“The Raven’s Trench,” Layla said, tapping a spot on the northernmost section of the Second Stage’s map. “It’s about a hundred kilometers from here. We’ll have to go on foot—there’s no road suitable for carriages. If we keep a steady pace, we should reach it by nightfall.”

  She glanced around the table. “Any questions?”

  William raised his hand. “Why is it called the Raven’s Trench?”

  Layla folded her arms. “Because its entrance is always littered with dead ravens. It’s as if they go there to die. No one knows why.”

  A beat of silence.

  “That’s… unsettling,” Sam muttered.

  Nigel, watching Layla carefully, picked up on the slight tension in her posture. “You don’t seem too confident about this mission.”

  Layla hesitated, but before she could speak, Edda answered for her.

  “It’s only natural,” she said, adjusting her glasses. “To this day, we’ve only mapped a fraction of the cave system connected to the Raven’s Trench—and that’s despite the Chaos Tournament running for decades. We’ll be heading into uncharted territory. There’s no telling what we might find.”

  Dovak leaned back, crossing his arms. “So… what I’m hearing is that this is basically a suicide mission?”

  Layla sighed, rubbing her temples. “I thought getting new members would be a good omen. Maybe, for once, we’d be assigned something manageable…” Her shoulders dropped slightly. “Guess I was foolish to hope.”

  She glanced at the map again, as if trying to will it to change. “It looks like we’re still a long way from obtaining our first Treasure.”

  Claire, who had been listening quietly, frowned. “Wait. First Treasure? You mean… you haven’t acquired any yet?”

  Layla’s expression hardened. “No.” Her voice was flat. “We don’t have the strength for it.”

  A pause.

  “I’ve been in the Second Stage for almost thirty years,” she continued, her tone edged with frustration. “And I still haven’t claimed a single Lost Treasure.”

  Her words lingered in the air like a heavy weight. For some, it was a reminder of the Tournament’s brutal reality. For others… a warning.

  William’s brows furrowed. “How can you have been here for so long? The Tournament stages are supposed to change periodically!”

  Layla met his gaze evenly. “Who told you that?” she asked. “The Tournament has always been the same—and it always will be.”

  William blinked. “But—”

  “The reason no one knows what happens in each Stage,” Layla continued, “is because no one survives long enough to leave and tell the tale. And those who do survive? They stay here.”

  A heavy silence followed.

  “No… that’s impossible,” William murmured, unable to fully grasp what he was hearing.

  Layla exhaled, shaking her head. “This isn’t the time to dwell on it. We’re wasting valuable time. Right now, our focus needs to be on the mission.” She straightened, regaining her usual authoritative tone. “It won’t be easy, but we’re twelve now—and just by looking at our new members, I can tell they’re strong.”

  Her gaze swept over the group and landed on Nigel before she continued.

  “We leave in two hours. Once we reach the Raven’s Trench, we’ll set up camp at the entrance and finalize our strategy. Any objections?”

  No one spoke. Even those who seemed uncertain were swayed by the confidence in Layla’s voice.

  With the discussion settled, everyone finished their breakfast and began preparing for the journey ahead.

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  As the group packed, Nigel gathered his companions—Nigel, Claire, Dovak, William, Sam and Jin—speaking in a low voice.

  “Listen. Keep your guard up and don’t trust these people,” he warned.

  Dovak raised an eyebrow. “Why? They seem like good folks.”

  “No, he’s right,” Claire interjected, though the words left a bitter taste in her mouth—she hated agreeing with Nigel. “We barely trust ourselves. We shouldn’t rely on strangers we met just now.” She crossed her arms and gave a Jin a slight glance. “And you heard Layla. They’ve been stuck here for who knows how long without managing to claim a single Lost Treasure. That’s not a sign of strength. It’s a sign of weakness.”

  Nyx, who had been silent until now, exhaled sharply. “Enough,” she muttered. “Layla could be listening.”

  That was the end of it.

  Two hours later, they regrouped outside the inn, joining the rest of the Coalition. With their supplies packed and weapons secured, they set off toward the Raven’s Trench.

  For a long while, they walked in silence. The city of Hizuru faded behind them, its towering structures shrinking into the distance until they were nothing but faint silhouettes against the horizon.

  It wasn’t until William glanced at the terrain ahead that he realized something—they were heading downhill.

