The clouds completely covered up the sun now, giving the already dreadful environment a new feeling. The air had cooled, but the humidity remained, a suffocating blanket that trapped the smell of wet earth and impending failure.
Kael sat in the mud, staring at the glowing blue numbers floating in the corner of his vision.
[11:05:54]
Eleven hours.
It felt like a lifetime. In eleven hours, Kael could have slept through three alarms, eaten two meals, and read half a webnovel volume.
Instead, he was currently calculating the nutritional value of a grub he had found on a leaf.
"Uhh."
The whisper came from beside him.
Seraphina was stirring.
Kael dropped the grub—it looked too chewy anyway—and crawled over.
Rylen was already there, supporting her shoulders as she tried to sit up.
"Easy," Rylen murmured. "You've been out for an hour."
Seraphina blinked, her eyes unfocused for a moment before sharpening with that terrifying clarity she possessed.
She looked at her leg, then at the campfires burning below them in the valley.
"Status," she rasped.
"Well we are alive," Kael provided the summary. "You are still bleeding. And we have new neighbors—a heavily fortified base occupied by another team. They seem to have food, tents, and apparently, a very strict dress code."
Seraphina squinted at the camp below. "Dress code?"
"Look," Kael pointed.
Down in the valley, the students moving around the fire weren't just wearing the normal black and blue uniforms. They were wearing masks. Wooden, carved masks painted with jagged white lines, resembling skulls or distorted beasts.
Seraphina frowned, a pained crease appearing between her brows. "Masks impede vision. Why would they wear them?"
"Maybe they're ugly," Rylen suggested helpfully.
"Or maybe they're trying to intimidate their enemies," Kael said. "Psychological warfare. It's working. I find them very creepy."
Seraphina tried to stand, her legs shaking violently. Rylen moved to help, but she pushed him away gently. She grabbed a nearby sapling and hauled herself upright, leaning heavily against it. The Flag, tied around her arm, hung limp and stained with mud.
"We can't let them see us," she concluded, her voice tight with suppressed pain. "There are too many of them. And I... I am currently a liability. I can barely walk. If we fight, I die. If I die, we lose the Flag. We have to bypass them."
She pointed a trembling finger toward the eastern ridge. "The game ends in eleven hours, and according to the game guide I saw, the map will shrink overtime to bring other teams closer to each other. If we circle around their camp through the dense brush, we might find a defensible position before the zone moves. We avoid the fight. We can't afford to engage in a fight with anyone."
Kael looked at the dense, dark jungle she was pointing toward. It looked miserable.
"Walking around means more walking," Kael sighed. "But dying implies a permanent cessation of napping. I vote for walking."
"Then let's move," Seraphina commanded. She took a step and nearly collapsed, biting her lip so hard a bead of blood appeared. She steadied herself. "Quietly."
They moved like ghosts—or at least, like very tired, muddy ghosts.
The perimeter of the base was surprisingly wide.
They stuck to the shadows, moving slowly through the thick undergrowth. Every snap of a twig sounded like a gunshot in the silence.
Kael brought up the rear, his eyes scanning the darkness. The masks bothered him. There was something... ritualistic about them. Students in the Games were competitive, sure, but this felt different. The weren't talking to each other. They moved in silence, efficient and cold.
'Cult vibes,' Kael thought.
Definitely cult vibes.
Why does my life always turn into a bad fantasy trope?
They had nearly cleared the southern edge of the camp when luck, as usual, decided to punch them in the throat.
Rylen, leading the way, froze. He held up a fist.
Kael stopped.
Seraphina leaned against a tree, her breathing ragged.
Ahead of them, stepping out from behind a massive fern, was a figure.
It was a sentry.
He was big—broad-shouldered.
He wore one of the wooden masks, this one painted with a single vertical red eye.
He hadn't seen them yet. He was looking toward the camp, adjusting his belt.
Kael slowly reached for his sword hilt.
But the guard turned at that moment.
The wooden mask faced them. For a second, nobody moved. The painted eye seemed to stare right into Kael's soul.
Then, the guard's gaze dropped to Seraphina's arm. Specifically, to the tattered blue fabric tied around it.
