After a tense morning and a mechanical, silent breakfast, the children were summoned once again. The familiar, emotionless feminine voice echoed through the laboratory:
"Children, the time has come for your next trial. Proceed to the Metal Hall."
The 48 remaining children rose from their places in the dining hall and began their march through the cold, oppressive corridors of the facility. The pale light of the crystals overhead cast long shadows, emphasizing their frailty. Fear hung heavily in the air, and the silence was only broken by the faint echo of their bare footsteps. Seyrin, as always, stayed at the back, his gaze fixed downward, his presence keeping others at a distance.
They reached a massive door, engraved with glowing red runes that pulsed faintly. With a low mechanical groan, the door slid open, revealing a vast circular chamber. The walls of polished metal reflected the harsh overhead lights, giving the room a cold, sterile atmosphere.
The children instinctively lined up in rows. Seyrin observed the space carefully. The smooth floor was marked with faint circular engravings, and at the center of the chamber lay an empty circle surrounded by unfamiliar symbols.
The voice returned, resonating through the room:
"This is the Trial of Metal. You will face an opponent. Choose a weapon to defend yourself. Remember: the weapon you choose will also be wielded by your enemy."
Before they could react, 48 wooden mannequins materialized with a sharp crack. The humanoid figures were unnerving—jointed and lifeless, yet they radiated a sense of menace. Their heads were featureless, tilting slightly as if observing the children.
"Choose your weapon," the voice commanded.
A boy in the first row, trembling, whispered:
"Sword."
Immediately, a simple sword appeared before him in a flash of light. At the same time, an identical weapon materialized in the hands of the mannequin standing opposite him.
The children quickly understood the rule. One by one, they began calling out their choices:
"Axe."
"Dagger."
"Bow."
Each time, their chosen weapon appeared, matched precisely by their opponent. When it was **Seyrin**'s turn, he stepped forward, his crimson slit-pupils fixed on the mannequin before him. He spoke calmly, his voice steady:
"Spear."
A long black spear with a sharp, gleaming tip materialized before him, the weapon vibrating slightly as if acknowledging his presence. The mannequin opposite him now held a perfect replica.
The voice returned, colder than before:
"Begin."
Chaos erupted instantly. The mannequins moved in unison, their jerky motions suddenly fluid and frighteningly fast. The clang of weapons filled the air, mingling with the panicked cries of the children.
Seyrin stood his ground as his opponent lunged, the spear slicing through the air with precision. He sidestepped the attack with practiced ease, his instincts sharp.
"Predictable," he thought, studying the mannequin's rigid, mechanical movements.
He countered with a quick thrust, aiming for its torso. The tip of his spear struck the wooden frame with a hollow crack, but the mannequin recoiled, unphased.
Around him, the battles raged. A boy wielding an axe charged at his mannequin with raw aggression. But his lack of technique left him exposed. The mannequin's axe swung in a brutal arc, its blade cleaving through his neck with a sickening crunch. His head hit the floor and rolled to the side, leaving a trail of blood on the metallic surface. His body crumpled moments later, lifeless.
Screams erupted, but the children had no time to grieve. Another child, a girl armed with a bow, tried to keep her distance from her mannequin. She fired arrows frantically, but her panic slowed her aim. Her opponent closed the gap, its blade gleaming. With one swift motion, it slashed across her throat. Blood sprayed into the air as she collapsed, choking on her final breath.
Seyrin, meanwhile, remained focused. His mannequin's movements were becoming more refined, its attacks less predictable.
"It's learning,"he realized, tightening his grip on his spear.
He shifted his stance, adjusting to the mannequin's evolving tactics. Timing his movements carefully, he lunged forward. Using the spear's full reach, he delivered a powerful thrust aimed directly at its core. The tip of the weapon pierced through the mannequin's chest with a deafening crack.
The wooden figure convulsed briefly before collapsing into a heap of broken pieces. Seyrin pulled his spear back, his breathing steady, his crimson eyes glowing faintly in the harsh light.
One by one, the remaining children defeated their opponents. The room fell silent, save for the heavy breathing of the survivors. Some dropped to their knees in exhaustion, while others simply stood, trembling.
The voice echoed again, devoid of any emotion:
"Congratulations. Forty-six survivors. Two failures."
Seyrin glanced at the bodies of the two children who had fallen. Their lifeless forms lay sprawled on the ground, their blood pooling around them. The mannequins that had killed them disintegrated into ash, leaving no trace of their presence.
The massive doors of the chamber slid open once more, revealing a cold, dimly lit corridor. The children, still shaken, began to file out silently.
Seyrin lingered for a moment, his gaze fixed on the bloodstained floor. A grim thought crossed his mind:
"This isn't about testing metal. It's about breaking us."
He let his spear fall to the ground with a dull clang before turning toward the exit. His glowing red eyes flickered as he disappeared into the shadows of the corridor, ready for whatever awaited him next.