It couldn't be denied—Arpheus had defeated the two without lifting a finger. His new skill had activated before he even realized it.
A-Are you sure I did that? Arpheus's voice quivered in his thoughts, his telepathic communication with the system crackling with confusion and disbelief.
[Didn't I tell you?]
[Yes, you defeated them.]
Then… the skill I was given was... luck? he asked, his heart racing. It wasn't his aura, his strength, or even some flashy technique—it was pure, unadulterated luck.
Before his death, when everything was slipping away, he was granted a skill. The memory was hazy, but he recalled the words: Unreadable. Incomprehensible. Untouchable. And now, this skill, as absurd as it sounded, was proving its worth.
Around the testing grounds, whispers spread like wildfire.
"Did you hear about him?" a girl whispered to her friend, her eyes darting toward Arpheus. "He took down Gand and Dan—just like that!"
"No way," her friend, Faree, replied, brushing her long silver hair over her shoulder with a dismissive flick. Faree, the strongest examinee in this arena, looked unimpressed. "Gand and Dan were idiots anyway. Holand will crush him." Her tone was as cold as her expression.
I wanna cry… Arpheus' mind raced as his nerves threatened to overtake him. Anxiety crept up his spine, but he forced himself to stay still.
And then the atmosphere shifted.
A man strode onto the stage of the colossal arena. His presence silenced the crowd in an instant. He was tall, his piercing blue hair glowing faintly under the sunlight. His aura was commanding, suffocating, and sharp. This was Denarlus, a Wayfinder of the elite Voidborne Guild, and the examiner overseeing the test.
"Settle down," Denarlus boomed, his voice cutting through the murmurs like a blade. "I will now explain the rules of the first test."
The crowd hung on to his every word.
"For this test, each of you will be paired with another candidate." His voice was calm yet edged with authority. "Your partner will be your opponent."
A wave of unease rippled through the crowd.
"If you lose to your opponent, you are disqualified. No second chances. You will wait a full year to retake the exam."
The examinees straightened, their expressions hardening. No one wanted to be disqualified—not when they were this close.
Denarlus glanced at the sea of faces before continuing. "And one more thing. This is not just a test of strength. A true Wayfinder does not rely solely on brute force. Strategy, creativity, and mental fortitude are what separate a Wayfinder from a fool who dies in the dungeon."
The silence deepened. Everyone knew this wasn't going to be easy.
Denarlus pulled out a scroll and began announcing the pairs. One by one, names echoed through the arena.
Ten minutes.
Fifteen minutes.
By the twentieth minute, Arpheus's name was finally called.
"Arpheus Headow. Your opponent will be… Holand Krayne."
A collective gasp followed.
Holand Krayne. The name alone carried weight. He was no ordinary examinee—he was a prodigy, known for his ruthlessness and unrelenting ferocity. Being paired against him was a nightmare scenario.
Arpheus gulped. Of all people, why him?
As the crowd murmured around him, Holand approached. His build was imposing, his dark eyes
filled with a predatory glint. Yet, when he spoke, his tone was light and casual.
"Hey there, Arpheus," Holand greeted with a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I heard you took down Gand and Dan. Impressive."
"Y-yeah… I guess I did," Arpheus replied hesitantly, his instincts screaming to stay on guard.
Holand's grin widened as he leaned in, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. The friendly mask shattered.
"You arrogant little bastard," Holand hissed, venom dripping from every word. "Don't you remember me?"
Arpheus's heart skipped a beat. Remember him? His mind raced, trying to piece together any memory of this man.
"I'll tear you apart," Holand continued, his voice a low growl. "I'll rip you limb from limb and scatter your pathetic corpse across the earth. You'll wish you never stepped into this arena."
The words hung in the air like a death sentence.
Arpheus stared at him, his mind caught between panic and defiance. He could feel the weight of Holand's threat pressing down on him, but something inside him refused to back down.
And then, something snapped.
Arpheus's lips curled into a cold grin. It wasn't the grin of someone scared out of their wits—it was the grin of someone who had been pushed too far.
"I wasn't even moved one bit by your shit-ass speech," Arpheus said, his voice icy and unyielding. His grin widened, and for the first time, Holand's expression faltered ever so slightly.
Holand's grip locked onto Arpheus's shoulder like a vice, his fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. The atmosphere shifted in an instant, thick with malice. Arpheus barely had time to flinch before Holand's other fist shot up, trembling with barely restrained fury.
"YOU FUCKING IDIOT! I'LL KILL YOU!" Holand's roar echoed across the colosseum, silencing the hum of conversations around them. Heads turned, some curious, some horrified.
