Another month had passed, and only one white castle remained in the sky, the nine-towered castle.
Faust was running through the settlement when he looked up and saw it: the final white castle had begun its ascent toward the gray spiral. By now, the sky had already recovered most of its colors and light, and with this last castle rising, it would soon return to its previous, original state.
As Faust observed, he noticed something strange. From almost every other castle, fog-eggs had flown out before it ascended and rejoined the gray spiral. Only two didn't have any leaving fog-egg: the two-towered castle and this last one, the nine-towered castle.
That could mean two things: either no one had passed the ninth trial, or something different happened to those who did—perhaps they never left the castle.
It could be important later, and Faust knew he had to find out what truly happened within the second and ninth trial. He would try to uncover it during the next phase and, hopefully, understand the trials themselves more deeply.
In the meantime, Faust remained fully focused on his training—honing his sword techniques and strengthening his body. He could feel it: his mana-circle was at its limit. He couldn't gather any more mana unless he became a two-circle mage. He didn't bother going out to hunt or fish—he had enough food stocked. He had also finished reading the book on mana, a guide that covered a mage's journey up to the third circle. Beyond that, it offered little to no information.
According to the book, advancing from one-circle to two-circles wasn't particularly difficult. It was just like forming a new circle, this time with a greater amount of mana. The transition from two to three was similar—accumulate more mana and shape it into another, even denser circle.
In theory, it didn't sound so hard. But Faust wasn't optimistic. Awakening his mana had already taken him around five times longer than normal… forming a new circle with even more mana didn't sound promising.
Still, he would do it. He had no other choice, his mana growth had reached its limit.
He sat in his meditation area, closed his eyes, and focused on the mana particles. Now, he could see them much more easily. He began gathering the particles into his heart, trying to accumulate them. It was the same process as when he first awakened his mana—although slightly easier thanks to his experience.
Sweating profusely, Faust had to focus on each individual particle. It demanded enormous mental effort. He failed to control enough of them to form the second circle.
He rested and tried again.
And failed again.
He tried every day, all day, for a week straight.
He failed every single time.
But he didn't give up. He was already used to failure. He had learned that the greater the failure, the greater the reward. Only with that kind of mindset could someone survive isolated for so long.
He had failed at mana. He had failed in fights. He had failed in runes. He had failed in everything.
But as long as he was alive, he could keep trying. Not giving up even without motivation, not giving up when his spirit was broken, not giving up when his body was dying—that was the resolve of someone who sought to be absolute. His only true enemy was himself, and even in defeat, he gained something. Always moving forward.
One day later, while sitting on the ground and gathering particles once again, something changed. His heart tightened. The scattered particles began merging into larger ones—and then merging again. The process repeated until he had to stabilize it. This was the final step. His entire body was drenched in sweat.
Faust focused. The chaotic mana settled.
And there it was—another circle spinning around his heart.
He had attained the second circle.
He stood up, a smile forming on his lips. The boy who had lost everything was now a two-circle mage. What once seemed unimaginable was now real. His body felt lighter, his red eyes shimmered, and his pale skin looked a bit healthier. He had even grown a little, though he remained quite short. His face had gained a few sharper features, yet still retained a childish look.
Even with this joy, he couldn't afford to waste time. He began testing how much stronger his techniques had become with two circles.
The difference was clear. His attacks were far more powerful, as if the techniques themselves had been refined, even though they now consumed less mana. A single mana bullet now cost only two percent of his reserves. A mana spike used three percent, and a light mana ball could stay active for an hour at the cost of three percent.
With runes, he could now use two rest runes at once. The bind rune glowed brightly, though still not enough to activate. Detonation runes could be deployed almost freely, as he could now control the mana input more precisely. Heal could be cast five to six times a day. Based on that, obedience could likely be used around three times.
He grabbed his sword—it felt lighter in his hands. As he swung it, his vision followed the blade with greater clarity. Even with his eyes closed, his hearing was sharper. His already refined senses had now reached an excellent level. Stepping outside, he listened to the river flowing peacefully nearby.
It was a rare moment of tranquility.
Attaining the second circle had been a massive leap forward. It enhanced his body, senses, mana techniques, runes, and even his swordsmanship—if only indirectly.
That's not enough…
His smile faded as he remembered the three strongest participants from the last trial. They too would be getting stronger… and likely faster than him.
So he had to push further. Gain more knowledge. Refine his resolve and strength even more.
The path to the absolute was like a staircase in the void. Before reaching the second circle, he had been clinging to the last step with his hands, nearly falling into nothingness. Now, he had finally managed to stand on the first step—but the top was still far out of sight.
******
Three months later, on the mountain camp.
Hundreds of people, armed and armored, stood outside wooden houses and huts. They stared at the white, gray, and black sky as beads of sweat formed on their foreheads.
Occasionally, they glanced at a wooden clock that stood like a monolith in the center of the camp. It ticked slowly, second by second, minute by minute. With the sky eternally static, it was impossible to tell the time naturally. So, the adventurers and other camps relied on the clock as their only guide.
The Castles of Trials were about to appear again.
Then, suddenly—
A wave of coldness swept through the air. The sky turned pitch-black as colossal gray spirals began to materialize once more.
From them, white castles with towers numbering from one to nine emerged in the sky.
As they descended, the people watched in awe. Voices murmured throughout the crowd—some filled with excitement, others whispering prayers to the gods.
The three shining stars of the first trial stood scattered among the gathering.
Yuser, the archer, gripped his bow tightly.
Maya, the mage, calmly held her book, eyes fixed on the descending towers.
Rho, the swordsman, tempered by experience and age, wore an excited smile—but his eyes were serious.
From the second trial onward, the difficulty increased drastically. Everyone in the camp had already studied the trials' contents, yet no one could guarantee success.
Before anyone could say more, fog began to descend on the camp and enshroud people—hundreds of people at once, along with dozens from other camps... and a lone figure far away from the rest.
Then came the fog-eggs, flying toward the castles. The castle hosting the first trial received the most—hundreds of eggs soared toward it.
From the two-towered castle and above, the number of eggs dropped significantly.
Only ninety-nine eggs flew toward the castle of the second trial.