It had no beginning.
It had no end.
It was a place where even time itself seemed unwilling to move.
Countless ancient chains drifted through the endless void, each carrying faded symbols that flickered like dying stars.
They stretched into the blackness, binding something far beyond human sight.
Beneath the endless sky stood three hooded figures.
Their faces were hidden beneath worn robes, silent and still.
At last, one of them slowly raised a hand.
“…Another one has arrived.” The calm voice echoed through the void without disturbing the silence.
One of the floating chains trembled before breaking apart into countless motes of light that vanished into the darkness.
“You carried your promise to the end for the safety of your daughter, Karl,” another of the three spoke, his voice old and emotionless.
The third Elder slowly lifted his gaze toward an empty throne beside four other ancient thrones arranged in a silent circle.
“I wonder…” His quiet voice drifted through the void.
“When the Collector finally learns what he has inherited…
will he curse you…
or thank you?” A world away from the void, the cold lingered.
Back in the massive, echoing grand hall where the summoned students had stood before entering their trial, Karl stood quietly near the doorway.
The vast space was now empty, the lingering hum of spatial magic still clinging to the cold stone floor.
Behind him, a man clad in the pristine white robes of the Shepherd stepped out from the shadows.
“Karl,” the white-robed man spoke, his tone laced with unease.
“Why were the survivors sent directly into the ruined city after the Crystal Hall?
Why not bring them straight to the safety of the sanctuary?” Karl did not turn around immediately.
For a brief moment, Karl remembered his daughter’s face.
His hand tightened slightly around the pommel of his sheath before relaxing again.
He turned his head just enough for his cold, steady gaze to lock onto the messenger.
“Because there were too many.
One hundred and nine was a crowd, not a vanguard.
The Shepherd needs true heroes for the trial ahead—not burdens.” The white-robed man bowed his head slightly.
“I understand.” “Remind the executioners not to forget the instructions of the three Elders,” Karl added, his voice low and firm.
“The Shepherd’s doctrine is absolute.
Any summoned hero who came out of the crystal hall with the broken cycle ring on his hand…
must be killed immediately.” The white-robed man nodded firmly.
“By the will of the god.
It shall be done.” Far away, hidden within a secluded chamber, four figures stood around a map of Aetheris.
Only two of them—the Master and her chaotic sister—wore dark, custom uniforms adorned with a distinct emblem embroidered across the fabric: a golden, broken cycle.
Beside them stood a young man and a young woman in standard dark cloaks with heavy broadswords strapped to their hips.
“Master,” the young woman said, her voice tight with frustration.
“Are we just going to let the Shepherd kill the ring bearer again?
They’ve done it every single summoning since the ancient war!
They’re wiping out our only chance at fighting back!” The young man beside her leaned forward.
“Christina is right.
The three Elders are issuing those kill orders through the Shepherd because they know the one carrying the cyclebreaker ring is the only person who can lead us.” Standing at the front of the room was the Master—a woman who radiated an effortless, terrifying aura of authority.
An eyepatch covered her right eye, and a dark uniform bearing the golden broken cycle symbol fit her imposing posture as a long, unadorned sword hung at her waist.
“Don’t be rash,” the Master spoke, her voice calm and absolute.
“Do not forget who backs those Elders.
At our current level, we cannot openly challenge them.
And as for who will lead us…” She glanced sideways.
“…only if he survives their wrath will he prove himself worthy.
We have no use for a weak leader.” Beside the Master stood her sister, whose matching uniform also displayed the golden broken cycle emblem.
She carried a completely opposite atmosphere—a playful, chaotic smirk on her face as she twirled a pair of custom, gun-like implements around her fingers before slinging them effortlessly into twin holsters at her waist.
“I agree with my sister,” the chaotic woman chimed in, grinning.
“Even if he isn’t as strong as us yet, as long as he has the ring and survives the Shepherd’s executioners, there’s hope.
Then we will decide whether he is worth following.” The young man sighed.
“Master, I also heard those two troublesome brothers are acting up again in Sonya Kingdom.” The Master waved a dismissive hand.
“Let them be.
