Darkness descended upon the Verdant Shroud, cloaking the trial grounds in an ominous silence. The transition from day to night was swift, as if the very forest itself conspired to catch the unprepared off guard.
For the first time since the trial began, the chaotic clashes of battle began to subside. Many participants, especially those without proper shelter, felt the creeping dread of nightfall. The weak had already been culled—but now, the true danger of the trial would reveal itself.
In the coliseum, the massive floating screens flickered as they adjusted to the dimly lit environment. Spectators leaned forward, eager to see who would thrive and who would fall.
---
The first night was the true separator of strength and strategy. It was one thing to fight in broad daylight where threats were visible. It was another to navigate the dangers of the dark, where every rustling leaf could mean death.
Different factions and individuals adapted in their own ways
Rael and his group of noble heirs had chosen a naturally defensible position—a small, elevated plateau near a flowing river, surrounded by jagged cliffs on three sides. It was an ideal location; the high ground made it difficult for enemies to ambush them, and the water source ensured survival.
His men had already constructed basic fortifications—a rudimentary barrier of sharpened logs and formation runes, glowing faintly in the night.
"We control the only clean water source in this sector," Rael stated, his cold gaze scanning his group. "If others need it, they will either barter... or die."
His words were met with solemn nods. House Aldreth bred warriors, not idealists.
---
Dorian had constructed an entirely different defense. Rather than fortify a single location, he used trap formations and misdirection to create a maze of illusions and pitfalls around his territory.
Any enemy who entered would never know if they were truly facing him or just another illusion.
As the first few desperate competitors tried to invade his space, they quickly found themselves trapped in shifting landscapes, falling into hidden pits, or attacking nothing but shadows.
"Panic breeds mistakes," Dorian whispered as he watched one trapped competitor swing wildly at an illusion. "And mistakes mean death."
---
Deep in the forest, far from any major alliances, Phantom Wraith moved like a shadow through the trees. He had no need for shelters or defenses—he was the very nightmare that others needed to defend against.
His first victim of the night barely had time to react. A whisper of movement. A glint of steel. A body slumping to the ground before the system-engraved plate on his chest activated, teleporting him away from the trial.
Another kill. Another step closer to victory.
---
The competitors were not the only ones adapting. The Verdant Shroud itself seemed to change with nightfall, as if it had been waiting for the sun to vanish before unleashing its true horrors.
Deep howls echoed through the trees.
Glowing eyes flickered in the darkness.
The spectators in the coliseum gasped as the floating screens focused on one of the deadliest threats of the trial—
The Nightfangs.
Shadowy, wolf-like beasts with elongated claws and glowing red eyes, the Nightfangs were creatures of pure nightmare. Their bodies blended into the darkness, making them nearly invisible. They hunted in packs, and their prey never saw them coming until it was too late.
The first encounter was brutal.
A group of lesser competitors—rogue cultivators with no alliances—had foolishly gathered around a small fire for warmth.
The fire, instead of protecting them, had become a beacon.
Before they could react, a dozen Nightfangs rushed them from the darkness, their movements silent as the grave.
The screens flickered as screams filled the coliseum.
One by one, the cultivators fell.
Only one of them managed to activate his escape rune, vanishing in a flash of light. The rest were left to their fate.
---
Cyrus Stormrider – The Lightning Hunter
Unlike others who sought to hide from the Nightfangs, Cyrus Stormrider did the opposite.
Standing in an open clearing, his body crackled with arcs of lightning, illuminating the darkness around him.
The Nightfangs circled him, cautious, sensing something dangerous about the lone figure.
Then, he moved.
In an instant, lightning exploded from his body, tearing through the air. The first Nightfang lunged—only to be obliterated mid-air by a lightning-infused strike.
The others hesitated.
Cyrus grinned.
"Come, then. Let’s see if the beasts of this trial are any different from the cowards who hide behind noble titles."
With a single step, he launched himself into battle.
---
Seated in the upper levels of the coliseum, Sylas Aldreth continued to observe. His eyes never wavered, analyzing each participant, each strategy, and each mistake.
But as he watched Rael dominate his position, Dorian control the battlefield with his mind, and Cyrus treat the Nightfangs as mere prey, he etched every movement into his memory.
One day, it would be his turn.
One day, he would face challenges greater than this trial.
And when that day came, he would be ready.
The first night of the Decennial Trial raged on.
And as the screens flickered between scenes of struggle, survival, and slaughter, one undeniable truth became clear—
By dawn, the true monsters would stand above the rest.