Eldric watched as the gate closed behind Ashira, allowing himself a brief moment of introspection. It wasn’t the first time he had seen someone step through that gate, yet despite the passing years, the same feeling always accompanied him—a quiet nostalgia mixed with a hint of bitterness. The Trial was eternal, immutable, and indifferent to those who dared to undertake it. People came and went, but it endured like an unceasing ritual for those brave enough to face its challenges.

How many times had he witnessed that moment already? How many hopeful, ambitious candidates had passed through that portal, believing that fate was on their side? Eldric could scarcely count them all, but one thing was certain—the Trial held no sentiment. It accepted everyone equally, caring not whether someone was exceptional or merely average. It simply did what it was meant to do.

He sighed softly, crossing his arms. Ashira was now alone. There was nothing he could do for her. He stared at the sealed gate, his thoughts drifting back to the past.

Memories slowly returned to him, like a soft echo from days gone by. In his family, the Trial was more than just a mere test—it was a ritual, a tool of selection, the ultimate examination for those deemed worthy of bearing their name. Access was not a gift; it was something one had to earn. Eldric recalled how he himself had to devote years to preparation, earn the favor of his elders, and prove his worth. Merely being allowed into the Trial was evidence of extraordinary talent.

Those who failed were neither punished nor cast aside, yet they were not forgotten either. They simply ceased to matter. They were no longer considered potential heirs or individuals worth nurturing. Instead, they became tools—servants of the family, soldiers, advisors—but never the very foundation of it.

The four Trials were designed to separate the truly talented from those who not only possessed talent but also the mindset of a victor. The Itch Trial tested one’s endurance against a minor yet persistent discomfort. The Physical Pain Trial exposed the body to sheer suffering, forcing one to endure despite the lure of immediate relief. The Mental Pain Trial altered one’s very perception of reality, confining the mind in a realm of agony. The Absolute Solitude Trial stripped away all stimuli, condemning the participant to an emptiness that proved to be the most grueling test of all.

Each Trial eliminated those who could not withstand the ordeal—those who possessed talent but could not bear the burden of being a Lord. Only those with something more than mere strength, with an indomitable spirit, could progress.

And then there was the Final Trial—the Betrayal Trial. It was a meticulously engineered trap, a test that offered the greatest bonus, an enhancement of incomparable power… but it came at a steep price. The family regarded it as the ultimate culling—a means to separate the loyal from those who craved power above all else. Those who passed it proved they were willing to sacrifice everything for their own might.

They weren’t expelled or punished; rather, they ceased to be part of the clan. They were deemed unworthy to sit at the table of power, unworthy of trust—and yet they became extremely valuable tools. Their enhanced statistics rendered them formidable, their determination made them effective, and their lack of loyalty meant they could be deployed in situations where true family members would never be sent. They became the blades that could be directed wherever needed.

However, those who resisted that temptation were the most prized by the family. They needed not only determination but also the mindset to forsake unimaginable power in order to remain true to their comrades. The family sought not only those ready to betray—equally valued was the discovery of those who, even in the face of the greatest temptation, could say "no." For they were the true foundation of the clan, its real strength.

He raised an eyebrow slightly, and a barely perceptible smile curved his lips.

"Let's see what kind of Lord you are," he murmured to himself, not taking his eyes off the portal.

***

Ashira POV

The moment I stepped through the portal, everything around me vanished. There was no sound, no light, not even the sensation of falling. Simply… emptiness. I felt as if I were suspended in an endless void.

[System] First Trial Initiated.

The words resonated in my mind as if the system itself were whispering in my ear. The air suddenly grew heavier, and the surrounding darkness began to brighten. In an instant, I found myself in a white room—without windows, without doors, without any point of reference. Only an immaculate, sterile space.

[System] Itch Trial

Victory Condition: Endure until the end.

I blinked. Is that all? Nothing more? No monsters, traps, or opponents?

For the first few seconds, nothing happened. Then I felt a slight tingling on my skin—initially gentle, barely noticeable, like a single ant crawling along my shoulder.

I raised my hand and scratched my shoulder. For a fraction of a second, I felt relief, but then the itch returned—stronger and far more irritating. It spread over a larger area, as if my touch had merely awakened a hidden fire beneath my skin.

Instinct urged me to raise my hand again, but I held back. It was just a mild itch—nothing I couldn’t ignore.

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Seconds passed, and the sensation began to intensify. The tingling transformed into a searing itch that spread over my hands and neck. With every moment, it grew worse—as if someone were dusting my skin with millions of microscopic needles.

I could have scratched, but when I tried, the itch intensified even further, as if my skin had remembered every touch and retaliated with a double dose of suffering.

I gritted my teeth. Now I understood what this Trial was all about. I could scratch, yet every time I did, the itch spread further, amplifying the agony. It wasn’t a simple test of endurance—it was a trap for the mind, forcing me to fight against my own instincts.

At first, there was only a slight change. The skin on my hands appeared a bit lighter, as if it were subtly taut. Then something twitched—a barely perceptible ripple beneath the surface. My breath caught in my throat. For a second, I tried to convince myself it was just an illusion, but then came the next sign—a more distinct movement, as if something was shifting under my skin, crawling, trying to find a way out.

