Dawn was barely breaking over the training camp when the children were gathered on the great esplanade. A light mist still floated above the ground, giving the scene an almost surreal atmosphere. The golden rays of the morning sun pierced timidly through the surrounding trees, illuminating the sleepy faces of the young recruits.
Before the assembly stood three imposing figures: Gareth, Kain, and Liora. Gareth, a massive man with broad shoulders and a face marked by years of military experience, stepped forward with measured strides. His boots echoed on the stone tiles with natural authority. Kain, a man with a shaved head as smooth as polished ivory—earning him the nickname "Egghead" among the recruits—stood to his right, his piercing eyes already scanning the ranks of children. Liora, younger than her two colleagues but no less impressive in her light armor that caught the morning light, completed the trio of instructors.
"Children, listen to me carefully," Gareth began in a deep voice that carried effortlessly to the back rows. Silence fell instantly. Even the birds in the trees seemed to hold their breath.
"In exactly three days, we will organize an excursion into the Thornveil Forest." He paused, letting the information sink in. A few excited whispers traveled through the crowd, but a single look from Kain was enough to silence them.
"Starting today and for the next three days," Gareth continued, "you will prepare in teams. The objective of this preparation is three-fold: first, to learn to take care of one another under difficult conditions. Second, to master the art of teamwork under pressure. Third, to develop your ability to manage complex and unforeseen situations."
He let his words resonate for a moment before resuming, his voice becoming even more serious.
"This excursion is graded. And this grade will not be trivial. It will count for a significant part of your final evaluation for this year at the training camp." The faces before him froze. The jovial atmosphere of moments ago evaporated like the morning mist.
"You have surely not forgotten," Gareth pursued, slowly pacing the front of the stage, "that the primary goal of this year of training is to facilitate your mana core formation. For those of you who succeed brilliantly in this excursion, particularly valuable rewards are at stake."
He gestured to Liora, who stepped forward holding a small chest of precious wood inlaid with silver runes. She opened it delicately, revealing several vials containing a luminescent blue liquid that was almost hypnotic.
"The Mana Condensation Pills," Gareth announced with solemnity. "Crafted by the best alchemists and herbalists in the kingdom, these preparations have the power to considerably facilitate the formation of the mana core. Thanks to them, many children from the great families manage to form their core before the age of ten."
A near-religious silence fell over the assembly. All eyes were fixed on those vials, which represented an extraordinary shortcut to magical power.
"However," Gareth resumed in a harder voice, "the number of pills available is limited. Very limited. They will only be awarded to the best-performing teams. And I emphasize the word teams."
His gaze swept across the crowd before stopping briefly on Arthur. It was a short look, barely a fraction of a second, but pointed enough that several children noticed and turned toward the black-haired boy standing slightly apart from the others.
Arthur felt that gaze weigh on him like a stone. He did not flinch, keeping his face perfectly neutral, but internally, he was simmering. Why look at me specifically? What does that mean?
"The most rewarded," Gareth continued, turning his gaze away from Arthur, "will be those who shine as a team, and not as isolated individuals. Cooperation, mutual aid, synergy—these are what we will evaluate as a priority. A solitary genius does not interest us. What we need are groups capable of functioning as a single organism."
Kain spoke for the first time, his clear and precise voice cutting through the morning air: "Let us move on to the composition of the teams. You will be divided into groups of five people. These groups have been carefully put together to balance the strengths and weaknesses of each person."
He unrolled a parchment and began to read: "First group: Nixon, Waldrid, Tyson, Teresa, and Nicole."
The five named exchanged looks, some satisfied, others more reserved. Nixon, a boy with short blonde hair and a confident face, nodded with satisfaction. Teresa and Nicole, two young girls who had been inseparable since the beginning of camp, spontaneously held hands, relieved to be in the same team.
"Second group:" Kain paused, consulting his parchment. "Iod, Elena, Gilbert, Catherine, and Arthur."
