Minerva: "Huuh huuh huuh huuh huuh huuh."
Minerva's breathing was rapid and controlled, but the burning in her lungs was palpable.
Each step required a conscious effort.
She was only thinking about moving forward.
To her right, a young blond boy was running almost alongside her.
???: "Huuh huuh huuh huuh."
His light hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat, and his breathing was so uneven it seemed like it might stop.
Yet, he smiled.
???: "Hey… if we survive this… I hope tonight's meal is better than the Academy's welcome."
He finished his sentence with a stifled laugh, immediately interrupted by a coughing fit.
Despite his condition, his tone remained light, almost carefree, as if he were trying to make them forget the pressure weighing on them.
Minerva: "Who's he?"
Minerva gave him a brief, surprised look.
She didn't have the energy to reply, but this clumsy attempt to lighten the mood drew a soft, amused sigh from her lips.
An almost imperceptible reaction, but enough to remind her that they weren't alone in this ordeal.
Around them, footsteps continued to pound the ground.
The first kilometer had passed.
But the hardest part was yet to come.
After a mile or so, Minerva's body finally began to demand its due.
Her breathing, which had been controlled until then, became ragged.
Minerva: "Huuh huuh huuh huuh."
Each breath burned her chest, as if the air refused to fully enter her lungs.
Tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap
Her legs, heavy and aching, responded with a slight delay to her commands.
She continued to move forward, but her pace had slowed without her even realizing it.
Little by little, figures passed her.
One, then two, then several.
Minerva felt frustration rising along with her breathlessness.
She gritted her teeth, tried to speed up, but her body couldn't keep up.
With each stride, her thighs protested more and more, and her arms lost their rhythm.
She dropped from thirtieth place… to fiftieth.
Then to sixtieth.
Minerva: "I'm slowing down too much."
The crowd, which had already stretched out considerably, now passed her without so much as a glance.
Some still seemed surprisingly fresh, others displayed an almost aggressive determination, as if they were drawing on their last reserves.
Minerva slipped to eightieth place.
Then to ninetieth.
For a moment, a dangerous thought crossed her mind.
Minerva: "What if I can't do it?"
Her heart sank.
She shook her head slightly, as if to banish the thought.
She couldn't afford to doubt herself now.
Not here.
Not after leaving her village.
Not after making that choice.
She took a deep breath… but it wasn't enough.
Minerva: "Oh no, I'm starting to get tired."
Her vision blurred slightly at the edges.
The sounds around her—footsteps, panting breaths, muffled cries—seemed distant, as if muffled by an invisible veil.
Minerva slowed down even more.
She wasn't about to stop, but she felt that if she continued like this, she would eventually collapse.
Minerva: "Just a minute."
That's when an idea struck her.
Brutal.
Clear.
Almost instinctive.
Minerva: "Oxygen…"
She suddenly remembered the breathing exercises her father had taught her as a child, when she came home exhausted from the fields or struggled to catch her breath after prolonged exertion.
Back then, she had never really paid attention to them.
But now, every detail mattered.
She adjusted her posture slightly as she ran, straightening her torso despite the fatigue.
She forced her shoulders to relax, even though her muscles screamed in protest.
Then she changed her breathing pattern.
Instead of short, rapid, ineffective breaths, she began to inhale deeply and slowly, filling her lungs to their maximum capacity.
She held her breath for a fraction of a second, then exhaled in a controlled manner, all while continuing to run.
A long breath.
Calculated.
Deliberate.
The first few seconds were difficult.
Her body, accustomed to the frantic rhythm she had adopted, almost resisted this new pattern.
She felt even more breathless.
But she persisted.
Again.
And again.
Little by little, something changed.
The burning sensation in her chest lessened slightly.
Her breathing, though still heavy, became more regular. Her heart was still beating fast, but no longer erratically.
Minerva felt her thoughts clearing again.
Minerva: "It's working…"
She stared at the ground ahead, focusing solely on her breath and her steps.
A rhythm formed.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Move forward.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Move forward.
Her legs responded again.
Slowly but surely, she increased her pace.
She passed the first person.
Then a second.
