The desert battlefield lay eerily silent.The storm of sand that had raged during their battle began to settle, the heat-haze rippling faintly over the sprawled corpse of the Sand Wyrm. Its massive, serpentine body no longer moved; only small tremors rippled across the sand as its lifeblood soaked into the earth.
Bahamut stood atop the beast's head like a scarred and blood-soaked statue. His chest rose and fell in ragged, uneven breaths, each inhale sounding like it scraped against his ribs. His claws still dripped with crimson, streaking dark lines down his forearms and thighs.
Then...
[Beast Trait Manifestation Duration Expired]
[Cooldown: 1 hour 10 minutes]
His body seized.
The claws on his hands and feet retracted with a sickening, organic crunch, bone grinding against bone as they forced themselves back into their human shape. Bahamut clenched his jaw hard enough to make his teeth ache, a guttural growl escaping his throat. The transformation reversal always hurts more than the activation.
His legs gave out.
He fell to one knee with a muffled thud, sand sticking to the blood on his skin. The heat burned against the raw cuts across his chest and shoulders. His breathing was uneven, his entire body screaming at him. Now that the battle high was fading, the reality of his injuries hit him like a collapsing wall.
His right arm hung limp and swollen, from shoulder to elbow, it was a bruised mess, cracked bone shifting with every slight movement. His ribs felt like splintered wood stabbing into his lungs. Sand had stuck to every open wound, turning each breath into a stinging reminder.
And yet… he smiled faintly.
"Still… alive," he muttered hoarsely, blood bubbling at the corner of his mouth.
"BAHAMUT!"
A small blur of white came tumbling down the dune, ears flopping, tiny paws kicking up soft puffs of sand. Ren's little nose scrunched as he leapt toward him. The bunny landed with a soft pomf on Bahamut's shoulder, his small face scrunching up in a scowl.
"You reckless bastard!" Ren barked in his small but fierce voice. He smacked Bahamut's cheek with his fluffy paw, not out of anger, but out of frustration. "I told you not to push that far! You're bleeding like a slaughtered boar!"
Bahamut winced at the smack, then let out a low, breathless chuckle."Still breathing, aren't I?" he rasped.
Ren sniffed, hopping onto his head, his tiny ears twitching rapidly. He could feel Bahamut's pulse, too fast, too uneven. "Idiot. If I hadn't been tossed away, I'd be bunny stew by now."
"Yeah… but you're not," Bahamut said, lifting his heavy hand and flicking Ren gently on the forehead with what little strength he had left. "So, it worked."
The little bunny's expression softened slightly, though he tried to hide it by turning away. "Hmph. Next time, don't almost die just to look cool."
Bahamut laughed again, then coughed hard. A splatter of blood hit the sand. The world around him swam briefly, and his body trembled like a candle in the wind. His aura, which had been feral and sharp like a blade moments ago, now flickered weakly, barely a shadow of what it had been. The edges of his vision darkened, but he forced himself to stay conscious.
"Not… yet," he muttered, dragging himself off the wyrm's corpse. His bare feet left bloody prints in the sand as he stumbled forward a few steps. His body shook violently, and he nearly fell face-first into the dirt before catching himself with his uninjured arm.
Ren frowned deeply. "We need to wrap you up fast. You'll bleed out before the next round."
"I'll manage…" Bahamut forced the words out through clenched teeth.His voice was rough, raw, the sound of someone who had danced too close to the edge.
As he walked away from the corpse, the heat of the battlefield seemed heavier, more suffocating. His body screamed at him to lie down, to sleep, but he wouldn't, not yet. The crimson aura still faintly pulsed around him like embers in dying coals. The illusion wasn't over.
Ren hopped down to his shoulder again and pressed a small paw gently against the side of his neck. The gesture was simple, quiet. "Hey… don't push too far."
"Can't promise that," Bahamut said with a crooked grin. "But I'll try not to die."
The wyrm's blood dripped steadily off his fingers, splashing into the sand behind him. Each step he took left a deeper footprint, each breath more labored. But even now, as the cooldown of his skill forced his power to sleep and his body to tremble…
Bahamut walked forward.
Like a predator still hunting, his regeneration kicking in at last.
...
The audience tier above the shifting illusion fields buzzed with restless energy.
