Caius sat beneath the swaying tree, its branches creaking gently as wind danced through the leaves. Shadows flickered on the cobblestone road ahead, distorted by the afternoon sun. The illusionary market bustled around him—vendors calling, carts clattering, children laughing—but it all felt like a distant hum, as if he were trapped behind a sheet of glass. The air carried the scent of roasted meat and spiced wine, mocking his empty stomach.
In the corner of his vision, the translucent screen hovered faintly.
[Trial Update]🕒 Day 1 Objective: Survive 30 Days🎁 Reward: ???💀 Failure: Loss of Sanity
He exhaled slowly.
Caius had always been confident in his ability to adapt, to survive. But nothing had prepared him for this.
The trial had seemed deceivingly simple: survive thirty days. There were no monsters, no battles, no curses—at least not in the physical sense. The village of Eldenbrook was picturesque, almost idyllic, with cobblestone paths winding between cheerful homes, a vibrant market, and a sunny sky that rarely dimmed. Yet beneath this tranquil surface lurked the cruel truth: it was all fake.
On the first day, Caius had wandered the village, asking questions carefully. He avoided suspicion after his strange inquiry about the year but quickly realized he would need to find shelter, food, and money to last thirty days. The rules were clear. Survival wasn't just about evading physical harm. It was about preserving the self. His mind. His sanity.
But by the second day, reality began to crumble.
"I need to make money," he murmured to himself. "There's no way I'll last a month without it."
The first idea that came to mind was simple: offer labor. It was honest work, and he didn't need credentials—just strength, persistence, and luck. He wiped his palms against his tattered trousers and made his way toward the eastern edge of the village, where the sound of hammering and shouted instructions echoed through the air.
A partially collapsed stone wall surrounded by scaffolding came into view. Workers—sweaty and strong—moved with practiced ease, lifting stones and mixing mortar. Caius approached the foreman, a burly man with arms thicker than his legs and a face set in a permanent scowl.
"Got experience?" the man grunted when Caius asked to join.
"No, but I can learn quickly. I'm strong," Caius said, trying to sound confident.
The foreman eyed him. His eyes flicked over Caius's thin frame, the worn-out boots, the dirt-streaked shirt. He let out a short snort, more a dismissal than a laugh.
"We don't need freeloaders. Move along."
Caius opened his mouth to argue but stopped himself. He knew that tone. It wasn't anger—it was indifference. That was worse.
He tried again elsewhere. At a bakery, a cheerful woman with flour-dusted hands greeted him. He offered to clean, lift sacks of flour, anything. Her smile was kind but apologetic.
"My husband does all the heavy work, dear. Sorry. We're just scraping by ourselves."
The market grew noisier as the day wore on. Undeterred, Caius found a shady corner and sat with a bundle of small wooden carvings he'd made from fallen branches: a sparrow, a wolf's head, a curved dagger, a small dragon with chipped wings. Whittling had once been a hobby, something an old housekeeper had taught him during long winters. He remembered her face now, soft and lined, always patient.
He laid the carvings on a threadbare cloth. A few passersby glanced at them. Most didn't. A child pointed and giggled, then ran off before Caius could smile.
He sat for hours. Not a single coin. Not one question.
As dusk fell and the marketplace emptied, the ache in his stomach became sharp, pressing against his ribs like knives. He stood and packed the carvings away carefully, swallowing the sting of disappointment. His pride still held him together, though barely.
He tried odd jobs through the evening—hauling buckets of water, cleaning horse stalls, even offering directions to travelers he barely knew himself. Desperation eventually pushed him to try performing, standing awkwardly near a street corner pretending to juggle pebbles or mimic voices he heard in passing.
Nothing worked. Nothing paid.
He wandered the back alleys as night draped itself over the village. The stone beneath his feet grew colder, harder. He found a small nook between two buildings, curled into himself, and tried to rest. Hunger gnawed. Fatigue pressed heavy on his bones. But he didn't sleep—not really. His body was too tense, his mind too loud.
Morning came, and the hunger turned cruel.
The sun's rays filtered into the alley. Birds chirped in stark contrast to the dull throb in Caius's head. When he stood, his legs wobbled. His lips were dry. His fingers trembled.
He made his way to a busy street corner, leaned against a cracked pillar, and extended his hand.
"Spare a coin… please…" he rasped, barely audible.
People passed by in waves. Some ignored him completely. Others sneered. One child tugged their mother away as if he were a disease.
But eventually, a noble-looking man in fine blue robes approached. He didn't stop, didn't look at Caius. But he dropped a single copper as he passed, and the sound of it striking stone was louder than thunder.
Caius stared at it for a long moment, then knelt to pick it up with shaking hands. His throat tightened.
It wasn't just a coin.
It was proof that he still existed.
By late afternoon, he'd gathered enough—barely. A silver coin in total. Through begging, humiliation, and rejection. His spirit was thin as paper, but he'd survived another day.
He trudged toward the bakery again, this time as a customer. The scent of baked bread hit him like a wave, and he nearly staggered. His coin earned him a small, half-stale loaf—cracked on one side, edges hard. It was pitiful for its cost, but Caius cradled it like treasure.
He retreated into a quiet alleyway, heart pounding. Just a bite. Just one—
"Oi!" a voice snapped behind him.
He turned too fast, vision swimming.
Three older beggars stood at the mouth of the alley. Dirty. Ragged. Faces drawn tight from hunger, eyes sunken and sharp.
"Whatcha got there, fancy boy?" the tallest one sneered.
Caius backed up, clutching the bread. "I don't want trouble."
"Yeah, but we do."
They rushed him.
One grabbed his wrist. Another yanked the bread from his grip. The third shoved him back hard, and he crashed against the alley wall. The stone bit into his shoulder. He gasped.
The bread was gone in seconds, torn apart, eaten. Crumbs fell to the dirt.
They didn't look back.
They muttered and laughed through full mouths as they disappeared into the street.
Caius slid down the wall, arms limp at his sides. His hands felt cold.
Nothing.
He had nothing.
Again.
Tears welled in his eyes but didn't fall. There wasn't enough water in him to spare.
The hunger gnawed deep, like an animal trapped inside his ribs, biting to escape. But worse than the hunger was the ache in his chest. The sense of failure. The shame.
He wasn't just being tested physically. He wasn't meant to fight monsters or solve puzzles.
This place was trying to break him.