The days blurred together in a whirlwind of sweat and the occasional clash of egos. Elio, his friends, and the ever-arrogant Varick threw themselves into their training with a fervor that bordered on obsession.

Even Varick's goons, usually content to lounge around and look intimidating, found themselves grudgingly learning the strategy under Von Lucien's strict orders.

With only thirty days remaining before the mandatory random conscription, time was of the essence.

Elio watched his friends push themselves to the brink, pride and worry warring in his chest. They had come so far, but would it be enough?

Von Lucien, true to his word, had begun disseminating information about the strategy among the selected soldiers. But everyone knew that secondhand knowledge paled in comparison to firsthand instruction from those who had mastered it.

The pressure was on… Ten days to perfect the technique, twenty to pass it on to others. The weight of thousands of lives hung heavy on their shoulders.

♢♢♢♢

The tenth day dawned, bright and unforgiving. Elio and his comrades stood before the registration officials as third-level challengers.

Varick, of course, insisted on going first, taking advantage of his privileged status.

"What is the meaning of this?" The guard in charge frowned as Varick approached. "You're two years shy of the age requirement, family or not."

Varick snorted disdainfully. "That's old news. Von Lucien's given me the green light. Got a problem with that?"

The guard blinked, clearly confused, but a shadowy gesture from Von Lucien in the background had him grudgingly nodding.

Elio pushed Ren, Brok, and Kriz; they passed one by one, registering and preparing for their turn.

Before entering, they made a pit stop at the nearest exchange statue. The 50 points for the heat blanket and air stone felt like a pittance compared to what lay ahead, but it was all they could afford.

Varick, of course, was not content with such modest equipment.

A 4,000-point enchanted fire cloak, a 10,000-point superior disposable fire sword, a 100-point enchanted air stone, 10,000-point damage-resistant clothing, and five 1,000-point disposable fire daggers.

"Mother dearest insisted I spare no expense on equipment," Varick excused himself at the others' incredulous looks.

Elio shook his head. "Remember, all that fancy gear won't mean squat if you don't stick to the plan. Strategy and execution are what's most important."

Varick waved him off with a dismissive flick of his wrist, but Elio couldn't shake the nagging worry. Overconfidence had killed better men than Varick. Would his arrogance be his downfall?

♢♢♢♢

The book rose…

Varick emerged from his book shortly after, his pristine equipment now bearing the scars of battle, but his face split in a smug grin that threatened to swallow his entire head.

"See? Superior gear, superior results. It was child's play."

Elio let out a sigh of relief to see he had managed to overcome the challenge. If his friends could also triumph with the enhanced strategy, perhaps there was hope for the other 9,996 soldiers.

The next to enter was one of Varick's goons, a bulky, arrogant guy named Prent. He shot a disdainful look at Elio and the others before being transported.

"Watch and learn, losers," he mocked. "This is how a real warrior deals with those beasts."

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Varick nodded approvingly, arms folded across his chest. Elio exchanged a worried look with his friends. Something about Prent's confident demeanor left him with a bad feeling.

After an agonizing wait, Prent's book rose…

Then began to fade.

"Prent!" Varick rushed toward the book, his face etched with concern. "What the hell happened?"

A heavy silence fell over the group as they processed the scene before their eyes. Even Varick seemed shaken, his usual arrogance replaced by disappointment.

Suddenly, the silence was broken when Varick let out a scream of fury, his fists clenched so tight they trembled.

"Damn fool!" he roared, his voice raw with fury and something that sounded suspiciously like grief. "I told him, I told him to follow the plan! But no, he had to prove he was better than some commoner's strategy!"

Elio watched as Varick kicked the ground in rage, cursing and ranting about Prent's stupidity. Despite the young heir's arrogance, Elio couldn't help but feel worried.

Despite their animosity, he felt a pang of sympathy. They'd worked together on this strategy, and now one of Varick's own had paid the ultimate price for underestimating it.

When Varick finally calmed, his jaw was set in a hard line, eyes blazing with barely contained rage. He rounded on his remaining goons, who watched the scene with thinly veiled expressions of fear.

"Let this be a lesson to all of you!" he spat, his voice dripping with venom. "If you don't follow the plan to the letter, you'll end up just like this idiot. Am I clear?"

The goons nodded frantically, suddenly looking a lot less sure of themselves.

A tense, heavy silence descended over the remaining group.

This was a stark warning of the consequences of underestimating the monster. From now on, there would be no room for arrogance or carelessness.

This wasn't a game. One mistake, one moment of overconfidence, and it was over. No second chances, no do-overs.

Two people had attempted the challenge so far, one had succeeded. 50% was better than the reputed 40% success rate, but it was still too low, especially considering Varick had used unconventional, expensive equipment...

Had he underestimated the difficulty of the challenge? Or had Prent simply botched the execution?

Elio looked at his friends, a shadow of doubt crossing his face.

♢♢♢♢

Elio's heart hammered against his ribcage as Ren stepped up.

His friend shot him one last resolved look before nodding and being transported inside the book, clutching the disposable fire sword tightly in his hand.

A heavy silence fell over the remaining group.

The waiting was agony. Varick and his remaining goons kept their distance, their disdainful expressions barely masking their own nervousness. Brok and Kriz stood rigid, worry etched into every line of their faces.

Seconds stretched into minutes, each second seeming an eternity as they waited for any sign from inside the book.

When the book finally rose, Elio felt his breath catch in his throat. Had Ren made it? Or had he sent his friend to his doom?

An icy chill gripped his chest at the possibility of having sent his friend to certain death. Brok looked equally affected, his face pale and tense.

Then, the book burst open and Ren emerged with his hand raised and coated in a shimmering metal.

"I did it!" he exclaimed in a ragged voice before collapsing to the ground, fainting from sheer relief and exhaustion.

Elio's sigh of relief was so profound he nearly passed out himself. Kriz dashed to Ren's side, dropping to his knees with a cry that sounded eerily like Elio's mother, Lena.

"You're alive... thank god, you're alive!"

Brok approached, a shaky smile playing on his lips. "Well done, you mad bastard. I knew you had it in you."

Varick snorted disdainfully, but Elio could see the reluctant respect shining in his eyes.

They had barely had time to celebrate when the next turn was announced. This time, it was Brok who entered his book, his resolved expression betraying no hint of doubt.

The wait was just as tense, every second an endless agony. Elio paced back and forth, unable to keep still, imagining worst-case scenarios with horrifying clarity.

The book rose...

Elio held his breath, eyes fixed on it with laser-like intensity. Had Brok...?

Suddenly, the pages burst open and Brok emerged, grinning triumphantly while flexing his minimal but visible increase in muscle mass.

"Yes!" Ren let out a whoop of celebration, momentarily forgetting his fear and trauma.

Elio felt a weight lift from his shoulders. Two friends down, one to go. But the relief was short-lived as Kriz's name was called.

He watched, heart in his throat, as Kriz steeled himself. His friend's expression was determined, but Elio didn't miss the slight tremor in his hands.

"Be careful," Elio murmured, the words feeling woefully inadequate… Wishing he could do more than watch helplessly.

Time seemed to slow as Kriz was transported and the book closed behind him with a dull, definitive thud. Elio paced incessantly, every fiber of his being screaming to rush in and help.