the sun, casting the forest in a somber light. The air was cool and damp, remnants of yesterday's rain still clinging to the foliage. The group gathered outside the cave they had stayed in overnight, restless and uneasy.
"Wasn't the test supposed to end today?" Kieran asked, breaking the silence. His voice carried a mix of confusion and frustration. "Why aren't there any officers here yet? It's already 10 a.m., and they haven't made an announcement or anything."
Oscar, who had been sitting cross-legged with his eyes closed, glanced up. "The officers' tent is just fifty meters to the east from here," he said casually.
Kieran turned to him, surprised. "Really? How'd you know that?"
"From my observer," Oscar replied matter-of-factly as he stood and dusted off his hands. Without waiting for further questions, he started walking in the direction of the tent, his pace steady and purposeful.
"Urgh," Kieran muttered, falling in step with the others. "I hope we don't bump into that creepy man in the mouse mask." He shivered just at the thought of the man Elijah had fought the previous day. "He was unsettling."
Elijah, who had been walking quietly beside Kieran, suddenly spoke up. "That's already too late."
Kieran froze mid-step, turning to Elijah with wide eyes. "What do you mean?"
Elijah turned, his eyes fixed on the trees behind them. He pointed to a shadowy figure half-hidden by the foliage. It was the same man as before—tall, ominous, and wearing the grotesque mouse mask.
"He's been following us for the past twenty minutes."
Kieran felt a cold chill crawl up his spine. "And you're only telling us now?!"
Instinctively, Elijah yelled. "Run!"
But the man only chuckled, the sound distorted and strange. "That's... already too... late."
Before they could take another step, the ground beneath them rippled as if reality itself was bending. A sharp, sickening lurch engulfed them, and suddenly, their surroundings changed completely.
They stood in a vast, desolate desert, the air dry and scorching. Sand stretched endlessly in all directions, shimmering under an oppressive sun.
"What... is this?" Kieran asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Is this an illusion?" Oscar asked, his sharp eyes scanning their surroundings.
"No it's too realistic to be an illusion. It's probably teleportation," Ayun guessed hesitantly.
Visconti crouched and scooped up a handful of sand, letting it sift through his fingers. "No," he said firmly. "This is a space-type ability. We've been transported to his domain."
The group's anxiety deepened. They quickly moved behind a large rock to take cover.
"No... use... in hiding," the man's voice echoed around them, disjointed and distant, yet impossibly close. "I can... control... everything here."
Visconti clicked his tongue, narrowing his eyes. "Thanks for telling us your gift," he muttered sarcastically.
Suddenly, a small silver cube appeared in Visconti's hand. It expanded, transforming into a high-tech laptop. His fingers danced across the keyboard as lines of code and data scrolled rapidly on the screen.
"Black robe... mouse mask... space-type ability…" Visconti murmured as he worked. After a moment, he stopped typing and looked up, his expression grim. "Got it. His alias is Sand. He's from Begonia Group."
The others stared at him in shock.
Visconti continued typing, his voice calm but urgent. "Space-type abilities are incredibly mana-intensive. His biggest weakness is prolonged use. If we can survive long enough, he'll exhaust himself. But…" He paused, his gaze flicking to the group. "Our chances are only 13%."
"Thirteen percent?!" Kieran exclaimed, his voice rising in disbelief. "Aren't you underestimating us?"
Visconti didn't sugarcoat it. "You're overestimating us. He's as strong as a level 8 officer with years of experience. We're just fledgling newbies."
His words hit like a slap, the harsh reality sinking in.
Kieran scowled. "And you still expect us to fight him?"
Visconti handed each of them an earpiece. "If you want to die pointlessly without fighting, then be my guest," he said bluntly. "Now, let's focus."
He turned to Ayun. "What's your gift?"
"Uh… me?" Ayun stammered. "Healing and buffing."
Visconti nodded thoughtfully, then turned to Oscar. "Can you make large clay dolls? Big ones."
Oscar nodded. "That's my specialty."
Visconti pulled out a map made of ice and pointed at their positions. "Here's the plan. We're currently here, and the man is over there," he said, circling the areas. "Oscar, you'll create two giant clay dolls to distract him. They won't be enough to defeat him, but they'll buy us time."
He glanced at Elijah. "You'll take the lead and fight him directly with your sword. Ayun and I will provide support. I'll cast shields when necessary, and Kieran will fire arrows from a distance."
Kieran gritted his teeth. "Fine. But if this fails, I'm haunting you."
Visconti smirked faintly. "Noted."
Oscar knelt on the sand, his hands moving swiftly as he molded two massive clay dolls. The figures towered over them, their forms rough but imposing. With a surge of mana, they came to life, their footsteps shaking the ground.
The man in the mouse mask appeared in the distance, his form wavering like a mirage. He raised a hand, and the sand around him began to twist and swirl violently.
"Go!" Oscar ordered.
The clay dolls charged forward, their heavy limbs tearing through the sandstorm. Elijah followed close behind, his sword glowing with aura as he prepared to strike.
Kieran climbed onto a nearby rock, his bow drawn. Flames danced along the tips of his arrows as he loosed one after another, each shot aimed with precision.
The battle was chaotic, the desert alive with swirling sand and bursts of energy. Elijah clashed with the man directly, his sword meeting the dark blade with explosive force. Visconti's shields shimmered around him, deflecting sudden waves of sand.
"Keep going!" Visconti shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos.
The man flicked his wrist, and a violent sandstorm rose around him, its ferocity targeting Oscar first. The massive clay dolls Oscar had created were too much of a nuisance, and the man clearly intended to eliminate the source. Oscar scrambled to maintain control, but the storm tore through his creations, reducing them to clumps of wet clay.
Next, the sandstorm turned toward Kieran, Visconti, and Ayun. The three scattered, narrowly dodging the spiraling winds of razor-sharp sand. Ayun stumbled, her mana momentarily flickering, and Visconti had to cast a quick shield to block a particularly vicious gust.
Then, just as suddenly, the storm ceased. The man stood in the eye of the dissipating chaos, his gaze fixed on Elijah. He tilted his head, the mouse mask making his movements unnervingly mechanical.
"You… become my apprentice," he said in a fragmented, deliberate tone. "You're… talented."
Elijah wiped sand from his face, glaring at the man. "Thanks, but go to hell," he snapped, raising his middle finger.
The man tilted his head the other way, his voice eerily calm. "Is that… your answer? What a pity."
The air around them grew heavy again as the man conjured a sword from the sand, its blade sharp and glimmering like glass. Without warning, he lunged at Elijah, aiming directly for his vital points.
Elijah's instincts kicked in at the last second. With a swift roll, he narrowly avoided the strike, but the blade grazed his shoulder, leaving a shallow cut. He hit the ground hard, his breath knocked out of him.