Arpheus froze. His heart pounded so loud he swore the whole arena could hear it. What the hell is his problem?
The sharp crack of Faree's voice sliced through the tension. "Holand. Stop."
Faree stepped between them with an authority that couldn't be ignored. Her piercing gaze locked onto Holand, unflinching, even as his murderous rage shifted in her direction.
For a moment, it seemed like Holand might defy her, his knuckles still clenched and white. Then, with a disgusted snarl, he shoved Arpheus backward, sending him stumbling.
"You're lucky, worm," Holand spat, his lip curling. "But that luck won't save you when it's just us." He jabbed a finger into Arpheus's chest. "I'll make you regret being born."
Holand turned on his heel, stalking away without looking back.
Arpheus stood there, his shoulder throbbing and his pride in shambles. He rubbed the sore spot absentmindedly, trying to steady his breathing. What did I do to piss him off this badly?
Faree sighed, breaking the silence between them. "You shouldn't take his threats lightly," she warned, her tone softer now.
Arpheus looked up, meeting her eyes for the first time. They weren't cold like before—there was genuine concern there, and maybe even a hint of pity.
"There's no way you'll beat him," she continued bluntly. "I don't know how you managed to take down Gand and Dan, but Holand is on a completely different level. He's not just dangerous—he's merciless."
Arpheus swallowed the lump in his throat. "I'll… be careful. Thanks for the warning."
Faree gave him a small nod, her expression unreadable. Then, to his surprise, she smiled—a fleeting, almost reluctant smile—before walking away, leaving him alone with his thoughts.
She smiled? That's new. Arpheus's lips twitched upward despite himself. But the warm moment faded as quickly as it had come.
Holand's different? No kidding. That guy's got "psycho" written all over him.
[Arpheus, I know what you're thinking.]
The system's voice rang in his mind, casual yet sharp, cutting through his internal monologue.
Oh? And what am I thinking? Arpheus shot back, trying to mask his unease with sarcasm.
[You're plotting revenge. Don't deny it. ;)]
Woah, you can do emojis now? Arpheus smirked. You didn't do that the first time we talked.
[>:(]
[Focus, dummy. I've got something important to tell you.]
The tone of the system's voice shifted, becoming more serious.
[You have three skills. Wanna guess what they are?]
Arpheus blinked. Wait, three? His heart skipped a beat. I thought it was just Luck.
[Wrong! Let me spell it out for you.]
[First, there's Luck. It's passive, and it's probably the only reason you're still alive right now.]
[Second, there's Light. It's an active manipulation skill—basically, you can bend and shape light however you want. Think flashy, think blinding, think versatile.]
[And third… Space Manipulation. That one's your trump card. But fair warning—it's way harder to master than the others.]
Arpheus's jaw practically hit the floor. Space Manipulation?! You're telling me I can bend space? Like, teleport or rip holes in reality or something?
[Settle down, Mr. Overpowered. It's not as easy as it sounds. You'll need to train if you don't want to embarrass yourself.]
Still… this changes everything. A flicker of hope ignited in his chest. If I can figure this out, I might actually stand a chance against Holand.
[Don't go getting cocky now. He's still stronger than you—for now.]
"The test has started!" Denarlus's booming voice announced, snapping Arpheus out of his thoughts.
The colosseum erupted into chaos.
The metallic clang of swords, the swish of spells, and the occasional grunt or scream filled the air as examinees clashed all around. The ground shook under the sheer force of some of the blows being exchanged, and the tension was palpable.
Arpheus stood at the edge of the battlefield, his body tense and his eyes scanning the fray. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to stay alert. Where is he? Where's Holand?
Holand, meanwhile, prowled the chaos like a predator. His sharp eyes darted across the battlefield, searching for his prey.
I'll make that arrogant little worm suffer. The thought burned in his mind, fueling his every step.
Holand's movements were calculated, deliberate. He sidestepped a wild swing from one examinee and ducked under a blast of fire from another. Nothing mattered except finding Arpheus.
And then he saw it—a gap in the chaos, a clear path to his target.
Holand grinned, his teeth bared like a wolf about to pounce. Bet he won't even see me coming.
He crouched low, his body coiled like a spring.
Arpheus felt a sudden chill run down his spine. His instincts flared, screaming at him to move. He turned his head just in time to see a blur of motion barreling toward him.
Holand was fast—faster than anyone Arpheus had ever seen. His movements were a blur, zigzagging through the chaos of the battlefield with precision.
Swish!
The air hissed as Holand closed the distance in an instant.
Clang!