Caius looked utterly lost—and confused
He had known it had a trial , but he hadn't known what it was .
Clearly, he hadn't anticipated this.
"Wh–Where am I?" he mumbled.
He stood frozen in the center of a cobblestone street, the late afternoon sun casting a warm glow over everything. A gentle breeze carried the scent of roasted chestnuts and fresh bread through the air. The sky above was a perfect blue, and the street around him bustled with activity. People moved smiling, chatting, laughing. Everything felt… normal.
Too normal.
Caius rubbed his temples and scanned the crowd, trying to find someone who might give him answers.
His eyes landed on an old man sitting near a small cart filled with carved wooden toys. The man sat hunched on a stool, a cane resting beside him, puffing from a long-stemmed pipe, his face weathered like cracked parchment.
Caius approached him with cautious steps. "Excuse me, sir," he began, forcing a polite tone, "Can you tell me where I am?"
The old man raised an eyebrow lazily, eyes cloudy but sharp beneath bushy gray brows. "You lost, boy? You're in Eldenbrook. Quiet village, decent ale, bad weather."
"Eldenbrook…" Caius repeated. No such village existed in Heaven's Wrath.
He pressed on. "And… what kingdom is this?"
The man gave him a strange look. "You hit your head or somethin'? This is the Kingdom of Narellia, of course."
Caius's heart sank.
Narellia? Never heard of that either. It's fake. It has to be.
He hesitated, then asked cautiously, "What year is it?"
At that, the old man's demeanor shifted.
His gaze narrowed. The pipe lowered slightly from his mouth. "What kind of fool question is that?"
Caius felt the tension spike in the air. He kept his expression calm, playing the part of someone confused, not suspicious.
"I just… hit my head . My memory's still foggy. I'm trying to piece things together."
The man grunted, not entirely convinced. "Hm. Year's 764. Under Queen Velissa's rule, tenth of her reign."
Caius nodded slowly. "Thank you."
He offered a brief bow and walked away, feeling the old man's eyes on his back the whole time.
Definitely fabricated. The names, the numbers—it's all designed to disorient me.
Caius remained seated beneath the tree, the market's gentle noise like a murmur in his ears. But as he observed more closely, the details began to stand out.
To his left, a fruit vendor caught his eye—a middle-aged woman with a warm smile and sun-wrinkled skin. Her stall was an explosion of color: deep purple grapes, polished apples, and bright oranges stacked in neat pyramids. She hummed as she worked, gently dusting the fruit and calling out, "Fresh pears! Sweetest in the district! Come taste one!" Her voice carried an inviting melody.
But something about her felt too perfect. Her movements repeated in almost the same rhythm—wipe, smile, call out. Wipe, smile, call out. Over and over. Like a puppet stuck in a loop.
A few paces away, a man and his daughter were seated at a street food stall, sharing skewered meat that sizzled over a tiny brazier. The man, likely in his thirties, had a kind face and wore a simple tunic. The little girl beside him giggled with every bite, her chubby cheeks full of food as she spoke excitedly in half-formed words. The man responded with doting nods and exaggerated expressions.
But their laughter didn't change in tone. It was the same laugh every time. The same exact laugh.
Caius' breath caught in his throat. The realization was like ice spreading in his veins.
These people weren't real.
They weren't living.
They were constructs. Fragments of memory or invention—crafted to make him feel at ease. To make him lower his guard.
He leaned back slowly, watching the crowd more carefully. The man and daughter continued their happy routine. The fruit vendor called out her same pitch. A blacksmith down the way pounded a hammer onto the same glowing piece of metal for the third time in a row.
The simulation was detailed. But it wasn't flawless.
Then, without warning, the screen pulsed in his vision:
[Trial Update]
🕒 Day 1
Objective: Survive 30 Days🎁 Reward: ???💀 Failure: Loss of Sanity
Caius flinched.
then he stared at it, his mind racing.
Thirty days…?
His breathing hitched. That was far longer than he expected. And the punishment…
"Loss of sanity…?" he whispered, eyes widening.
This wasn't just about physical survival. It was psychological. This was a test of his mind. His will. His ability to hold onto reality when everything around him screamed otherwise.
The peaceful setting. The comforting scenes. The absence of danger—it was all part of the trap.
The trial wanted to see how long it would take before he broke.
Before he stopped questioning the illusion.Before he forgot it was a trial.Before he gave in.
Caius clenched his fists. No. He wouldn't fall for this. He wouldn't smile and nod and pretend to live inside a lie. He would remember. Every second.
He stood up from the bench, shaking off the momentary sense of calm that tried to settle over him. He had to stay sharp.
He glanced back at the floating message.
30 days. No allies. No clues. And failure meant…
He didn't want to find out.