After what felt like an hour, a deep, resonant gong echoed through the hall, silencing the restless murmurs.

  Elder Schwang stepped forward—the same man who had stepped in during Arthur’s clash with Luke. His face held a warm smile, and his arms stretched wide in welcome.

  “Welcome, participants!” he called out, his voice rich with both authority and kindness. “It is this old man’s great honor to witness the rise of so many young talents.”

  He slowly scanned the hall, his eyes gleaming with pride as they passed over the crowd. But when they landed on Arthur, they lingered—just a heartbeat longer than necessary. Long enough to feel deliberate.

  “I ask only this—cooperate, play fair, and above all, believe in yourselves. Every single one of you holds potential. The true challenge lies not in having it… but in realizing it.”

  Arthur’s chest tightened. He couldn’t shake the feeling that those words had been meant for him.

  The murmurs had stopped. The atmosphere shifted.

  The trials were beginning.

  “Before the main trial begins, we’ll conduct a preliminary test—to gauge your current strength,” Schwang announced with a calm smile.

  With a gentle wave of his hand, a spell rippled across the hall. In a blink, they were all teleported into a vast chamber—twice the size of the town hall. The air here was still, humming faintly with enchantment.

  At the center stood a colossal tree with a wide, gnarled trunk and sprawling branches that reached overhead like a canopy.

  But this was no ordinary tree.

  At its base were dozens of sturdy, rune-inscribed machines—each shaped like a tall pedestal with a glowing crystal at its core.

  The guards stepped in and began directing participants to individual tiles, each one faintly glowing blue.

  “The first test is simple,” Schwang declared. “Strike the crystal before you. You may use your magic or physical attributes—whatever defines your strength.”

  The tiles pulsed once as the participants took their positions.

  “These crystals are attuned to measure your output—strength, force, control. The results will help us assess where you stand.”

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  Once everyone was ready, Schwang clapped his hands.

  “Best of luck to all of you.”

  One of the guards stepped forward, unfurling a massive scroll. He began reading out names in a loud, clear voice, and one by one, participants stepped up to strike the crystal with their strongest attacks.

  Each blow lit the crystal with a different intensity—flashes of blue, red, gold—while murmurs echoed through the chamber.

  Arthur stood still, watching anxiously. His hands trembled slightly as he eyed the glowing pedestal in front of him.

  “Should I strike with my sword? No… that might break it. Or worse—what if it’s not strong enough?” he muttered under his breath. “I can’t rely on the dagger either... and judging by how this is going, we probably get just one shot.”

  He exhaled sharply.

  “Well… I guess I have no choice then."

  Arthur, Twileaf!” the guard called out.

  A few participants chuckled.

  Others exchanged uncertain glances—some mocking, some pitying. After all, how could someone without magic hope to outmatch those gifted with powerful attributes?

  Arthur stepped forward, heart pounding like a war drum. Laughter still echoed faintly behind him.

  He exhaled—slowly, shakily—his eyes locking onto the gleaming crystal ahead. It sat there, pure and unbothered, like it was daring him to try.

  But in his mind… it wasn’t a crystal.

  It was Luke.

  The sneer. The bullying. The broken childhood. Every insult, every blow, every time he was made to feel like nothing—flooded back in one overwhelming wave.

  A strange heat surged through his veins. His muscles tensed. His skin prickled. Primal Force… awakened.

  The guard, holding a scroll, looked up. “What are your attributes? What weapon will you be using?”

  Arthur clenched his fists, voice low but fierce. “My attribute is Primal Force… and I’ll be using my hand.”

  Laughter broke out again—louder this time. Scoffs. Whispers. Someone even muttered, “Is this a joke?”

  But Arthur stood still. Unfazed. Unmoving. Eyes locked on the target. Rage glowing under his skin like burning coals.

  The guard’s expression didn’t change, but he gave a small nod. “You may proceed.”

  Arthur backed away—five steps, then six. Every movement stiff with restraint, like his body was barely containing something wild. His breath grew heavier. His heart, louder.

  He remembered everything.

  The cold nights. The bruises. The laughter. The helplessness.

  Then—he ran.

  With a roar erupting from deep inside, he hurled his entire body forward, his fist drawn back like a hammer forged by fury. And as his punch landed—

  BOOM.

  The entire room trembled. Dust shook loose from the ceiling. The air itself seemed to warp for a second.

  Silence fell.

  All eyes were wide. The crystal hadn’t shattered… but it glowed brighter than it had for anyone before.

  Arthur stood still, arm extended, chest heaving.

  No one laughed now.

  "You may leave , the results will be published all together" said the guard.

  Arthur nodded slowly and made his way across the room. For some reason, every step felt heavier than the last, as if invisible chains were pulling at him. He was utterly drained—every ounce of energy slipping away like sand through his fingers.

  This… this force was consuming him.

  He collapsed onto the floor, panting hard, and closed his eyes.

  Was this the power of Primal Force? Or had he just awakened something far more dangerous—something he couldn’t control?

  The hall held its breath.

  And in that silence… the crystal began to pulse.