The oppressive weight that had dominated the room moments ago was gone, lifting as though it had never been there. The atmosphere, however, remained heavy.
Around me, students were scattered across the platform. Many were on their knees, some even lying flat on the stone floor, gasping for breath.
But I wasn't one of them.
Neither were the handful of others still standing.
I glanced around, taking note of who remained. Amani was among them, her face pale and damp with sweat but her posture firm. Noah Balavan stood there smiling as if enduring the will was fun.
Celeste Astrea maintained her composure, though a faint crease marred her otherwise serene expression. Her gaze flicked briefly to me before returning to Arnold.
And Mortis…
Mortis stood with the same ease as if nothing had happened. His mirrored eyes swept over the room, his expression unreadable.
In total, twenty of us remained standing, scattered unevenly across the platform like solitary pillars in a sea of collapsed forms.
Professor Arnold surveyed us with a calculating gaze, his scarred face betraying a hint of approval.
He stepped forward, his boots clicking against the stone platform as he passed the fallen students. His voice broke the silence, steady and sharp.
"Well done," he said, his tone free of mockery or exaggeration. "To those of you still standing: your will is strong. Strong enough to endure this exercise."
His gaze shifted, lingering on the students still struggling to rise.
"But not strong enough to endure further."
The comment wasn't cruel, merely a statement of fact. Yet it carried a weight that made those still on the ground flinch.
Arnold turned back to us he ones still standing.
"I would have gone further," he said, his tone measured, "but I am not certain they could have survived it." referring to the ones who had already fallen to the ground.
His words were blunt, and the fallen students visibly stiffened.
"Take this as a lesson," Arnold continued, addressing the room at large. "Strength is not enough. Talent is not enough. Without will, you are nothing. Remember that."
With that, he dismissed the class.
"Everyone except you," he said, gesturing toward the twenty of us who had remained standing. "Stay behind."
As the rest of the students filed out, their expressions a mixture of exhaustion and embarrassment, Arnold crossed his arms, his sharp gaze studying each of us in turn.
"Your will is strong enough to handle more than just classroom exercises," he began. "And strong enough to handle what comes next."
There was a murmur of curiosity among us, but no one dared speak.
"Dungeons," Arnold said, his voice cutting through the murmurs. "A Grey Gate has appeared on the Academy's outskirts."
I felt a chill run through me at the mention of a dungeon.
Arnold's voice carried through the room, heavy with the weight of the topic.
"Dungeons, are corrupted realms connected to our world via a gate," he explained, his tone measured yet sharp. "They come in many forms some large, spanning entire regions, others small enough to fit within a single structure. But all of them share a common trait: they are saturated with Corruption."
His gaze swept over us, pausing momentarily on Mortis and Noah before continuing.
"When a Dungeon connects without world is forms a Gate it is a one way entrance that allows us to enter the dungeon but prevents the corrupted creatures from entering our world as to why this is no one know."
But I knew or at least, I thought I did.
The Will of Creation.
In the novel, it was mentioned only briefly, almost in passing.
"A Dungeon is not static as time passes if left unchecked, a Dungeon can merge with our world in a phenomenon similar to the Great Convergence. The boundary weakens, and the Corruption spills out freely, consuming everything in its path."
He paused, his scarred face grim.
"To prevent this, Mages must enter the Dungeon and kill the Warden."
"The Warden?" A student near the front dared to ask.
Arnold nodded. "The Warden is the heart of the Dungeon. It is a creature chosen by the corrupted realm itself a guardian imbued with the Dungeon's power. Killing the Warden destabilizes the Dungeon, causing it to collapse. Without a Warden, the Gate closes, and the Corruption is purged."
There was a murmur of unease among the group.
Arnold silenced it with a glance.
"Do not take this lightly," he said. "A Warden is not a mere beast. It is intelligent, cunning, and dangerous. Underestimating it will cost you your life."
Arnold's gaze swept over us once more.
"The Grey Gate outside the Academy is a Novice-level Dungeon. It is a suitable starting point for those of you who have shown promise today."
I stiffened slightly. A Novice-level Dungeon was the weakest tier, but that didn't make it any less deadly.
"You will be divided into teams," Arnold continued. "Each team will consist of five members, chosen to balance strengths and weaknesses. Your performance in the Dungeon will be assessed not just on survival, but on your ability to work as a unit."
He gestured toward the far wall, where a faintly glowing rune pulsed with light.
"Your assignments will be displayed there. Study them. Learn your teammates' strengths and weaknesses. Your success depends on it."
He stepped back, his sharp gaze narrowing.
"Dismissed. Prepare yourselves. You'll enter the Grey Gate tomorrow."
As the group began to disperse, I couldn't help but feel the weight of what lay ahead. A Dungeon. A real one.
My thoughts raced.
I've read about this. I know how this works. But knowing and surviving are two very different things.