The following day, the alarm signaling the arrival at the planet blared loudly and persistently.

"BAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Tyrin woke up dizzy, his head pounding from the drinks Damian had offered the night before. He regretted letting himself indulge, but part of him knew he had to enjoy that last evening. Though he didn't know exactly what to expect, one thing was certain: the planet they were heading to would be hostile. He'd tried to savor the fleeting peace while it lasted.

"Looks like you didn't sleep well. Not used to drinking?" Damian teased.

"I've never drunk alcohol before."

"Are you serious? Did you hear that, sister?" Damian said, laughing.

"You two, shut up," Cassandra interrupted, her tone sharp. "We need to focus on what's coming next."

In the corridor, everyone was ready, waiting for the man who would lead them. After forty minutes, someone finally appeared.

"Alright, everyone. Follow me to the main hangar."

The path to the hangar was familiar to Tyrin, who had memorized the ship's corridors. But what caught him off guard was the sight of the planet outside. It was colossal, an aberration that defied reason. Tyrin knew the ship maintained a safe minimum distance from any planet, but this one seemed disproportionate—far larger than anything he had ever seen.

In the hangar, Baron Konem stood on an improvised altar of gold and silver, gesturing theatrically.

"My beloved recruits," he began, his voice resonant and dramatic. "I wish I could tell you that the challenges you faced before were the hardest you'd encounter. But I'd be lying. This planet is a thousand times more dangerous. I don't expect all of you to survive, but I'll be pleased if a few prove worthy. Good luck."

The words echoed through the hangar, but what stuck in Tyrin's mind wasn't the Baron's speech—it was the name of the planet. He knew of Vanaheim: nicknamed the "Realm of the Gods," it was anything but divine. It was a grinder, a place where the strong prospered and the weak were annihilated.

"Well then," the Baron concluded, "prepare for landing."

The Baron's subordinates began shoving the recruits toward the transport ships.

"But we need to pick up our teammates!" Tyrin protested.

"Shut up, recruit. They're already on the planet. Move or die."

Inside the ship, Tyrin sat down among familiar faces, including Damian and Cassandra. In front of him sat one of the Dracont siblings. The tension in the air was palpable, but Tyrin focused on one thought:

"I need to stay alive. For my sister. No matter what."

"Alright, everyone," announced the pilot. "We're departing."

The descent to Vanaheim wasn't just difficult; it was a test of survival in itself. The planet's gravity—three times stronger than the Imperial standard—turned every movement into a battle. The intense pressure didn't just affect muscles and bones; it weighed on the soul, a constant reminder that this world wasn't meant for the weak.

And yet, Vanaheim was a planet of strange, dangerous beauty. Its native inhabitants, shaped by its brutal gravity, had skin harder than stone and bones as resilient as precious metals. Human fortresses dotting its surface were built from the remains of colossal creatures that had once ruled the land.

These creatures, known as Dragons, were legendary—gigantic, with some even capable of flight. But by the time humans arrived, the Dragons had already vanished, buried in the past as myths. If they still existed, they never revealed themselves.

The fortress of Vélos, where the group was landing, was unique. Constructed within the skeleton of a Dragon, its architecture mirrored the planet's harshness and majesty. Enormous ribs formed the arches of its entrance, while the skull served as the heart of the structure. Being there felt like walking through an ancient tomb, a constant reminder that even the mightiest could fall.

"All of you, disembark now!" an officer barked from the ship. "We leave in five minutes!"

The disembarkation was slower than Tyrin had expected. His muscles groaned with each step, and he felt the creaking of his spine under the gravity's weight. As the group trudged toward the exit, a voice, arrogant and cutting, sliced through the air.

"You inferior beings, move aside! I want to be the first to step onto this planet!"

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Unsurprisingly, the words came from one of the Dracont nobles. And as expected, everyone obeyed. Tyrin understood why: the laws that protected ordinary humans didn't apply to nobles. They could kill anyone without consequence. In fact, there was even a law that encouraged it—a political tool to maintain fear and hierarchy.

"That's right, rats. Watch as the strongest among you conquers this planet first!"

With unchecked arrogance, the noble leapt from the ship. What followed was unexpected and grotesque. As soon as his feet touched the ground, his legs buckled under the planet's intense gravity, shattering into multiple fragments.

"HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

The noble's scream echoed through the ship, breaking the stunned silence. Before anyone could react, a colossal figure appeared.

A man, towering over three meters tall, approached the ship. His presence was overwhelming, as heavy as the planet's gravity. Each step he took reverberated through the ground, and his voice boomed like thunder.

"I see these apes haven't learned anything after centuries."

Beside him stood a severe-looking woman, her expression filled with disdain.

"Each year, the warriors get worse. This year, I doubt we'll even have one elite."