Rows of stone seats curved around the arena's massive projection array, a formation of sunstone obelisks and glowing hieroglyphic rings that captured every battle happening inside the illusion and displayed it like a living mirage in the air. Above the golden sands, the image of Bahamut flickered into view, bloodied but still standing over the corpse of the Sand Wyrm.
Around the arena, hundreds of young faces stared in stunned silence. These were the ones who had failed to endure the first trial, pushed out by the crushing weight of the Dawn Vein Formation. Many of them had worn smug expressions earlier, believing the barefoot boy with the rabbit on his shoulder would be the first to fall.
No one was smiling now.
A hush hung over the viewing area. The only sound was the low hum of the formation and the crackling hiss as the illusion shifted to reveal a new stage. Golden sand melted away into another battlefield beyond their reach, and Bahamut, staggering, dripping blood, his clothes torn to rags, began to walk toward the next gate.
"...He's still moving," someone whispered.
"He… he beat a Circle of Mind beast." A trembling boy's voice cracked mid-sentence. "That was a wyrm. A wyrm."
The words alone seemed to weigh on everyone. None of them, not even the elite candidates who had made it to the third stage, had expected him to last this long.
On one of the upper tiers, where the surviving candidates sat cross-legged in recuperation, the storm-eyed youth leaned forward, fists clenched tightly around his knees. A sheen of sweat covered his face, not from battle, but from the ugly mix of disbelief and anger twisting inside him.
"Bullshit," he muttered through gritted teeth. "He shouldn't be able to go further. Not with that body."
Beside him, the russet-furred beastkin girl with the golden eyes narrowed her gaze, her tail flicking sharply. "That boy isn't normal. I watched him in the second stage, and he was laughing the entire time. Laughing while fighting like a rabid beast."
On the other side, the silver-haired elf, still composed despite his own exhaustion, tilted his head slightly, watching Bahamut's figure in the mirage with a quiet, unsettling calm. "It's not just his brutality," he said softly, "it's how he adapts. He's wounded, but he moves like pain doesn't exist to him."
"You sound impressed," the beastkin girl said.
The elf gave a faint, humorless smile. "I am. And that's exactly why he's dangerous."
Around them, the other candidates whispered among themselves.
"Fourth stage already?"
"He's insane…"
"No, he's a monster."
"What kind of aura was that at the end? It felt like my chest was being crushed just from the projection."
Even those who had mocked him earlier sat in rigid silence now, their laughter long gone, replaced by something they couldn't quite name: awe, fear… envy.
The illusion shimmered again. The fifth stage gate, a towering archway of blackened stone etched with hieroglyphic eyes, cracked open with a sound like a heartbeat breaking stone. Golden light poured out, spilling across Bahamut's blood-streaked figure.
And he walked forward.
Slow. Limping. But unbroken.
The spectators unconsciously held their breath.
The storm-eyed youth slammed his fist into the stone seat. "Why him? He's not better than me! He can't be better than me!"
The elf didn't look away from the mirage. "Whether or not he's better," he said, his voice almost serene, "he's still ahead of us. And in this sect… that's all that matters."
The beastkin girl's claws scraped the stone. Her ears twitched sharply. "He's not just ahead. He's making us look weak."
High above them, the projection zoomed closer as Bahamut stepped past the gate, his dark crimson aura leaking out faintly again, like the heartbeat of something primal and dangerous. The mirage caught the faint smirk on his lips despite the blood dripping down his chin. He wasn't just surviving the test; he was thriving in it.
All across the stands, the mood shifted from disbelief… to tension.
The whispers grew louder.
"Fourth stage… and now the fifth?"
"He might actually clear the combat test."
"No one's ever done that since..."
"...since the Black Fang Prodigy."
Even the instructors seated in the shadows at the back of the tier exchanged glances. Some narrowed their eyes. Some smirked faintly. Others leaned forward in interest.
But none of them looked away.
Because while everyone else had already fallen or retreated, the barefoot boy with the rabbit on his shoulder kept walking forward through blood, sand, and pain… toward the fifth stage.
And for the first time that day...
Every single candidate in the arena realized…
They were no longer watching a fool.
They were watching a predator.
If only they knew that this predator was already healed and was just faking his pain...