Arthur's name fell like a stone in a silent pond. Several heads turned in his direction. Arthur himself felt his stomach knot slightly. He looked for his new teammates.
Iod, a medium-sized boy with brown hair and steel-gray eyes, met his gaze for a fraction of a second before looking away with an indecipherable expression. Gilbert, taller and more massive, frowned slightly. Elena and Catherine, two girls with different personalities—Elena shy and reserved, Catherine more assertive and direct—exchanged a look that spoke volumes about their skepticism.
"These are your two groups," Kain concluded, rolling up the parchment. "From now until the day of the excursion, you are expected to spend your time together. Get to know each other, identify each other's strengths and weaknesses, and develop strategies. Your success will depend entirely on your ability to function as a coherent unit."
Gareth spoke one last time: "You are free to organize yourselves as you see fit during these three days of preparation. We will observe, but we will not intervene. Show us what you are capable of. Dismissed!"
ARTHUR'S POINT OF VIEW
When Gareth had uttered the words "teamwork," Arthur had felt something tighten in his chest. An instinctive, almost visceral resistance.
Teamwork, he repeated mentally with a hint of bitterness. What is the real goal of all this?
Of course, he understood the theoretical importance of cooperation. He wasn't stupid. But in his personal experience—limited but intense—he had learned that relying on oneself was always more reliable than relying on others.
The pills, he reminded himself, watching the chest Liora was carefully closing. That is why I am really here.
He remembered perfectly what his tutor had explained to him months ago. Mana condensation pills were extraordinarily complex alchemical preparations, requiring rare ingredients and master-level skills. Their effect was almost miraculous: they prepared the body to form a mana core, easing a process that normally took years of relentless training.
It was thanks to these pills, brews, and ointments that the children of the great noble families managed to form their mana core before the age of ten, thus acquiring a considerable lead over their less fortunate peers. Without these alchemical aids, most people only reached that stage in their teens or even later.
And now, these precious pills, usually reserved for the wealthy elite, were within reach. All Arthur had to do was...
Work as a team.
He looked again at his teammates, who were already beginning to gather a few meters away from him. The expressions on their faces left no doubt about what they thought of this team composition.
Iod wore a cold, almost hostile expression. His steel-gray eyes fixed on Arthur with an intensity that was unsettling. Gilbert had his arms crossed, his massive face shut like a locked door. Elena kept her eyes down, carefully avoiding looking in Arthur's direction. Only Catherine dared to look at him frankly, but her expression was hardly warmer—it was more like annoyed resignation, as if she had been assigned a disagreeable chore.
Fantastic, Arthur thought ironically. They seem just as enthusiastic as I am about the idea of working together.
On the other side of the esplanade, Teresa and Nicole were already in deep discussion with Nixon, Waldrid, and Tyson. Their group already seemed to function naturally, the conversations flowing with an ease that contrasted cruelly with the heavy atmosphere surrounding Arthur's group.
Finally, Iod spoke, his sharp voice breaking the uncomfortable silence: "We meet at the training ground in one hour. We need to start planning our strategy."
It wasn't really a suggestion. It was an order in disguise.
Arthur felt something stiffen inside him. Who are you to give me orders? he thought, but he kept that thought to himself.
"If you don't have an emergency, don't contact me before then," Arthur replied in a neutral tone, already turning away from the group.
The silence that followed was icy.
"That's impossible," Iod said, his voice becoming even harder. "This is teamwork. They are serious about this."
He took a step toward Arthur, forcing him to turn around. Their eyes met, and Arthur could see the cold anger simmering in Iod's gray eyes.
"Did you hear what the instructors said?" Iod continued, articulating each word with menacing precision. "We are a team. We cannot afford to be selfish. We cannot afford to cause trouble because of individualistic behavior."
Arthur stared back, refusing to lower his eyes or show any weakness. It was a stare that lasted several seconds, charged with everything they weren't saying.
