Cedric's footsteps echoed in the silent halls of the Wynthorne estate as he made his way toward the training grounds. The air was thick with anticipation; the entire household was aware of the trial happening that day, and there was an undercurrent of nervous energy that clung to the walls. Cedric had heard whispers from the servants, the staff, even the cooks—everyone was speculating about the trial, wondering whether the bastard son of the Duke would survive.
He had faced adversity in his past life, but the stakes here were higher. If he failed, the consequences would be dire. Yet something deep inside him stirred with a determination he hadn't felt in a long time. No longer was he the weak, overlooked bastard that people could walk over. This trial was his opportunity to prove not only to the Duke but to himself that he could carve a place in this world.
His thoughts were interrupted as he reached the training grounds. The vast open area was a scene of organized chaos. Several servants were setting up platforms, placing obstacles, and preparing various weapons. The Duke, standing in the center of it all, appeared as imposing as ever. His gaze swept over the preparations with a calculating eye, his posture rigid and unyielding.
Cedric's heart pounded. It was time.
The Duke turned as Cedric approached. "You're late," he said in his usual, cold tone. "Get ready. You have no time to waste."
"Yes, Father," Cedric replied, trying to keep the tremor from his voice. He had been called to prove his worth—he couldn't afford to show weakness now. The Duke's gaze lingered on him for a moment before he turned away, his attention focused on the trial ahead.
Cedric was given a simple tunic and boots, the same as any other contestant. He wasn't afforded special treatment, and he wouldn't expect any. In fact, he was grateful for it. The only thing that set him apart from the others was the Scrying Stone, which he kept hidden in his pocket. He had already decided that he would use it carefully—only when the time was right. The stone had the potential to reveal hidden traps, clues, or even the intentions of his competitors. It was his secret weapon.
A horn sounded, and the participants lined up at the edge of the training ground. Cedric was placed alongside a dozen or so others, all of whom were noble-born youths, training for the same honor. Some were eager, their faces alight with the fire of competition; others, like Cedric, wore a mask of determination, though their nerves were visible in the tightness of their jaws.
The Duke stepped forward, his voice cutting through the murmurs of the crowd. "The Wynthorne Trial is a test of skill, endurance, and cunning. It will challenge you in ways you cannot predict. You will face obstacles designed to push you beyond your limits. Only the worthy will survive. Those who fail will be dismissed—without exception."
Cedric's breath caught at the word "dismissed." That was a polite way of saying that failure meant death. The trial had claimed many lives in the past, though the specifics were often left unspoken. The Duke had made it clear that only those who could prove themselves were worthy of the Wynthorne name. Failure, in this case, would not only affect Cedric's future—it would cost him everything.
"You will begin with the first obstacle," the Duke continued, pointing to a large, menacing structure at the far end of the grounds. It was a tall, spiked tower, surrounded by an intricate maze of traps. The challenge was simple: navigate the maze, scale the tower, and retrieve the flag at the top.
Cedric's heart raced as he took in the sight. It was a formidable obstacle—one that would test not only physical endurance but also mental fortitude. He could already see that there were a variety of ways to fail: fall into the traps, fail to solve the maze, or be caught by the other competitors. His mind flashed to the Scrying Stone in his pocket. It could help him spot hidden dangers in the maze. He would use it to its fullest advantage, but only if it was necessary.
The horn sounded again, and the trial began.
Cedric sprinted toward the entrance of the maze, his mind focused on the task ahead. The others were already rushing forward, some pushing past each other in a frantic scramble. But Cedric didn't allow himself to be swept away by the chaos. He kept his movements deliberate, his pace steady, knowing that speed alone wouldn't win the trial.
The first part of the maze was straightforward enough, but it quickly became apparent that there were traps hidden within the walls. Pressure plates activated arrows, blades, and falling rocks. Cedric's eyes scanned the path before him, and with his Keen Insight skill, he could discern the faint outlines of traps in the stone floor. He dodged left, narrowly avoiding a set of spears that shot out from the walls.
The Scrying Stone hummed gently in his pocket, as if urging him to use it. But Cedric was cautious. He didn't want to reveal his advantage just yet. He moved carefully, trusting his instincts and the limited knowledge he had gained from his observation skill.
As Cedric moved deeper into the maze, the challenges became more complex. The walls of the maze seemed to shift, creating new paths and blocking old ones. It was as if the maze itself were alive, testing not just his physical ability but his intellect. He had to think quickly, deciding whether to follow a seemingly obvious path or risk going down a narrower, more dangerous route.
His eyes caught a glint of metal ahead—a trap that was nearly invisible to the untrained eye. A series of swinging blades were set to strike anyone who walked into the wrong section of the maze. With a deep breath, Cedric slowed his pace, waiting for the right moment. He used the Scrying Stone to peer around the corner, spotting the blades hidden just beyond the intersection. He took note of the exact timing, then darted forward when the blades retracted.
For the next hour, Cedric continued to navigate the maze, using his newfound abilities to stay ahead of the pack. He could hear other competitors behind him, some shouting in frustration, others grunting with exertion. Every so often, he'd catch a glimpse of someone stepping into a trap, their cries echoing through the labyrinth.
But Cedric didn't have the luxury of focusing on them. He had to keep his eyes on the prize—the flag at the top of the tower.
Eventually, Cedric reached the base of the spiked tower. It loomed before him, a daunting obstacle that seemed to mock him with its height. The flag was perched on the top, a small red banner waving in the wind, taunting him to climb. But the climb wouldn't be simple. The tower was covered in jagged spikes, slick surfaces, and sections of rope that seemed designed to snap at the slightest misstep.
He stepped forward, staring up at the towering structure. The Scrying Stone hummed again, and Cedric realized it could help him here too. He raised the stone, focusing on the area around the flag. The stone's magic revealed the weak points in the structure—sections where the ropes were more secure, and areas where the spikes could be avoided with careful maneuvering.
With the information in hand, Cedric began to climb. His muscles burned with exertion as he ascended, every movement calculated and precise. He used the weak points to his advantage, avoiding the traps that would have otherwise slowed him down.
As he neared the top, Cedric felt a surge of determination. This trial—this challenge—wasn't just about surviving. It was about proving his place in the world. And now, standing at the top of the Wynthorne Tower, he could see the finish line. The flag was within reach.
With a final, determined push, Cedric grabbed the flag, feeling the fabric snap beneath his fingers. The crowd erupted in applause from below, though Cedric hardly heard them. His heart was still racing, his mind still focused on the trial. He had made it—he had conquered the trial.
As he descended, the Scrying Stone pulsed once more in his pocket. He had succeeded, but the journey wasn't over. What lay ahead would be even more challenging, but for the first time since his reincarnation, Cedric felt confident. He had proven his worth, and now it was time to claim his future.
When Cedric reached the ground, the Duke was waiting for him, his face unreadable. Cedric's chest swelled with pride, but he knew better than to get too comfortable. The Duke's approval was hard to come by.
"Well done," the Duke said, his tone neutral. "You've passed the first part of the trial. But this is only the beginning. Your true test is still ahead."
Cedric didn't flinch. He was ready. "I'll be prepared, Father."
The Duke's lips twitched into a faint smile, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. "We'll see. You have more to prove than you think."