The flood had reshaped the battlefield, but the Verdant Shroud was not done yet.
As the second night fell, a new danger crept through the forest.
A faint green mist slithered between the trees, silent and nearly invisible under the dim moonlight. At first, competitors barely noticed. Then, the first casualties appeared.
A lone warrior, perched on a high branch, suddenly clutched his throat, gasping for air. His veins darkened, his body convulsing before he plunged into the water below.
A group of rogue cultivators, gathered around a dying fire, suddenly realized their skin was turning pale, their limbs weakening. By the time they reached for their antidotes, half of them were already collapsing.
The Verdant Shroud had released its second trial: The Poisoned Mist.
---
The mist moved like a living entity, creeping into every crevice, coiling around survivors like a venomous serpent. Those without antidotes had mere minutes before their bodies succumbed.
It did not take long before alliances began to crumble.
A squad of four warriors, all from lesser noble houses, had stockpiled antidotes the night before. But when the mist reached them, one of their own struck first, slashing his companion’s throat and stealing his vial. The others turned on each other instantly. Only one survived, staggering away with bloodied hands and a single bottle.
Dorian Valenhart, a scholar-warrior with a sharp mind, had foreseen the possibility of poison in the trial. His group had secured herbs in advance, but now, they found themselves under siege. Others who had failed to prepare were coming for them—willing to kill for a cure.
Rael Aldreth’s faction, already stationed at higher ground, now controlled both safety and antidotes. But rather than hoard them, he made a calculated move—offering the antidotes in exchange for loyalty. His faction grew threefold overnight, turning his temporary alliance into a true military force.
Seraphina ravencroft remained unseen. The mist was a death sentence for most, but he moved with calm precision, striking down weakened opponents and taking their supplies. He did not need to stockpile antidotes—he simply took what he needed from the dead.
Some fought.
Some betrayed.
And some simply fell.
---
The floating screens displayed the death toll rising.
Where there had been a thousand competitors, only six hundred now remained.
The spectators watched in tense silence as the most powerful figures on the battlefield slowly emerged.
Lucian Valecourt, his lightning-infused body repelling the mist, marched forward, cutting through any who dared challenge him.
Selene Valeheart, already an expert in controlling the battlefield, formed a cold barrier around herself, freezing the air and preventing the mist from reaching her.
Phantom Wraith, the assassin, had turned the mist into his weapon. He lurked just beyond the poisoned air, striking at those weakened by its effects before vanishing into the shadows.
The Black-Armored Spearman did not move at all. He merely sat within the mist, unaffected. As challengers approached, thinking him an easy target, they were swiftly cut down.
By the time the mist began to recede at dawn, two hundred more had fallen.
Those who remained were not just survivors—they were predators.
And the Verdant Shroud still had more trials to unleash.