Seven minutes had passed.
The number of survivors: 15
Impostors left: 5
...
Kevin was nervous—naturally.
He walked through the darkness with only the faint glow from his sword guiding the way. The blade gave off a soft light, just enough to see the ground and avoid bumping into pillars or walls.
Earlier, they had all been informed that a limited amount of illumination was allowed. That was why Kevin risked activating the weak glow—he needed something, anything, to move without stumbling around blind.
Beside him, Natalie kept pace with steady steps.
They had been together from the very beginning of this contest, sticking close without needing to discuss it. Something about pairing up had felt right.
Maybe it was habit, maybe instinct, or maybe simple fear of the unknown. Step after careful step, they moved toward where they hoped the entrance would be. The hall was huge, the darkness almost alive, and each sound echoed in a way that made it impossible to guess distances.
They did not know if they would make it. They didn’t know if the path was correct. But neither of them was the type to cower in a corner and wait for their fate. Time was slipping away, and once it ran out, there would be no excuses, no second chances.
They had to move.
They had to win.
DOOOOM
The ground trembled slightly.
Natalie flinched and whipped her head toward the left, toward the source of the sudden impact. She waited for flames or sparks, for some kind of bright explosion... but there was nothing. Only the echo of a heavy hit.
"Someone got bashed pretty brutally," she whispered.
Kevin exhaled a shaky breath. "Whoever that is... they’re ruthless."
He swallowed. That was the third time he heard that kind of shockwave. Every time, it had come from roughly the same direction—close enough to set his nerves on fire.
"We need to stay close if danger appears," Natalie said firmly, adjusting her grip on her shield. "If something happens, we won’t make it alone."
Kevin forced a smile. "We can do this... together, like always."
But even as he said it, both of them knew the truth behind their calm expressions.
Kevin was using his skill <Truth Seeker> on her constantly.
Natalie kept her shield raised, never lowering her guard for a second.
There was trust—yes. A solid trust built from training sessions and shared conversations.
But tonight, that wasn’t enough.
The hunger to win, the desire to survive, overshadowed everything else.
Tonight, no one could be trusted.
...
[In the surveillance room]
"That girl has some serious acting talent," Mordred muttered as he watched Emma dragging an unconscious Gizel toward a dark corner.
On the screen, Emma looked like a cautious beginner trying to survive.
She eyed every shadow, flinched at every sound, pretended she didn’t know where to go or what to do. She even healed Gizel wounds and calm her down—all so she could strike the moment Gizel dropped her guard.
Guinevere scoffed loudly. "Gizel Valebridge... her family prides themselves on defense magic, and yet she gets taken out like that?"
"But Emma deserves credit," Mordred argued. "She played her perfectly. Honestly, I think Merlin chose the right champion."
Guinevere snarled, "Don’t call someone a champion before they cross the finish line."
She didn’t say it aloud, but she had already chosen the real champion in her heart.
Someone who had shown nothing but brutal strength.
Someone who hadn’t even been slowed down by anyone so far.
Someone who had dominated every fight.
Lextor.
Arthur’s younger brother.
Guinevere knew Lextor’s power well. She had watched his development, the way he fought, the reckless confidence in his steps, the unstoppable force behind his strikes. With that kind of talent, it was hard to imagine anyone else taking the top spot.
’Once I make him my disciple... Arthur won’t be able to ignore me anymore.’
Her eyes gleamed dangerously as she licked her lower lip, excitement mixing with ambition.
Just then, a councilman cleared his throat. "You’ve been quiet, Galahad. Something on your mind?"
Galahad hummed before speaking. "Have none of you noticed something strange about one of the contestants?"
Guinevere frowned. "Who are you talking about?"
"Someone who should have figured out the impostors by now," Galahad said. "Someone who could easily find the survivors... yet hasn’t moved from his spot."
Guinevere’s eyes scanned the screens until she found him.
"...Delimore."
The blond boy stood in front of a door, arms crossed, completely calm. Not even a flicker of fear showed on his face. He looked like he was waiting for someone, not trying to escape danger.
"What is he doing?" Mordred said, scratching his head. "He’s standing right at a usable exit. And with his telekinesis, he could read the panicked thoughts of the survivors and track them down easily. So why isn’t he moving?"
"That’s what I’m wondering," Galahad said. "What exactly is he waiting for?"
Guinevere narrowed her eyes, studying the strange boy. He acted as if he were above the chaos. As if none of the impostors could touch him. As if the entire challenge was beneath him.
Was he too scared to move?
Too confident?
No one knew.
No one except—
"He’s letting the mobs be trimmed out."
A familiar voice came from the entrance. All of them turned sharply.
"Lancelot?" Galahad gasped, her cheeks turning pink as she tried to hide her smile. "You weren’t supposed to be here."
The swordsman shrugged casually. "I wasn’t planning to miss something this interesting." He stepped closer to the screens, eyes locking onto the image of Delimore. "He isn’t running away. He’s waiting for stronger opponents."
Mordred sighed. "Your favoritism is overflowing."
Lancelot laughed. "Just watch him. By the end of this, he’ll be your favorite too."
Guinevere scoffed hard. "If he’s really doing that, he’s a clown."
"Oh, really?" Lancelot turned to her fully. "You’re supporting Lextor, right? Let’s hope he lasts long enough to fight Delimore. Then you’ll see why I said what I said."
Guinevere smirked. "Your confidence is amusing. But Lextor’s progress is something I’ve watched closely. Your favorite won’t even finish chanting before he’s lying on the floor."
Lancelot grinned boldly. "Wanna bet?"
The councilmen froze. The tension between them rose like a brewing storm.
Guinevere lifted her chin. "Fine. What’s the bet?"
Lancelot replied calmly, "If Lextor lasts even one minute against William, I’ll tell you Arthur’s birthday."
Guinevere’s eyes widened. Her heart skipped. "Don’t take your words back."
"I won’t," Lancelot said. "Not when I believe in someone’s skill."
She grinned. "Alright. And if you win... I’ll do anything you ask. Just one thing."
Galahad looked horrified. "Why make a bet so ambiguous!? State the specific condition!?"
They ignored her completely.
Their attention returned to the screens.
The contestants were far apart now...
...but sooner or later, they would meet.
And when they met—
The real game would begin.