You don't even realize, Arthur thought bitterly. You don't even realize that you've already excluded me. That my presence is not truly wanted in this group.
"Fine," Arthur finally said, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. "Since it's teamwork, I will work with the team."
The words were correct, but the tone said something else entirely. It was resignation, not commitment.
"Do you really think we don't notice your attitude?" Iod snapped, his frustration starting to show.
"It doesn't matter what you think," Arthur retorted. "I will do what is expected of me."
"Arthur, please," Gilbert intervened in a more conciliatory voice, trying to defuse the growing tension. "We all have to make an effort here. No one is saying it will be easy, but—"
"Shut up," Arthur cut him off sharply, without even looking at Gilbert. "I wasn't talking to you."
Gilbert froze, clearly caught off guard by the brutality of the response. Elena let out a small gasp of surprise. Catherine frowned, her jaw tightening.
"How dare you speak to him like that?" Iod bristled, his voice rising a notch.
But Arthur did not answer. He simply turned on his heel and began to walk away, his steps echoing on the stone tiles.
"He's too arrogant," Gilbert muttered behind him, his hurt voice carrying through the morning air. "We can't work with someone that arrogant. It's impossible."
"Arrogant," Catherine repeated with a sigh of annoyance. "That's the right word. How are we supposed to form a team with someone who refuses to even speak to us normally?"
Arthur heard every word. Every whisper. Every judgment made behind his back. But he kept walking, his back straight, refusing to give them the satisfaction of seeing that they had touched him.
That's all they know how to say, he thought bitterly. Arrogant. As if it were that simple. As if they truly understood.
What Arthur did not know was that in the shadow of a nearby building, Stone—Instructor Stone—was watching the entire scene. His face remained impassive, but his eyes followed Arthur as he walked away, then settled on the rest of the group who were talking animatedly, gesturing in the direction Arthur had gone.
Instructor Stone said nothing. He simply made a mental note of everything he had seen and heard before disappearing silently, as discreetly as he had appeared.
THE THREE DAYS
The next three days were an exercise in mutual frustration.
Iod's team—for that is what they called themselves, never "our team" or "the group"—met regularly at the training ground. They discussed strategy, assigned roles, and practiced coordinated maneuvers. Iod proved to be a natural leader, organizing the sessions effectively. Gilbert showed impressive physical strength and unwavering loyalty. Elena, despite her shyness, possessed a surprising gift for support magic. Catherine excelled in tactical analysis and planning.
Together, they potentially formed an excellent team.
But Arthur did not attend any of these meetings.
He trained alone in isolated corners of the camp, perfecting his own techniques. He studied alone in the library, deepening his understanding of magic theory. He ate alone, deliberately avoiding the table where his teammates took their meals.
And when, by chance or necessity, he crossed paths with his teammates, the interactions were icy at best, hostile at worst.
"We have a training session planned for dawn tomorrow," Elena informed him one evening, her voice barely audible because she was so uncomfortable. "To practice our combat formations..."
"I'll be there," Arthur replied without looking up from the book he was reading.
But the next day at dawn, Arthur was not there. He was training elsewhere, alone, as usual.
Iod gritted his teeth when he noticed his absence but said nothing. They trained without him.
This pattern repeated itself again and again. Half-hearted invitations, uncommitted confirmations, predictable absences. Each day dug the gap between Arthur and his team a little deeper.
Nixon's team, in comparison, seemed to thrive. They were often seen together, laughing, encouraging each other, building that mysterious chemistry that transforms five individuals into a true unit.
The instructors watched. And they took notes.
THE DAY OF THE EXCURSION
Finally, the day of the excursion arrived.
Dawn rose over an unusually dark sky, heavy clouds piling up over the Thornveil Forest. A bad omen, some would have said. But the children, either too excited or too nervous, paid little attention.
The two groups gathered at the entrance to the forest, loaded with their bags of provisions and equipment. The atmosphere was strange—a mix of anticipated excitement and vague apprehension.
