Chapter 70 – Verdicts and Shadows

  The arena was still thick with smoke and dust from Seven and Arne’s clash, the rune-lights overhead catching every drifting mote. The barrier wards fizzled faintly, overloaded from absorbing too many dampened shots.

  Ripper’s heavy boots crunched across the floor as he strode forward. He stopped squarely in front of Arne, his shadow looming.

  “Well, Arne?” he asked, gravel grinding in his throat. “What’s your verdict? Our human rookie fought you head-on. Does he pass to face the survival trials next month?”

  Arne straightened with a groan, brushing dust from his long jacket. His smirk returned, but there was something harder behind his eyes. He glanced at Seven—still standing, bloodied but unbroken—then back at Ripper.

  “He fought better than I expected,” Arne admitted, his ears flicking once. “Stubborn as a mule. Tactical as hell. Strong enough to hang with us, even missing an arm.” He paused, grin curling wider. “Yeah. He’s got what it takes. Let him run the trial.”

  A ripple ran through the stands. Whispers, disbelief, grudging admiration. Ripper nodded once. “So be it.” His voice carried through the arena.

  Seven limped over to Brinley’s section, shotgun and handgun in tow. He held them out carefully, almost sheepish. “Here. Sorry—I kinda went overboard trying to keep up.”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  Brinley snatched the weapons back like a mother retrieving a child from a playground brawl. She inspected the shotgun first. The crystal housing gave a pitiful crack. A piece of the barrel clattered onto the floor. Sparks hissed along a mana line before dying out.

  Brinley’s face darkened. “…You couldn’t even make it through the match?”

  Seven lifted both hands. “I didn’t break it during the fight. That counts for something, right?”

  The recruits nearby snickered. Brinley just pinched the bridge of her nose. “You’re buying me replacement crystals.”

  Hours passed. Match after match whittled down the recruits until the dust settled and the count was clear: twenty had entered the mock battles, but only ten remained.

  Ripper stood at center, his scarred arms folded behind his back, voice booming through the chamber.

  “Listen up! The mock battles are done. Out of twenty recruits, ten stand ready. Ten who proved they won’t fold under pressure. They’ll face the survival trial in six weeks.”

  One by one, names rolled out: Hopper, Brinley, Fluffy, Seven… and six others whose sweat and bruises had bought them the right to continue.

  Cheers burst from the crowd, but not all were kind. A handful of failures glared daggers, their resentment hot enough to feel. Whispers rippled like smoke:

  A human in the trials?

  He won’t last a day.

  What if the Guild’s wasting resources on him?

  Seven felt the weight of every stare. His hand closed tighter around the battered training sword strapped across his back. He had bled for this. No glare could strip that away.

  Fluffy limped over, still grinning ear to ear despite the bandaged foot Rhea had fussed over earlier. She slung an arm around Seven’s shoulder. “See, newbie? Told you you’d survive this far. Now we’re trial buddies!”

  Seven huffed, too tired to push her off.

  Brinley adjusted her goggles, expression a cocktail of relief and irritation. “Just don’t break any more of my prototypes before the trial, alright?”

  Seven gave her a weak smirk. “No promises.”

  Hopper, quiet and steady, passed by with only a brief nod—a warrior’s acknowledgment.

  High above in the gallery, Miss Hopps leaned against the railing, her sharp red eyes scanning the chosen ten. Ripper joined her, arms crossed.

  “They’re green,” he said simply. “But they’ll hold. Some of them have real grit. That human especially… he might shake things up in this dangerous world.”

  Hopps didn’t answer right away. Her gaze lingered on Seven’s exhausted frame as he sank into the stands.

  “They’d better,” she murmured at last. “Or the trial will eat them alive.”