Michael sat clunkily on a chair, watching the auditorium below. This was not what he planned when he said he wanted to return to the Labyrinth.

How did he always end up blocked by the Elevation?

It shouldn’t take long, though. The time was ticking, and it had been almost a month since the Elevation started. Soon, it would end, and as usual, when it took such a long time, everyone would’ve failed.

Poor bastards. May they rest in peace away from this place.

It was unlikely that their bodies would be recovered. The terrors who wandered the maze on the 20th floor had no issues consuming the bodies of the fabled.

Michael raised his head from the auditorium and looked at the huge, ancient-looking clock plastered on the wall. Instead of twelve markers, it had thirty, and currently, its single, amethyst-colored needle was pointing to twenty-six.

Four days, they still have time.

He redirected his attention back to the arena below, where a group examination was about to begin.

Michael smiled. For a moment, he relinquished the memories of the time he had spent here on the 19th floor's apex and the absurd number of times he had failed to pass the exam. Considering that he had survived the Elevation, it was completely worth it.

His smile dissipated as he remembered his old team—of the five, only one remained besides himself. A woman’s face appeared in his mind, but he rapidly shoved it away. That face brought up memories—one-sided memories. She didn’t even remember Michael anymore—he had made sure of that.

The Labyrinth, indeed, was unforgiving.

Michael watched as sleek leather armor materialized on the examiner’s body. The man jumped energetically twice, the flexible armor hugging his form tightly.

A Grace build, thought Michael. He was sure of it.

He lifted his eyebrow a moment later when the examiner summoned a long, silver needle embroidered with golden thread. The odd weapon measured almost sixty inches and was crafted from a single slab of metal.

When it appeared, the light around the examiner distorted, bending towards the needle in his hand. A moment later, the area around him was obscured.

What a showoff, commented Michael, slightly envious.

The arena roared upon the sight, causing those about to take the test to tremble in fear. The examiners on the 19th floor were known to be ruthless. And they had to if the goal was to stop the fabled from dying on the floors below.

The Keeper’s decree forbade all those who failed to pass this exam from challenging the 20th floor, turning it into an insurmountable wall that separated regular Authors from those who could ascend to the deeper levels.

Michael was used to being delayed on his way down the Labyrinth and had developed the habit of watching the examinations–and he was not the only one. The arena was bustling, as this exam was one of the primary recruiting spots in the Labyrinth.

All across the apex on the 19th floor, red-wood cabins piled up against the cave walls, some so tall they almost touched the ceiling. Scouts from the Great Families inhabited most of them, and the others belonged to proficient businesses–armorers, smiths, libraries, and inns–providing whatever the fabled taking the exam needed. With the nearest trading post on the 11th floor, it was easy to turn a profit.

The scouts' job was to select and recruit the strongest of the fabled who challenged the exam. They even recruited those who couldn’t pass it. Keeping an elite force of fabled was essential to maintain control over the initial floors.

After dismissing the waitress for the seventh time, Michael impatiently rapped his fingers on the table. He really wanted to light a cigarette, but Sarah should be arriving soon, and he didn’t want to hear her nagging.

Now that he thought about it, she was running late. That was unusual of her.

Finally, the fight began. The goal was simple: the fabled partaking in the exam had to work together to endure ten minutes against the examiner. However, despite their numeric advantage, their chances of success were very low.

It only took Michael half a minute and a glance to assess their abilities.

Like most inexperienced Author groups, they didn't know how to work as a team. Their movements were exaggerated and uncoordinated, and they constantly got in each other’s way.

Maybe they might’ve had a chance if they were individually talented, but that was not the case. They relied too heavily on their skills, and their use was too rudimentary. Despite their unnatural movements–a result of all the stats they had accumulated on their way to the 19th floor–most of them had an amateurish fighting style.

Michael smiled.

Except for the harpoonist girl. She was pretty good for a fabled–not as good as Sarah–but good enough to steer the fight from the back. The examiner, who moved at an unbelievable speed, had been forced to stop on his track more than once.

Each time he tried to finish off one of her teammates, she forced him to retreat with a well-timed strike.

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Her harpoon lit with blue light and sliced through the air, crashing onto the cemented arena floor with an explosion of debris. The examiner, about to stab the terrified fabled in front of him, grimaced in pain as dust flew into his eyes, momentarily blinding him.

Was that on purpose? Michael asked himself, his mouth open with surprise. If she could use her skills so creatively, he might have underestimated her.

Michael wondered what her synopsis was. She was incredibly strong, but he was sure she wasn’t a Ram. Otherwise, she would be using the heavy starter plate instead of that light gambeson, which provided little to no defense against the examiner's piercing attacks.