The Flag.
The guard didn't shout. He didn't attack. Instead, his hand flew to his waist.
A horn.
A curved, animal-horn trumpet hung there.
If he blows that, Kael realized with horrifying clarity, twenty-nine more fanatics swarm us.
"Stop him!" Rylen hissed, lunging forward.
But Rylen was too far away. The guard already had the horn to his lips. He was inhaling, his chest expanding for a blast that would end their exam instantly.
Whoosh.
A silver blur cut through the air.
Seraphina hadn't run. She hadn't shouted. In one fluid, desperate motion, she had drawn her weapon and thrown it.
It wasn't a standard combat move. It was a Hail Mary. The blade spun through the air like a boomerang, a deadly disc of steel.
THWACK.
The heavy pommel of the sword struck the guard squarely in the temple just as he began to blow.
The sound of the horn died in a pathetic squeak.
The guard's eyes rolled back behind his mask, and he crumbled to the ground, followed by him turning to gold dust.
The mask was the only thing that remained.
"Nice shot," Kael whispered, genuinely impressed.
But there was no victory pose.
The force of the throw had twisted Seraphina's torso violently. The sudden torque on her injured ribs was too much.
She didn't scream—she refused to give the enemy that satisfaction—but a choked, wet gasp escaped her throat.
Her legs gave out completely.
She hit the ground hard.
"Seraphina!" Rylen forgot stealth, scrambling over to her.
Seraphina was curled in a fetal position, clutching her side. Fresh blood was soaking through her clothes. Her skin was gray, clammy with cold sweat.
"I'm... fine..." she wheezed, but the words were barely audible.
"You are not fine!" Rylen hissed, his voice cracking with panic. He pressed his hands over her wound, trying to staunch the flow. "The wound opened up. You're losing too much blood."
"We have to move," Seraphina insisted, trying to push herself up. Her arms trembled and gave way.
She collapsed back into the mud, her breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps.
"She can't walk," Rylen said, looking up at Kael. His eyes were wide, terrified. "Kael, we can't carry her and the Flag and fight. If we drag her, she'll bleed out in an hour. She's dying."
Kael looked down at Seraphina. The "Commander" aura was gone. She was just an eighteen-year-old girl bleeding to death in a swamp.
"We don't have supplies," Kael said, his voice tired. "We have no bandages. We have no healer."
"We can't just let her die!" Rylen shot back. "If she dies, we follow shortly after, you know that."
"I know!" Kael snapped back, the stress finally cracking his bored facade. "I know that we are elven hours from safety, surrounded by enemies, with a casualty who needs a healer!"
Rylen stared at him. Then, a strange look crossed his face. A look of desperate, insane realization.
He stood up. He grabbed Kael's collar and dragged him deeper into the shadows, behind a thick cluster of vines.
"Rylen, let me go," Kael grumbled, swatting his hand away.
"You said we needed a healer" Rylen whispered, pointing a shaking finger through the gaps in the leaves.
Kael followed the finger.
It pointed directly into the heart of the base.
Near the central fire, a student was walking.
She didn't wear a mask. She carried a staff tipped with a glowing white crystal.
As they watched, she placed a hand on a seated student shoulder. A soft, light enveloped him. The student rolled his shoulder, looking healed.
"A healer," Kael muttered.
Rylen turned to Kael. His eyes were wild, fueled by fear and adrenaline.
"We don't have a healer," Rylen whispered, his voice trembling but determined. "But they do."
Kael stared at him. He looked at the heavily guarded camp. He looked at the twenty-nine masked fanatics. He looked at the healer standing in the middle of the formation.
"Rylen," Kael said slowly. "Are you suggesting we kidnap a healer from the middle of an enemy base?"
"It's the only way to save Seraphina," Rylen said. "We go in. We grab her. We get out."
Kael looked at the camp.
Kael looked back at Rylen.
"That is the dumbest idea I have ever heard," Kael said.
He glanced back at Seraphina, who was shivering violently on the ground.
Kael sighed.
He checked his sword.
"I hate it," Kael said. "Let's do it."