  As they continued their journey, Layla suddenly gestured toward the horizon.

  “If you look to your left, you’ll see the beautiful fields of poppies. And to your right, sunflowers.”

  William glanced around, taking in the scenery. Vibrant red and golden-yellow blooms stretched across the landscape, swaying gently in the breeze. The contrast to the usual barren or industrial landscapes of the outer Rings was striking.

  “Huh,” Sam muttered. “Not what I expected. A nice change from most of the Rings.”

  The journey carried on for several more hours until night fell, forcing them to set up camp. Layla led them to a sheltered clearing, surrounded by trees and thick bushes to shield them from the cold night winds.

  Everyone pitched in, setting up small tents that could fit two people each, before gathering around a large fire that crackled warmly in the center of the camp.

  “Alright!” Layla clapped her hands. “Sit around the fire—I’ll get dinner ready.”

  With a swift motion, she reached into her inventory and pulled out an enormous platter stacked with steaming chicken legs, along with several cartons of an unusual orange-colored juice. She handed them out one by one before settling down to eat with the others.

  As the group enjoyed their meal, Dovak suddenly turned to Nigel, a mischievous grin stretching across his face.

  “You know, kid, I’ve been curious about just how strong you really are,” he said, tearing into a chicken leg with a single bite. “How about we test it out with a little arm-wrestling match?”

  Nigel exhaled through his nose, and for a moment, Dovak braced himself for the usual refusal.

  But, to his surprise, Nigel didn’t dismiss the challenge. Instead, he stood up, stepped over to a smooth, flat stone nearby, and sat down. Placing his arm on the makeshift table, he looked at Dovak with calm impatience.

  “Hurry up,” he said.

  Dovak’s grin widened. Wasting no time, he eagerly took his place across from Nigel, planting his elbow down and locking hands with him.

  The others gathered closer, watching with growing interest.

  “No Aetheris, no skills, no tricks,” Dovak declared. “Just raw strength. Got it?”

  Nigel nodded.

  “Alright then. Three… two… one… go!”

  The moment their arms tensed, the ground beneath them trembled slightly.

  At first, neither seemed to be using their full strength—each testing the other, feeling out the resistance. But as the match escalated, their muscles tightened, veins rising against their skin as they pushed harder.

  The stone beneath them groaned. Small cracks splintered across its surface.

  The campfire flickered wildly as their struggle intensified.

  Their arms trembled with exertion, their expressions locked in silent focus. For a moment, it seemed perfectly even—until Dovak began to take control.

  Slowly, he forced Nigel’s arm downward. Bit by bit. Inch by inch.

  Nigel’s grip tightened, his jaw clenched, but there was no stopping it.

  With one final push, Dovak slammed Nigel’s hand against the stone, sealing his victory.

  A beat of silence.

  Then, with a triumphant laugh, Dovak threw his arms up. “Damn, kid! You actually made me work for it!” He let out a deep breath before scanning the group with eager eyes.

  “Alright—who’s next?”

  Layla stepped forward, taking the seat Nigel had just vacated.

  With practiced ease, she placed her elbow on the stone, her fingers stretching before locking firmly around Dovak’s hand. A slow, confident smile tugged at her lips.

  “Well then,” she mused, her gaze steady. “Let’s see what you’ve got, big guy.”

  Dovak let out a short chuckle. “Heh. Alright, then.”

  He adjusted his stance, planting his feet as he clasped her hand.

  Layla arched an eyebrow. “I’ll count this time. Ready?”

  Dovak smirked, his grip tightening. “More than ever.”

  Layla took a breath.

  “Three… two… one—go!”

  The match ended the moment it began.

  With a swift, decisive movement, Layla slammed Dovak’s arm down with such force that the stone beneath them shattered into countless fragments, sending tiny shards flying. The sheer momentum nearly sent Dovak spinning over his own shoulder.

  A stunned silence followed.

  Layla leaned back, crossing her arms. “Looks like I win.” Her voice carried a teasing lilt, but her victory was absolute.

  Dovak sat frozen, eyes wide as if his brain had momentarily short-circuited.

  He hadn’t been caught off guard—no, he had expected a tough fight. He had gone in at full strength. And yet… the gap between them had been that vast.

  “It seems that I still have a long way to go,” he sighed.

  The night continued without another match, as nobody felt like challenging Layla, or anyone at all.