"It's too early for conclusions," the giant replied, though there was an edge of agreement in his tone.

Tyrin watched, a knot forming in his stomach. The giant was immense in every sense—a force of nature rather than a man. Even his appearance seemed beyond what Tyrin could classify as "human."

The silence was broken again by the fallen noble, who managed to shout with the little strength he had left:

"Shut your mouth, you brute! Do you know who you're talking to?"

The giant stopped. His icy gaze turned to the noble. Without saying a word, he raised his hand and delivered a slap. To Tyrin, the motion seemed slow, almost in slow motion. But the result was devastating. The noble's head exploded like an egg, spraying blood and fragments of bone everywhere.

"Holy shit, Caronte! You killed him!" the woman beside the giant yelled, clearly annoyed.

"How is it my fault he was so weak? I just wanted to flick him…" Caronte replied, almost childishly.

"Now my clothes are covered in this idiot's blood. What a mess!"

"Sorry, leader. My apologies."

"Shut up. Take this trash to the caged beasts. They must be hungry. I'll handle the rookies."

What followed was even stranger. The giant, who seemed capable of leveling mountains, obeyed the woman with the deference of a servant. She turned to the rest of the group, forcing a smile.

"Well then," she said. "It seems we've gotten off to a bad start. At least that guy did, hahaha… Ah, well, never mind. Gentlemen, welcome to my territory. Now, jump!"

Tyrin hesitated. When he finally looked out of the ship, he saw the sky. It was a deep red, mixed with hues of orange and gold. It looked like something out of a dream—or a nightmare.

Despite everything—the noble's scream, the tension in the air—Tyrin found himself momentarily entranced by the beauty of the horizon.

"Well then, since none of you will jump, here's what we'll do."

The woman grabbed a radio clipped to her belt and spoke calmly:

"Baron, the recruits need an incentive. Disable the ship's gravity."

The request, though polite, left no room for refusal. Within seconds, the ship's gravity was cut. Everyone inside was thrown to the floor, helpless against the sudden change.

Everyone except Tyrin.

He realized too late that he was still standing. When he tried to fall like the others, the moment had already passed. The giant had noticed him, and a macabre smile spread across his face.

"How interesting," murmured Caronte.

"Did you see what I saw, leader?" asked the giant, now carrying a body over his shoulder.

"I saw something that sparked my curiosity. Now it has my attention. But what is a specimen like this doing here? Is he from a religious planet?"

"No, ma'am. Nothing on this ship is from any relevant planet. Apparently, the strongest one was the one who ended up dying."

"I see… Let them adapt to the planet's gravity," the leader replied, her tone cold but intrigued.

The giant turned to the group still inside the ship.

"Ladies and gentlemen, you heard our leader: she is merciful. You will remain here until you manage to exit. Dinner will be served in six hours. That is how long you have to adapt. If you fail, you may return to the mothership. I'm not sure how the Baron handles deserters, but I strongly recommend you try to leave."

With the same calm demeanor they arrived with, the two individuals departed, leaving the recruits to their fate.

What followed was a silent hell.

The gravity, three times stronger than standard, pinned most of the recruits to the ground. It took nearly two hours for some to begin crawling or attempting to stand. Several more hours passed before the first individuals managed to leave the ship, only to be immediately taken to the infirmary by waiting robots stationed near the exit.

Inside the ship, the predominant sound was of screams and moans.

"For the love of the Emperor, someone help me! I don't want to die!" cried one of the recruits.

Others simply wept, consumed by the pain and despair.

With just over forty minutes left before the deadline, Tyrin finally managed to crawl to the edge and fall to the ground outside. Even then, he did not escape unscathed: a fractured wrist and a bit of theatrical performance secured his transfer to the infirmary alongside the others.

The leader reviewed the reports with an expression of mild disappointment.

"How many made it out?"

"Half, ma'am."

"Fewer than last year. Have we informed the ones who stayed behind that it was a bluff?"

"No, ma'am."

"Okay. Send everyone who didn't make it to the mass-exchange machine. Those who made it out, too."

"Did anyone prove capable of beginning training?"

"No, ma'am. The least injured recruit fractured his wrist and seems to have damaged some internal organ. Even with maximum doses of sedatives, he's still screaming in pain."

"Pathetic. But I didn't expect anything different from such a pitiful harvest."

"And the religious ship? Did they adapt well?"

"Of course they did. I'm tired of teaching those fanatics."

"They're exceptional in their own way, but they still lack the soul of a true strategist. In the end, they're only good for fanatic suicide missions."

"No Ultra candidates?"

"We haven't had a new Ultra in decades, ma'am. Let's focus on producing as many Astras as possible."

"Understood. Dismissed."

Once the soldier left, the leader was left alone, deep in thought.

"So why do I feel like we're about to be surprised…"