The academy's forest is not a forest.
It is a living dungeon, a deadly trial disguised as a test.
The moment Gael Vernet stepped in, he understood.
No one greeted them. No maps. No guidance.
Only the forest—and a voice echoed from a teacher:
> "From now on, you have 7 days. Within these 7 days, either kill at least 50 monsters, or survive until the last light of the seventh day shines on your head."
"Anyone who escapes the restricted area, who hires others to kill for them, or who fails the requirements... will be eliminated. Here, 'eliminated' means death."
Gael was no genius. He was born at the bottom.
Once a slave sold through three masters. Branded with a fire mark on his chest for identification.
Magic? Poor at it, but just enough to enter.
But… he knew how to run. How to crawl. How to hold his breath when needed.
On the very first day, he encountered the One-Eyed White Serpent, a venomous reptile that spits acid.
No fight. Gael wasn't good at fighting, but he had his wits.
He threw rotten meat in another direction to distract it. Climbed a tree.
Stalked. Waited.
When it turned its head, he threw a dagger into its eye.
> "One." He silently counted, then twisted his body to slip into the bushes.
The forest at night wasn't dark.
It was red like blood, glowing from the eyes of the monster pack.
Gael dared not sleep. He set up an alarm with fruit shells and vines.
At midnight, a Rabid Dog crept close. He poisoned its food, then watched it convulse like raw roasted meat.
> "Two." He muttered. "I will survive. I must survive."
The next morning, he saw three noble students fighting.
Fire, ice, and lightning clashed wildly. They laughed loudly like hunters on their home turf.
Gael retreated, making sure they didn't see him.
Because for him, the most dangerous things were not monsters, but humans...
...those born to be masters, taught that people like Gael were only good as practice targets.
Before the sun set again, Gael observed from all sides, then climbed a tree to sleep.
From above, he saw three luxurious tents, each protected by high-level magical seals.
On the second morning, Gael woke to a scream tearing through the forest.
Not a monster's cry.
A human's.
A student—surrounded by a pack of Howling Dogs. A predator that hunts in packs and can smell human sweat from miles away.
Gael watched everything from the tree.
Saw clearly, but did not move.
> "Not my business..."
"If I save him, the monsters will target me. If he gets hurt, I die."
"He's screaming too loud. Won't survive anyway."
The scream stopped after twelve seconds.
Simple. Dirty. Not heroic.
Death in the forest is never heroic.
Gael snapped a branch into a hook and used it to grab Red-Eyed Bird eggs from a high nest.
The bird turned back. Gael had already retreated.
Instead of running, he threw a tuft of Howling Dog fur in another direction.
> The Red-Eyed Bird flew toward the scent of blood, only to be torn apart by the new pack of dogs.
Gael, empty-handed, now had eggs to boil by making a campfire.
No one taught him how to survive—but he lived better than most who were taught.
On the second night, Gael made a shelter under a fallen tree root, setting spike traps around it.
In the middle of the night, a badly wounded student crawled over, begging for water.
> "I… I'm injured… do you have medicine...? I'm a noble from the Rildane family, you'll be rewarded if you save me—"
Gael handed him a water tube.
The student drank, then collapsed. Inside was poison from Shadow Willow roots—numbing, not lethal.
> "Trust no one. No nobles. No commoners. Only trust your instincts."
Near dawn, Gael heard thunder—soft, deep, steady like someone's heartbeat.
Curious, he climbed a tall tree.
In the distance, through the mist, he saw a figure walking leisurely among countless monster corpses, hands in pockets.
> "Who... is that?" Gael whispered.
He didn't approach.
Didn't want to. Didn't dare. Shouldn't.
> Some things in the forest... are even more dangerous than monsters.
> "Gael Vernet. Five kills."