The gigantic hall was filled with cries and laughter—people in completely opposite moods stood side by side. Some looked prepared, cleaning their weapons or bracing themselves, while others desperately tried to speak with anyone they could.
Survive and endure… Was that what Red meant? If I survive this, might we speak again? So he knew this was going to happen... Every time I think about him, there are more questions than answers.
Meanwhile, Faust remained silent, simply observing. He noticed a few individuals in a condition even worse than his own. They were shackled, and their bodies were so thin that their cheeks appeared hollow. The sight intrigued him.
As he watched, he noticed a few individuals attracting more attention than the rest, they were surrounded by onlookers.
There was a man, likely in his thirties, burly and imposing. His skin was white and healthy, starkly contrasting with his dark hair and eyes. His face was sharp and rugged, and he calmly cleaned a black greatsword with a flannel. People watched him in awe. He wore only pants, no shirt, and no shoes.
A few people were trying to suck up to him:
"Oh sire, you are so great with that weapon! Want to be allies?"
"As expected from Sir Rho! A great swordsman must take care of his weapon, hehe!"
"Please, sir, let me remain by your side during this trial. You are the strongest gold-rank adventurer!"
He ignored them all as he continued to clean his sword.
The second was a woman using battle clothing, likely in her early twenties, perhaps even younger. She had a thin, pale body and soft features that reminded Faust of someone he once knew. Her blue eyes were deep and complex, like an endless ocean, and her nearly white-blond hair shimmered faintly. She held no weapons—only a book, which she flipped through with a calm, deliberate rhythm.
No one got too close to her, just admired from a distance. They all said how beautiful she was, how noble she seemed, what a great person she must be, and similar things. They called her Lady Maya.
Faust shook off the memory of the person she resembled and looked toward the last of the trio.
The final figure, and the one drawing the most attention, was a young man clad in noble attire. His voice was as soft as his appearance. His brownish skin glistened in the light, as did his black hair and gray eyes. He held a bow in his hands and carried a quiver of arrows on his back.
This one was different. Although he looked noble, people gazed at him with fear or disdain in their eyes. This young man was called Yuser, but most referred to him as the "Young Noble Demon."
The three seemed to be gold-rank adventurers. Faust had yet to understand what that meant, but judging by how others spoke of them, they seemed important.
Rho, Maya, and Yuser… Noted. They look important.
Compared to them, Faust was unworthy of attention.
"People are holding weapons and sucking up to those who look strong… That so-called 'trial' must involve combat. Judging by those around me, I'm far from the strongest—but not the weakest either. I should be able to hold my own. Also, no one's interacting with the woman who just spoke…
But the most interesting thing is that these people seem to know each other—and they seem to know what this trial is about. How, though? That puts me at a disadvantage… Not great. Since I'm unsure of the trial's nature, I'll wait. There's no reason to rush ahead blindly.
After a few minutes, the blindfolded woman spoke again:
"The Trial of Qualification shall begin. There are too many of you. Only ninety-nine will remain. Eliminate others until that number is reached. Those who survive may choose any book from this place. Each elimination grants you the chance to choose additional books, the number depending on your evaluation. You may begin."
The moment those words echoed through the hall, the noble man with the bow turned and instantly fired six arrows—each one striking a head and killing its target. Blood spilled, and his noble aura was replaced with one of pure bloodlust as he smiled.
At the same moment, the pale-haired woman conjured over twenty green discs into the air and launched them toward the crowd. Arms and legs flew—though only a few were killed.
The burly man didn't lag behind—his greatsword cleaving through one person after another.
Though Faust was some distance away, the chaos approached rapidly. He realized he'd be killed if he didn't move—and so he ran. He wasn't alone. Echoes of screams and curses rang through the hall as many fled to hide.
For the weak, fighting wasn't an option. They only had to survive.
As Faust ran, his instincts suddenly screamed at him. He threw himself to the ground just as a green spinning disc sliced through the air above him. Sweat poured from his brow. Death had looked him in the eye. But death, in this case, was blonde and pale.
The blue eyed woman stared at him, her expression unreadable as she conjured more discs and hurled them at Faust and the nearby survivors before turning away and leaving.
He dodged and ran again—but before he could get far, he raised his executioner's sword in both hands and blocked a powerful blow. A man wielding a spear attacked him. He looked calmer than most, wearing an open black robe that showed off his muscles and matched his black hair and eyes.
"Young slave, please just die. I'll make your life worth something!"
The attack pushed Faust back a few steps. Breathing heavily, he realized that all the training he had endured may not have been in vain—without it, he would have been unable to block the attack and would be heavily injured.
"Going for the kill right from the start… To think people here don't care about taking lives. Wait, he targeted me because I look like a… slave? What?"
Faust wasn't angry about it. In fact, he was curious. He had once been called a beggar and now even a slave? Did he look that poor? Well, he probably did.
The man lunged again with his spear. Faust dodged to the side and countered with a slash, but the hit was easily deflected.
"Hah, didn't the guild just send you here as fodder? Why are you resisting? If you don't surrender, I'll inform them and your family will get no coins!"
The man's voice rose in anger.
What is that guy talking about? My family is already dead. And what about the guild sending me as fodder? What guild is he talking about?
Faust didn't understand what the man meant. He just kept dodging, sweat pouring from his forehead and splattering onto the ground.
He evaded another strike and spun his body, going for another counterattack with the sword.
The spearman deflected the blow again and aimed a thrust at Faust's leg.
Faust leapt back and the attack meant to impale his leg only grazed it, but blood began to flow.
The sword wasn't helping—it was actually hindering him. Every attack was being deflected.
Another strike came, aimed at his head.
Faust crouched and turned, preparing to run.
As he sprinted away, the man followed close behind, both of them dashing past others engaged in brutal combat. The entire hall had turned into a bloodbath—the noble floor was now a lake of blood.
This place was massive, far greater than Faust had initially thought. It resembled indoor plains, but with towering bookshelves acting as colossal walls. One could easily lose sight of others in this place.
"You won't be able to run!"
The spearman stabbed again, but this time Faust was ready.
He stopped suddenly, crouched low, and spun on the floor, turning and changing direction—running straight toward the man.
The stab missed. Before the man could pull his weapon back, Faust twisted and slashed upward with his sword, cutting the man's hand.
The man's eyes turned bloodshot as he screamed.
"Yo-You fucking slave! How dar—"
Faust ignored him and leapt on top of him. Both crashed to the ground, Faust landing above. The man punched Faust's face, but Faust endured it and started slamming the man's head with his shackles.
The man tried to push him away, pressing against Faust's face with his remaining hand, but he was growing weaker. He'd lost too much blood. As he resisted, Faust bit his hand, drawing another scream.
When the man opened his mouth, Faust shoved his fist inside and whispered:
"Shoot."
A blue glow appeared inside the man's mouth as a mana bullet was fired.
Then another.
And another.
And another.
The man finally stopped screaming. His arms dropped to the ground. His eyes lost their light.
Faust collapsed beside the corpse, then slowly rose to his feet as blood pooled beneath his feet.
One kill.
They were now quite far from the chaos, so Faust took the chance to loot the body.
He grabbed the man's spear, a pouch from his waist, and his clothes, as Faust's own were almost completely destroyed, they were remnants of the execution ritual clothing given to him months ago.
He stored the man's black robe and baggy pants in the pouch, though it barely fit. He didn't bother to check what was inside, it wouldn't matter anyway; he intended to take everything. He also strapped the spear to his back using the same leather strap the man had worn.
After a quick final check of the corpse, he turned to seek his next target.