The campfire at the campsite struggled to survive against the frigid night wind, its flickering flames tearing the shadows of Pierce and Valeria into jagged, ominous fragments.

  Valeria sat with her head bowed, her face appearing exceptionally sallow under the restless light. Once, she thought she had found a powerful anchor to weather the storm, but in this island governed by the law of the jungle, that anchor had become a fuse for the entire class's collective malice in less than 1 day, all because of that fey.

  She understood perfectly what remaining by Pierce’s side entailed. It meant facing the frenzied onslaught of thousands of initiates, including those monsters who had long since ascended to Rank 2 and possessed formidable family backings. For a Rank 1 initiate who merely wished to survive the trial, such high-stakes maneuvering was synonymous with suicide.

  "Pierce." Valeria started, her voice trailing off as her knuckles turned white from the strain.

  "I understand." Pierce interrupted without looking up. His deep pupils reflected the leaping embers, and his tone was as detached as if he were reciting a mundane set of experimental data. "Next, I shall enter the core zone, which will undoubtedly become a slaughterhouse. At dawn, we split up."

  Valeria let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, relief mingling with a heavy surge of guilt. "I am sorry... I will pay the agreed compensation in full."

  "Unnecessary." Pierce waved it off. "The discovery rights to those Frenzy-Lure Blossoms are sufficient to cover these past two days of protection."

  The campsite fell into a deathly silence. The Myriad Flower Fey, the very catalyst of this brewing storm, lay heartlessly beside Pierce’s wrist. She had fallen into a deep slumber without a care in the world, occasionally smacking her lips as if feasting on some rare nectar from an ancient ruin in her dreams.

  Pierce cast a cold glance at her before returning to his task of peeling the stalks of the blossoms. Far beyond his sight, several threads of murderous intent were rapidly converging upon his position.

  At the edge of a cliff, upon a rocky outcrop that jutted out like a spear over the sea.

  Gwendolyn sat in the center of the jagged terrain, her smooth, pale legs swinging lightly in the void. Behind her, the ground within a 100-meter radius was covered in shocking scorched craters—remnants of high-purity fire elemental bombardment. Several carbonized remains, flash-frozen in their final moments of agony by the intense heat, were still visible.

  The air was thick with the scent of sulfur and ozone, yet the genius girl of the Gwendolyn house seemed oblivious to it. Her right hand idly tossed a gemstone shimmering with crimson light, her gaze locked onto the translucent leaderboard floating before her.

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  "Pierce... the outlier who scored a perfect mark on the annual theory exam?" A playful yet aggressive smirk tugged at the corners of Gwendolyn’s lips.

  "To see through the fey's mimicry proves his knowledge has indeed crossed a certain threshold. But in the Arcane world, only the truths one can defend are called knowledge; those undefended are merely fuses for greed."

  "The Myriad Flower Fey... I am determined to claim it."

  She suddenly gripped the Sunstone, then flicked her wrist to launch it toward the distant woods.

  Boom!

  A blinding red light descended like a falling star. In the violent Arcane explosion, dozens of barbarians attempting to traverse the woods under the cover of night were instantly reduced to ash. Gwendolyn rose gracefully, brushed the dust from her skirt, and began her pursuit.

  On the opposite side of the turbulent river.

  Ingram sat upon a moss-covered boulder, staring at the leaderboard with a furrowed brow. He had heard the name Pierce mentioned by his cousin, Yuna; it was an individual described as having an exceptionally solid foundation but a temperament as cold and calculating as a serpent.

  "Rank 19. It seems his combat performance is quite lackluster compared to his theoretical grades." Ingram let out a cold snort and leapt down from the rock.

  As he landed, his shadow rippled violently, and a Shadow Cat with eyes shimmering like violet phosphorus leapt nimbly onto his shoulder.

  "Go. Find his exact coordinates."

  The Shadow Cat emitted a mournful cry, its form blurring under the moonlight before vanishing into the forest's gloom.

  In a temporary camp shielded by a warding spell.

  Silas was preparing to enter deep meditation when the hurried footsteps outside his tent caused him to open the flap with annoyance.

  "What is it?" He looked at his followers, his voice grim.

  "Someone has captured the Myriad Flower Fey," an initiate named Owen replied, his expression complex. "It is... that 'Bloodless' cast out by the family, Pierce."

  "That wretch?" Silas’s brow twitched as a morbid excitement flickered in his eyes.

  To him, this disgrace who had been stripped of the family name was never worth a glance. Even after hearing that the boy had reached Rank 2, Silas considered it nothing more than some unorthodox method that overextended his spiritual potential.

  "His luck is indeed remarkable, to stumble upon such a treasure in the wild." Silas’s eyes narrowed maliciously. "For such a gem to fall into his hands is a sacrilege. Owen, release your Seeking Butterfly. I want him to understand the meaning of bloodline hierarchy before he can even reach the examiners."

  Nearby, Clement and Waylon dismantled the tents in silence, their hearts heavy.

  As initiates who once stood on equal footing with Pierce, they never imagined that the once-silent youth would now hold the 19th rank on the board, possessing the very fey everyone craved.

  "Do you think he can hold onto it?" Waylon whispered.

  Clement bit his lip, watching the Seeking Butterfly fluttering away with its phosphorescent trail. His voice was bitter. "Silas has already mastered three of the family's Rank 1 Secret Blades. His strength is not that of a common initiate. The more Pierce excels, the more the family will suppress him without mercy."

  On this night, the tranquility of the island’s core was utterly torn asunder. Pierce sat by the campfire, his longsword across his knees, waiting for the self-proclaimed hunters to walk into his trap.