She felt a strange sensation rising in her stomach.
Not joy.
Not yet.
But a new certainty.
She hadn't reached her limits.
She passed eightieth place.
Then seventieth.
Around her, the situation was changing.
Some runners slowed down abruptly, their steps becoming uneven.
Others stumbled, nearly falling before catching themselves just in time.
Bam
A boy collapsed to his knees on the side of the path, unable to continue.
Bam
A young woman tried to get going again after a fall, but her legs refused to cooperate.
The withdrawals began.
Contestant #1: "I give up."
Contestant #2: "They're running too fast, I won't make it."
Contestant #3: " ........ ".
Some remained motionless, their eyes blank, as if they hadn't yet accepted their defeat.
Others shouted in rage or pounded their fists on the ground.
Minerva didn't stop.
She overtook them.
Fiftieth place.
Fortieth.
Her breathing was still labored, but controlled.
Her body ached, but she kept going.
Minerva: "MINERVA CAESULA IS BACK IN THE RACE."
Tap tap ... not as fragile as she thought.
Ahead of her, she spotted Roy.
Minerva: "There he is again."
He was no longer among the frontrunners, but he was holding his own, running with fierce determination.
Seeing him still standing, still moving, gave Minerva a surge of energy.
Minerva: "I won't give up..."
She murmured it to herself, between deep breaths.
Behind her, the chaos intensified.
The candidates who hadn't paced themselves were now paying the price for their haste.
Some had started too fast, burning through all their energy right from the start.
The Academy wasn't just testing speed.
It was testing endurance.
Composure.
Adaptability.
Minerva suddenly understood that this test wasn't unfair.
It was ruthless.
But that's right.
She kept running, her gaze fixed straight ahead, aware that each step brought her a little closer to her goal.
Minerva: "Only 500 meters to go."
There were still 500 meters left.
And this time, she was ready to face them.
Here is what followed, maintaining the immersive, tense, and consistent feel of the challenge, without abruptly speeding up the scene:
After a few more minutes, the landscape finally changed.
Before her, the vast plain unfolded in its entirety.
The slightly sloping ground was scattered with weapons planted in the earth.
As she approached, Minerva clearly distinguished the iron swords lined up across the field, their dull blades reflecting the daylight dimly.
The field of swords.
Her heart raced again, but this time for a reason other than exhaustion.
Some contestants had already arrived.
Some stood before a sword, both hands gripping the hilt, their faces contorted with effort.
Others had already succeeded: a weapon firmly in hand, they left the plain with long strides, sometimes shouting with relief.
But not everyone was so lucky.
Minerva saw a young man violently pull on a sword… which vanished abruptly in a flash of light.
Minerva: "Tough luck for him."
An illusion.
The weapon vanished like smoke, leaving behind a handful of translucent particles that dissipated into the air. The candidate stood frozen for a second, incredulous, before taking a step back, his gaze blank.
Others witnessed the same scene.
A young woman tried her luck, gritted her teeth, pulled… and the sword disappeared as well.
She let out a cry of frustration, stamping her foot on the ground before turning away, defeated.
Minerva immediately remembered Galgados's words.
Minerva: "A quarter of the swords are illusions."
Of the two hundred visible swords, fifty didn't actually exist.
Every mistake mattered.
Every bad decision could cost them a place at the Academy.
Minerva: "I need to grab a sword quickly."
The atmosphere around her had become heavy.
The candidates now hesitated before choosing a sword:
- Some examined the ground*
- Others cautiously touched the hilt with their fingertips, as if hoping to feel a difference.
But there was none.
The illusions were perfect.
Minerva slowed down, her breath still rapid, but her mind alert.
She observed carefully.
The successful candidates didn't seem to choose randomly:
- Some looked at the sword's position,*
- Others paid attention to tiny details invisible at first glance.
Minerva: "GGGGGGgggggggrrrrr."
As she continued running, she clenched her fists and groaned.
It wasn't enough to be fast.
She had to stay focused until the very end.
Minerva stepped into the field of swords, knowing that this final stage would decide everything.
One mistake... and her dream would end here.
Chapter 5: 150 sword
The End