Gareth, Kain, and Liora were present to see them off, but only Stone would accompany them into the forest.
"You have your objectives," Gareth declared without preamble. "You must establish a secure campsite, explore the assigned territory, identify and catalog the present natural resources, and return here in three days. Simple in theory."
"But the Thornveil Forest is no ordinary training ground," Kain added, his serious gaze sweeping across the children's faces, the morning light reflecting off his shaved head. "You will encounter real challenges there. Natural obstacles, wild creatures—nothing beyond your capabilities if you work together, but difficult enough to test you."
"Instructor Stone will accompany you," Gareth continued, "but do not expect him to intervene at the slightest difficulty. He is there to observe and evaluate, not to make your task easier. If you want those condensation pills, you will have to earn them."
He let his words resonate before concluding: "Good luck. You will need it."
The children ventured into the forest, with Stone bringing up the rear with his usual indecipherable expression.
HEART OF DARKNESS
Meanwhile, in the most remote depths of the Thornveil Forest, where even daylight struggled to pierce the thickness of the canopy, a figure moved with an ease that contrasted with the hostile nature of the place.
It was a man, if he could still be called that. His body was covered in scars—some old and whitened, others more recent and still reddish. They formed a complex network on his tanned skin, telling the story of countless battles and suffering. But it was his eyes that were most disturbing: black as polished obsidian, without any trace of white, reflecting a vacancy that sent a chill down the spine.
He stopped at the entrance of a cave, a dark crevice in the rock that seemed to swallow light rather than simply shade it. From his tattered coat, he pulled a small vial containing a pill of a deep purple, almost black. Swirls of dark energy seemed to twirl inside the glass.
Without hesitation, he threw the pill into the back of the cave.
The effect was immediate and spectacular.
The pill exploded in a cloud of toxic, bilious green gas that spread rapidly, seeping into every corner of the cave and beyond, carried by invisible air currents.
Then came the noises.
First, a low rumble, like an underground earthquake. Then scratching, the clicking of claws on stone. Hoarse, bestial breathing.
The creatures were emerging.
Wolves first—but not ordinary wolves. These were monstrous, three times the normal size, their eyes glowing with a demonic red light. Their fur was inky black, appearing to absorb light. Greenish drool dripped from their maws filled with fangs capable of crushing bone.
Then came the goblins, bursting from the surrounding forest like cockroaches attracted to light. They were small but numerous, their bodies twisted and their skin a sickly green. They carried rudimentary but effective weapons—clubs spiked with nails, rusty blades, fire-hardened wooden spears.
Giants followed, their heavy gait making the ground tremble. Their skin was covered in moss and bark, as if they were only half-emerged from the earth itself. Their milky eyes seemed to see nothing but violence.
Orcs too, smaller than their leader but just as fierce, their tusks pointing toward the sky, their muscular bodies tense in anticipation of combat.
And other creatures still—nameless things, aberrations that nature had never intended to create.
All converged toward the source of the gas, responding to a primal call they could not ignore.
But at the center of this tide of monsters, one presence dominated all others.
Slowly, with a terrifying majesty, he emerged from the shadows of the cave.
Three meters of pure muscle and incarnate rage.
An Orc Warchief.
His skin was a dark green bordering on gray, thick as boiled leather and marked with ritual scars. His tusks, protruding from his lower jaw, were as long as human forearms, carved and adorned with war runes. His eyes—a deep red like clotted blood—opened for the first time in... how long? Weeks? Months?
In his massive hand, he held a greataxe that would have required three ordinary men just to lift. The blade, wide as a human torso, was covered in dark marks that were certainly not rust.
The orc chief sniffed the air, his wide nostrils quivering.
And he smiled.
A horrible smile, revealing rows of teeth sharp as razors.
He had sensed something. A scent carried by the wind. A scent he knew well and loved above all else.
The smell of human flesh.
The smell of fear.
The smell of prey.
