He had passed the second trial. Departing the freezing cavern, he was relieved to feel warmth and see open plains without places for anything to lurk unseen.

At first he thought it would have been easy. A relief from the second trial's cold, with no need to constantly watch above and around him for enemies - there was no hiding in these muddy flatlands. But that muddiness quickly gave way to mudflats, with water and mud alike coating the ground, and his feet sinking into the ground with each step.

This was not the type of trial he expected. He had fought through the dunes and heat of the desert. He had survived the cold death the mountains had thought to give him. He had killed the monsters that lurked within both. He was not ready for this kind of enemy, nor this kind of battle.

Walking, ever so slowly - the horizon barely moving, the mudflats and horrific humid heat drowning him. And unlike the desert, the heat had no relief - wind only brought a humid heat, one that he had memorized the taste of.

There was no question of technique. No use for his knowledge. No urgent battles to fight or the flux between tension and relaxation that combat brought... And with magic off the table, the third trial was exactly that. A simple trial of endurance, of an endless half tension. To wander this endless mudflat till he reached an end.

There was no food or water to be found, much to his regret. No dry land or shelter from the sun in sight - a sun that, now that he looked at it, didn't seem to be moving.

He had no idea how far he had walked. All he knew was that the snow and icy floor that had given way to this mud and silt was no longer in sight, simply a line of footsteps that were already beginning to fade away as the mud moved back to fill it.

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He took off his shoes. They were heavy and made heavier by the mud, meant for combat and not suited to these mudflats. They were another mark of his path that would sink into the mud and be forgotten, though not as quickly.

Eventually, time began to pass quickly as he stumbled forward without thought. He was tired from the trials beforehand, but now he was exhausted. Slowly stumbling forward through mud for hours, always

He turned back to see his progress against the mountain, only to feel his foot sink through the silt down past the kneecap. He remained there, instead of urgently struggling to get free - not out of experience, but simple exhaustion. He remained there for a moment. Then, ever so slowly, he rose, pulling the leg out of the mud and remaining prone against the muddy ground.

He couldn't muster up the strength to get up and walk with the tempting coolness of the mud below the surface beckoning him to rest, but he wouldn't allow himself to rest and risk sleep. He crawled, ever so slowly, a stroke forward, then a pause. A stroke forward, then a pause.

He continued this way for a while, before he had regained his strength and gotten up, to continue forward. The sun was still beating down on him from above, like a vengeful god. After a time he stopped wondering about how long this would take or the future he would have after he made it. Eventually, he stopped thinking.

And walked. Time was measured in disparate events, with no real form to measure. Eventually, he began counting steps. Something to occupy the last vestiges of his mind. He was tempted to turn back and look at the mountain, but he did not want to lose his balance again.

He kept going. Walking until it was unbearable, then collapsing into the mud and slowly crawling between pauses to cool down.

His clothes were still on him... though he had dropped most of his possessions a while back. The buckler still dangled from his hip, as well as his sword, scavenged from around the desert or caverns, he cared not to remember. Once again he felt a fleeting regret at the loss of his quarterstaff. It would have been helpful here.

For how long he wandered he did not know.