I have a feeling the people summoned this time around will be…
interesting.
You two have been called to the Academy as new instructors for the heroes, haven’t you?
Use that opportunity.
Find the ring bearer—or anyone else strong enough—and see if they are worthy to join us.” The two young swordsmen bowed deeply.
“Understood.” Cold silence welcomed them.
Nobody spoke as the eighty-seven survivors slowly walked deeper into the ruined city.
Their footsteps echoed across ancient stone roads.
The stale air tasted of old ash and dried iron.
The deeper they walked, the more they realized just how enormous this place truly was.
Broken houses stood on both sides of the road.
Some had collapsed completely; others leaned at strange angles, frozen in the middle of falling.
Ancient statues lined the streets—most no longer had heads, some still clutched cracked stone swords, and others knelt with their hands stretched toward the sky as though praying for help that never came.
Rusted weapons covered the ground: bent shields, broken spears, chipped blades, and shattered pieces of armor.
It looked less like a city…
and more like the remains of an ancient battlefield.
Victor slowly looked around, swallowing hard.
“Omo…
it looks like a battlefield, sha.
How many people died here before?” Nobody answered him.
Even Maxwell had stopped talking.
Miss Grace quietly tightened her grip around a blunt iron sword she had picked up from the debris.
“Everyone…
stay close together and watch each other’s backs!
Don’t wander off!” Ayomide looked down, then bent over.
Among the scattered debris, he picked up an old, rusted sword.
The blade was severely chipped—it probably couldn’t even cut paper anymore.
He test-swung it once through the air.
“Hmm…
better than an empty hand, sha.
It’s good to prepare for anything.” Tunde laughed softly beside him.
“You sure say that thing won’t snap the moment you hit something?” Ayomide shrugged.
“If it breaks…” He reached down and picked up a heavy, yellowed leg bone lying beside a skeleton.
“…don’t worry, I still have backup.” Kemi looked at him and burst out laughing.
“Hahaha!
So that bone is your backup?” Ayomide nodded with quiet pride.
“Omo.
Never underestimate village technology.” Tunde shook his head, grinning.
“You’re not normal, abeg.” Beside them, Adesewa quietly picked up nothing.
Instead, she tore a strip of tough cloth from a discarded banner and began wrapping it tightly around her knuckles, securing her fists like a bare-knuckle boxer.
Ayomide noticed.
“You don’t want to carry a weapon?” Adesewa raised her wrapped hands slightly, giving him a quiet, unbothered look that clearly communicated she trusted her fists far more than rusted iron.
Ayomide blinked.
“…I like your confidence.” Adesewa’s knuckles tightened slightly around the wrapped banner cloth.
She quickly adjusted her stance, turning her head away so he couldn’t see the faint warmth creeping up her cheeks, her face returning to its usual stoic mask a second later.
Ayomide had already turned back toward the dark road, completely oblivious.
Beside them, Kemi caught Adesewa’s quick side-glance, a subtle, knowing smirk playing on her lips before she looked away.
Before anyone could say another word— Crack…
Something moved beneath the black stone.
Very slowly, a grey, broken hand sticking out from beneath the rubble twitched.
Then another.
Pieces of stone shifted and rolled across the road.
Several students immediately scrambled backward in panic.
“What is happening?!” “Is there an earthquake?!” The earth split open.
A pale, blood-stained hand reached out, locking onto a paving stone.
Then another.
Slowly, a body pulled itself from beneath the broken stone.
It wore a torn school uniform stained black with dried blood.
One arm hung loosely from a dislocated shoulder.
Half of its face had already rotted away, exposing bone.
Its milky, lifeless eyes slowly turned toward the students.
Someone gasped.
“Wait…” Another student covered his mouth in horror.
“…Is that Samuel?!” Silence fell over the road.
Samuel had died during the initial chaos before the Crystal Hall.
Everyone had watched him fall.
Seeing him standing there again left the survivors frozen in sheer disbelief.
Yet there he stood, his jaw unhinging with a sickening crunch.
“Kill…” The voice sounded dry.
Broken.
Like heavy stones grinding together.