A growl rose from his throat, so deep it made the surrounding trees vibrate. Birds for miles around took flight in a panic. Small animals burrowed into their dens, paralyzed by instinctive fear.
The man with the scars and black eyes watched all this with satisfaction. He pulled a second pill from his pocket, this one glowing with a sickly greenish light.
With a precise movement, he threw it high into the air toward the edge of the forest.
The pill exploded silently in mid-air, releasing an invisible essence that spread through the atmosphere like a deadly perfume. A call. An invitation. A silent order that only monstrous creatures could hear and understand.
Come. Hunt. Kill.
The orc chief raised his massive axe to the sky and let out a roar that tore through the silence of the forest. An ancient, primitive, terrible war cry.
Behind him, the entire horde took up the cry.
Hundreds of bestial voices roaring in unison.
Then, like a black and swarming tide, the horde moved out.
It was headed straight for the edge of the forest.
Straight toward the camp where the children were setting up their tents.
Straight toward an announced catastrophe.
THE CAMPSITE
"Here, plant the stakes here," Iod ordered, pointing to precise spots around their campsite area. "Gilbert, you take the north side. Elena and Catherine, you take the south. I'll secure the main ropes."
His team worked with an efficiency born of three days of practice together. Everyone knew their role, their responsibilities. Their movements were coordinated and fluid.
All except one.
Arthur sat apart, leaning against a tree, watching his teammates without participating. His face remained neutral, almost impassible, but his eyes followed every movement attentively.
They're doing well without me, he noted with a mix of bitterness and... something else he didn't want to name. Maybe they were right. Maybe I'm just dead weight to them.
That thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.
Not far away, Nixon's team was also working on their campsite. Their approach was different—noisier, more disorganized in appearance, but just as effective. Teresa and Nicole organized the provisions carefully, separating what needed to stay cool from what could handle the heat. Waldrid and Tyson, taller and stronger, took care of the physically demanding aspects—carrying the wooden beams, driving the stakes deep into the hard ground. Nixon supervised everything, adjusting plans as they went, adapting to the terrain.
Their tent took shape quickly, testifying to meticulous preparation and careful execution.
Instructor Stone circulated between the two groups, silent as a shadow, observing everything, saying nothing. He took mental notes—on who took the initiative, who followed orders, who improvised in the face of unforeseen problems.
And on who stayed apart.
His gaze lingered for a long time on Arthur, still alone under his tree. The instructor's expression remained indecipherable, but something passed briefly through his eyes—disappointment? Understanding? Impossible to tell.
"We've finished, instructor," Nixon announced, standing up and wiping the sweat from his forehead. His voice carried a note of legitimate pride.
Stone turned toward their campsite. The tent was solidly anchored, the provisions well-organized, a clearly defined security perimeter. Professional work.
"Good," he said simply, his voice devoid of emotion. "And you?"
He turned to Iod's group.
"A few more minutes," Iod replied without looking up from the rope he was knotting. "We want to make sure everything is perfectly secure."
What went unsaid, but everyone understood, was that without Arthur's participation, they had had to redistribute tasks and improvise. It was taking longer than expected.
Arthur felt the weight of the silence surrounding him. It wasn't a peaceful silence. It was an accusing silence, heavy with unspoken reproaches.
I didn't ask them for anything, he thought defiantly. They're the ones who excluded me from the start. I'm just returning the favor.
But a small voice deep inside him whispered that things were perhaps not that simple. That maybe, just maybe, he also bore a share of responsibility in this situation.
He shook his head to chase away that uncomfortable thought.
The pills, he reminded himself once again. I'm here for the pills. Nothing else matters.
But even while repeating this mantra, he couldn't completely ignore the unease growing inside him.
The afternoon moved forward. The tents were pitched, the campsites organized. A routine began to settle in. But beneath the surface of this normalcy, tensions simmered.
And in the distance, still invisible but approaching relentlessly, a storm of claws and fangs was preparing to crash down upon them.
None of them knew that their true trial was only just beginning.