Tiny, writhing shapes moved beneath my skin, slowly sliding along my forearms, climbing onto my shoulders, and reaching up to my neck. My heart raced, and my breath became shallow. Every movement of those shapes made the itch erupt in waves of unbearable discomfort, like thousands of tiny creatures seeking an escape, crawling just beneath the surface.

I recoiled suddenly, trying to shake off the sensation, but it was everywhere. My hands trembled, and my muscles tensed in a desperate attempt to hold back the movement I so desperately craved—scratching. My skin burned, itched, and pulsed, as if something lived within it.

A choked gasp escaped my throat, and my hands moved of their own accord toward my arms. At the last moment, I pulled my fingers back, feeling my instinct clash with my reason. I had to stop it, but I couldn’t—I knew that if I began, I wouldn’t be able to cease.

My body begged for relief, but my mind screamed: don't do it.

No, it couldn’t be real.

It isn’t real.

I knew it, yet my mind refused to listen. My entire body screamed, demanding relief. Every nerve pleaded for me to end this nightmare.

Scratching did nothing. Every touch only deepened the illusion—I felt my skin pulsating under my fingers, as if something were trying to break free.

My fingers clenched into fists, my nails digging into my palms, all in a vain effort to suppress the instinctive urge. Time seemed to slow down. Seconds stretched into eternity.

I couldn’t breathe.

The world around me pulsed in an erratic rhythm, as if it were losing its shape. The itch was omnipresent—a fire that seared my skin, gnawing at every cell of my body. Every nerve screamed, demanding relief.

Beneath my eyelids, I felt a feverish pulse. My skin trembled in convulsions, and my senses split into two realities at war with each other. My mind pleaded for reason, but my instinct roared: SCRATCH.

I couldn’t. I couldn’t give in. I already knew it was a trap—every movement only worsened the situation, and now I felt the line between illusion and reality beginning to blur.

[System] Warning! Psychological stress threshold exceeded 75%. Level continues to rise.

My breath grew shallow, as if I were breathing through a narrow slit. Everything around me seemed to contract, confining me within a tight space filled with an itching nightmare.

Scratching was the only thought in my head. Scratch. I had to do it. Just a little. Maybe then it would stop.

No. It was a trap. I knew it.

My fingers moved against my will. Sharp nails scraped along my skin, slicing through the air, ready to dig into my flesh. I had to restrain myself. I had to… But the itch pulsed on, and the pain grew—real, tangible, unbearable.

[System] Psychological stress level has risen to 80%. Illusion symptoms are intensifying.

I felt something new.

My skin began to move.

No, not the skin—what lay beneath it.

Something was shifting, crawling along my bones. I blinked, but it didn’t help. It was real. I felt something pushing beneath my nails, along my arms, as if it were trying to break free.

My breath caught in my throat. Scratch. I had to. It was no longer about seeking relief—something had to emerge from within.

I recoiled abruptly; my legs refused to obey me. I collapsed to my knees, my hands clenched into fists, my nails digging into my skin in a desperate attempt to hold back the inevitable.

No. This cannot be real.

[System] Psychological stress level has risen to 90%. Critical threshold reached.

A deep inhale. One.

An exhale. Two.

However, it achieved nothing. The itch pulsed like a living, separate entity, drilling into my nerves. The visions grew more intense—I saw the skin on my hands crack, and from beneath it emerged thin, black threads. This isn’t real.

My world spun. My mind fought for control, but my instinct screamed for relief:

"Scratch yourself."

No.

I couldn’t do it.

This was the Trial—a test of willpower. I could have surrendered and let the sensation consume me… or I could endure it.

Without looking at anything else, I closed my eyes. I focused on something simple: my breathing. On one point in my body that wasn’t touched by the suffering—my heart.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

I am here. I am alive. This is just an illusion.

Inhale.

For a moment, the itch subsided.

Exhale.

For a fraction of a second, I felt silence.

When I opened my eyes, the illusion was still there, but something had changed. My mind no longer reacted to it in the same way. It was no longer real—it had lost its grip.

[System] Psychological stress level drops to 85%.

Once again. Inhale. Exhale.

The images in my head began to blur, like tracks in the sand washed away by waves. The visions lost their clarity, as if my brain had finally begun rejecting the false stimuli.

[System] Psychological stress level drops to 70%.

It was working.

I stopped fighting. I allowed the illusion to exist, but I refused to give it control.

I didn’t ignore the pain—I accepted it.

[System] Psychological stress level drops to 50%.

I didn’t run from the itch. I didn’t scratch. I simply let it be, letting it flow through my body like a wave that would eventually recede.

The chaos in my mind gradually quieted, like waves receding after a storm. The illusion weakened until it finally vanished completely.

[System] Psychological stress level dropped to 0%. Trial completed successfully.

I collapsed to my knees, gasping for air. My entire body ached, as if I had truly endured real torture. Sweat drenched my forehead, my hair clung to my skin, and my hands trembled.

I lifted my gaze, and the white room slowly began to fade, as if it were merely a shadow of reality. My eyes sparkled with exhaustion, yet a faint, triumphant smile appeared at the corners of my mouth.

When I blinked, the world around me spun, and then suddenly everything went silent. There was no more white room, no more illusion, no more itch. I was once again suspended in that same void I had found myself in before the Trial—shapeless, without boundaries, merely adrift in nothingness.

[System] Congratulations! Trial completed successfully. Title "Unyielding Will - First Degree" acquired.