“No…
impossible…” a girl whimpered.
Samuel took one sudden, unnatural step forward.
“Kill…” Then he charged.
“Get back!” Godwin immediately stepped in front of the nearest students.
Aether surged through his frame as the pristine Hero Sword materialization answered his will.
He stepped into the trajectory of the strike and swung.
CLANG!
A shockwave echoed as Godwin’s blade tore a deep, diagonal gash straight across Samuel’s chest, sending the undead stumbling backward into the dust.
Yet…
it didn’t fall.
Samuel slowly raised his head, the deep wound across his torso oozing black sludge instead of blood.
“Kill…” Godwin frowned, stepping back into a defensive stance.
“It didn’t die?!” “First we fought each other,” Tunde muttered, stepping up beside him.
“Now we’re fighting zombies?
Omo…” Daniel’s eyes narrowed behind his glasses.
He didn’t rush in.
Instead, he activated Authority: Eye of Truth.
His vision shifted into lines of energy flow.
He watched Samuel’s posture, his balance, his jerky movements.
Not breathing.
No internal pulse.
But there…
a concentration of dark force lingering at the base of the skull.
“Something is animating it!” Daniel called out quickly.
“The chest wound didn’t disrupt its control structure!” Before anyone could ask what he meant, Samuel lunged again.
This time Miss Grace stepped forward, her Aether enhancing her physical strength as she delivered a straight punch.
BANG!
Her fist crashed directly into Samuel’s jaw, sending the undead spinning across the stone floor.
Dust rose into the air as the body hit the ground.
Yet, it slowly began climbing back to its feet.
Emma raised her hands, a gentle white light gathering around her palms.
A wave of calming energy washed over the terrified students behind her, keeping their panic from turning into a stampede while she kept her eyes glued to the front line.
Ayomide’s eyes never left the undead.
He watched Samuel rise again.
Chest cut failed.
Jaw smash failed.
Ayomide tightened his grip around his rusted sword, his thumb resting near the guard.
“If the chest doesn’t work…
then let’s try another place.
The head, abi?” He rushed forward.
Samuel reached out with clawed fingers to grab him, but Ayomide ducked beneath the sweep, pivoted on his heel, and swung the rusted blade upward with everything he had.
CRACK!
The rusted blade barely held together under the force.
Samuel’s head flew into the air, while his headless body remained standing for a frozen second before collapsing into a motionless heap.
Everyone froze, staring at the body.
“…” “…Is it over?” The severed head rolled across the broken road.
It bounced once…
twice…
and stopped directly beside Kemi’s boots.
The cloudy, rotted eyes slowly rolled upward toward her.
Its jaw twitched.
“Kill…” Kemi stared down at it.
“…” “…AAAAAHHH!” She shrieked, instantly falling onto her butt and scrambling backward as fast as her hands could drag her.
“No!
Abeg no!
THE HEAD IS STILL TALKING!
THE HEAD IS STILL TALKING!” She scrambled until she hid completely behind Ayomide’s back, clutching his shirt tightly.
Ayomide blinked, looking back at her.
“What’s wrong with you?
You have powers pass me and you’re still afraid of a head?” Kemi pointed a shaking finger from behind his shoulder.
“It’s still talking!” Ayomide looked down at the head.
It opened its mouth again.
“Kill…” He shrugged.
“Ignore it, sha.
It’s just arguing after death.” Tunde casually walked past, glanced down at the head once, and kept moving.
“Na his last prayer he dey pray.” A few frightened students couldn’t help but let out breathless laughs, the heavy tension breaking for a brief moment.
Even Daniel cracked a faint smile.
Then, the glow in Samuel’s severed head finally died out, going completely still.
Godwin exhaled, lowering his sword slightly.
“So…
severing the head.
That’s their weakness.” Before relief could set in— “No…
please…” A young girl stood frozen several meters away, her face completely drained of color as her entire body trembled.
Nobody understood who she was talking to until another undead student slowly emerged from beneath the stone rubble.
The undead wore a torn uniform, one side of her neck crushed, her lifeless eyes fixed entirely on the trembling girl.
