It wasn't that Michael wanted people to gather around him, but he couldn't help but wonder.
"Do I really look that weak?"
His gaze dropped to himself.
Fair skin—so pale he could be mistaken for a noble's daughter.
No sight of a weapon on his body.
…Yeah, he did look fragile.
Michael's lips twitched at the thought, but in the end, he didn't really care.
He shifted his focus back to his surroundings.
Unlike previous times when there were ten groups, this time there were eleven—with him being one all by himself.
It made him stand out, sure, but Michael couldn't be bothered with the stares.
Just as he continued observing and wondering how he should handle the trial, the gates embedded in the arena's wall creaked open—
—followed by the chilling howl of wolves.
The wolves emerged from the gates one by one, their paws silent on the blood-stained stone.
Unlike before, they didn't rush in immediately. They simply stood there, eyes glowing faintly, their low growls rumbling like distant thunder.
Michael narrowed his eyes.
They were behaving differently.
Before, the wolves had attacked with unrelenting madness. But now… they were cautious. Almost hesitant.
At first, he wondered if it was a tactic, a trick. But then he realized something—something subtle yet unmistakable.
They were staring at the bloodstains on the arena floor.
The last group had been slaughtered here.
And these wolves could smell it. Sense it. Whatever bloodlust had driven them before now warred with the memory of death. The scent of their fallen kin lingered in the air like a warning.
That wasn't all he noticed.
With a soft whisper, he activated his [Detect] skill, letting his perception sweep over the wolves.
What he discovered made his brows lift slightly.
That explained their strange, scattered formation. They worked together, but not as a cohesive unit.
He also noticed something else.
That explained their earlier ferocity, their relentless aggression even when wounded. Desperation.
However, it didn't take long for the wolves to be once again taken by hunger.
What Michael didn't expect… was to be ignored.
As the wolves emerged fully from the gates—snarling, lean with starvation and twitching with anticipation—they didn't charge at him.
They ignored several others too.
The wolves seemed to have locked onto something else entirely.
One group out of the eleven.
And without hesitation, the wolves surged—ten of them, all in coordinated motion—as if drawn by an unseen hand toward that cluster of contestants.
Gasps rippled through the audience stands, murmurs rising in waves.
In previous rounds, wolves had fought in chaotic spurts, sometimes attacking lone individuals or focusing in packs of two or three. But never had they moved —as a unit, targeting one group with collective aggression.
On the stage, panic erupted.
The targeted group—a mix of ten young men—scrambled into a makeshift formation.
But the outcome wasn't difficult to predict.
Two of the contestants had been bluffing.
They weren't Intermediate Rank as they'd claimed.
Primary Rank at best.
They'd thought, perhaps, to sneak past with clever tactics or luck. A calculated risk that turned suicidal in the face of ten starving wolves.
Even those who were Intermediate didn't fare much better.
Monsters at the same stage were generally stronger. Faster. Deadlier. And these wolves had been starved, driven to a frenzy.
The group held for a moment.
Then the wolves struck.
The first clash was brutal.
One boy's shield shattered instantly, his body flung across the arena like a broken doll.
A girl screamed as a wolf lunged past her guard.
However, before anything truly brutal could unfold, the middle-aged male officer suddenly appeared in the middle of the group.
With swift movements, he dragged the injured participants out and, at the same time, grabbed the wolves that had inflicted the injuries—flinging them across the stage to separate them.
This happened five more times as five additional participants vanished from the stage.
Only then did the middle-aged man return to his seat in the audience.
Now, the stage was relatively even.
Michael, who had intended to continue observing, found that he no longer had the luxury—
One of the wolves had locked eyes with him.
However, unlike the other participants who would have panicked in his position, Michael's eyes remained calm.
Almost instantly, the world around him seemed to slow.
Even the seemingly powerful officials in blue robes were no exception.
Michael stood in the middle of the stage, his eyes lingering on the still wolves at the far end.
Not because he was unsure of what to do—but because, for the first time since the competition began, he was truly considering his approach.
How should I go about this trial?
He had been determined to win the competition from the very start.
That much hadn't changed. But now, standing in the arena, feeling the rough stone beneath his feet and the sharp gazes from the stands above, he couldn't help but wonder—
Should I show everything?
Originally, he had planned to hold back. Reveal just enough strength to pass each round, and then gradually ramp up his power as the stages went on. It wasn't about hiding his strength—he didn't care about secrecy. He simply didn't see the point of gathering too much attention.
Now, as he stood with blood drying on the floor and tension heavy in the air, a different thought crept in.
Why bother holding back at all?
These people were all his competition. Every one of them. Eventually, they would be eliminated—if not by monsters, then by the challenges ahead. Mercy was wasted effort. And at the end of the day, if he was to be recognized, he would have to stand above them anyway.
Michael's eyes turned cold.
He glanced at his surroundings. All ten wolves were still alive. He looked down at his hands—unarmed, unmarked. And then—