Maybe she is a Twilight Dancer who’s invested all her points into Might. Michael thought, But it was just a guess.

An Author' build was incredibly flexible and customizable. Although one started bound by their synopsis, one's fighting style could vary greatly depending on stats distribution and bound abilities.

Michael laughed, drawing awkward glances from those around him.

The girl had skillfully used her harpoon line to create a sharp maze of steel in the arena. Now, she was slowly guiding the examiner into a trap. It was an impressive, bold strategy, but unfortunately, the examiner had already seen through her plan. The examinees' fate was already sealed.

The examiner moved so fast that even Michael lost track of him for a moment. He crashed through the metal line, breaking it with ease.

The front liners, a Ram and an Instigator, were the first to fall. They were caught off guard by the examiners' sudden burst of speed. Despite their resilient bodies, they couldn’t take more than a few hits before falling unconscious on the ground.

With them down, the examiner jumped over their bodies and swiftly dismantled the backline. Not even the harpoonist girl was spared.

The girl will probably do fine, Michael thought, but he was not so sure about the others.

A loud horn rang as the crowd rejoiced, signaling the end of the test. From the sides of the arena, a support team rushed in, treating the fabled with recovery skills before carrying them on cane stretchers.

The health of the fabled was taken very seriously on the exam. Even though the examiner had not critically injured them, their condition was still a major concern. There had been deaths in the past, and the Keepers would be displeased if it happened again.

After a few minutes, the harpoonist girl woke up, and Michael saw the examiner approaching her with an inviting smile before striking up a conversation.

The dark blue overcoat he now wore exposed his identity—a man from the Syndicate. They were known for their generous offers to young recruits. Moments later, the girl’s face lit up, and after a handshake, she left with the examiner – not even sparing her old teammates a glance.

Michael rapped his fingers on the table and looked around. Finally, he spotted Sarah, circling some tables not far away. He stood up and waved, calling her over.

She arrived in a hurry, letting herself fall on the chair to his side, tired.

“Any luck recruiting a pathfinder?” he asked.

“Not yet,” Sarah confessed with an ugly face.

Michael wasn’t surprised. Passing the 20th was a matter of life and death—even more than usual. Finding competent teammates was hard.

He nodded with understanding. That was the main issue with working for the E.A.D. Their responsibilities forced them to leave at awkward times and made it hard to team up with other Authors consistently. Now that Sarah had to get ready to face the exam on the 19th, she was struggling to find a decent team.

“The last time you had that face, we were digging a coffin,” Michael joked. “Don’t worry, you’ll find someone decent.”

Sarah hesitated, pursing her lips. She seemed to be gaining the courage to say something.

“That guy has appeared,” she finally said.

“What guy?” asked Michael, distracted.

“The one we dug up.”

Michael froze.

“Christopher,” he said after a moment of silence. He now realized what had soured her mood—another young man who had died inside this place.

“At least they found the body. That is quite rare,” he said with pity.

“What are you talking about?” Sarah asked, confused. “He appeared on the 1st, as he should.”

“On the 1st floor?” Michael asked. “That’s not possible; a Lazarus always ends up on the Outskirts.” He started to argue but quickly realized what she meant.

His mouth opened wide, and he jumped from the chair, throwing it to the floor.

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely,” confirmed Sarah. “He appeared near Aeymenchuk two weeks ago.”

“Do they know where he came from?” Questioned Michael.

“They think he came from the 4th but are not sure yet,” replied Sarah. “They are still waiting for him to wake up. He was in a pretty bad state.”

Under Sarah’s disapproving rate, Michael fished for his cigarettes and lit one up.

“That’s incredible. I wonder how he managed to survive both the Outskirts and the Maze on the 4th floor,” confessed Michael after exhaling a big cloud of smoke.

“They don’t think he did,” clarified Sarah before whispering. “They believe he found a gullet.”

Michael’s smile faded as a frown grew between his brows.

“There are no gullets on the 4th floor; everyone knows that!”

But he wasn't so sure. How could anyone be sure? He grabbed his chair and sat down. Lazarus really attracted terrible luck—poor guy. Christopher wouldn't last very long if rumors of a gullet reached the 5th floor.

“Who’s running Aeymenchuk right now?”

“We are.”

Bad luck again! Michael thought. Had it been one of the Keepers, Christopher might have profited from this.

“There’s something else, but I’ll refrain from telling you,” Sarah said in a weak voice. “I know you don’t like to get involved.”

Michael took a slow, long drag and exhaled a thick smoke cloud. Finally, with a resigned voice, he motioned for her to continue.

“Go ahead; it’s already too late now.”