Several students nearby recognized them instantly.
“…Isn’t that her roommate?” “During the mirror trial…” a boy whispered, “I saw her leave her behind to save herself…” The undead girl raised one broken arm, stumbling forward.
“Kill…” The frightened girl’s legs gave out, and she collapsed onto her knees, tears streaming down her face.
“I’m sorry…
I didn’t want to die…
I’m sorry…” The undead kept walking.
Without stopping.
Without emotion.
Before it could reach the weeping girl— BOOM!
An invisible pulse of force exploded through the air.
The undead was blasted backward, crashing hard through a broken stone pillar.
Everyone turned.
Tunde slowly lowered his hand, looking just as surprised as everyone else.
“Omo…” Tunde stared at his palm.
“Nice.
I didn’t even touch it.” Before anyone could celebrate— Crack…
Crack…
CRACK!
Three more undead climbed out from the ground.
Then five.
Then ten.
One crawled out from inside a ruined shop.
Another climbed over a collapsed wall.
An ancient warrior in rusted armor slowly rose from beneath a pile of ancient bones.
Their voices overlapped into a terrifying, rasping chorus: “Kill…” “Kill…” “Kill…” The sound echoed across the entire ruined city.
Kemi instinctively raised both hands.
Thin, translucent golden strands shot from her fingertips, slicing through the air so fast they were practically invisible.
SHHK!
An undead warrior froze mid-stride.
Its top half quietly slid off its legs, followed closely by its head.
Kemi stared at her fingers in absolute awe.
“I…
I did that?
Look, bae!
Do you see that?
I’m a badass now!” Emma looked at her in genuine surprise.
“Those threads…” Miss Grace didn’t have time to process it as dozens more hands broke through the earth.
“Everyone, gather together!
Don’t let them split us up!” Ayomide tightened his grip on his rusted sword, stepping shoulder-to-shoulder with Adesewa.
Adesewa didn’t hesitate.
She stepped into the path of an oncoming corpse and threw a lightning-fast straight left.
BANG!
An undead’s jaw shattered instantly from the shockwave of her fist.
She spun, dropping her weight, and delivered an ascending right hook.
CRACK!
A skull exploded into fragments.
Ayomide smirked.
“Omo…
you really don’t need a weapon, sha.” Adesewa glanced at him briefly, her expression deadpan, before stepping forward to meet the next foe head-on.
As Ayomide turned to clear his own sector, an undead wearing a heavily torn uniform pulled itself from the rubble right in front of him.
Ayomide froze for half a second.
The rotted face was recognizable.
Kunle.
Memories from his previous life flashed through his mind—before his first death, Kunle had been one of the many who used Ayomide’s desperation, walked over him like dirt, and discarded him the moment he was no longer useful.
The undead Kunle reached out with yellowed teeth.
“Kill…” Ayomide’s eyes went icy cold.
In my last life, I was weak enough to let people like you step on me, Ayomide thought silently, his knuckles turning white on the hilt of his rusted sword.
In this life…
nobody uses me again.
He stepped forward, ducking under Kunle’s claw, and delivered a clean, horizontal arc through his neck.
“Pay your debt with your life,” Ayomide rasped under his breath.
CLEAVE!
Kunle’s head hit the stone floor, and his body dissolved into gray ash.
Is this really who I want to be?
The man who collects debts without mercy?
But if I don’t, who will?
Still, sometimes I wonder if the boy I was is truly gone…
or just buried beneath the weight of all I’ve lost.
At that exact second, the golden ring on Ayomide’s left hand flared with a faint pulse of dark light, a brief warmth spreading through his chest before settling back into the broken cycle symbol.
Ayomide flexed his left hand, staring down at the broken cycle ring.
It had gone silent again.
He didn’t know what it was, or why it had chosen him.
But as he looked out over the crumbling street, one thing was certain—there was no turning back.
Ayomide tightened his grip on the rusted sword.
“Let’s keep moving.” The eighty-seven survivors pushed deeper into the ruined city, their boots echoing against the black stone.
Clang…
A lone bell rang somewhere in the darkness.
Nobody knew who had rung it.