The whole world had kicked into overdrive. Governments scrambled, diplomats lost sleep, and military bases roared with activity as the UN’s emergency meeting drew near at the end of the Month. Nations were preparing to divide roles and responsibilities in a world that suddenly felt very small—and very fragile.

  And amid all this chaos, the first batches of army recruits began to arrive at the forest… only to be forced into an absurd bottleneck.

  Colonel Harven—who had expected efficiency, not confusion—arrived to find a full-blown traffic jam of soldiers waiting at the treeline.

  “What in the world is this?” he barked the moment he got out of the jeep. “We said to gather in the middle of the forest. Why is no one moving?”

  A nervous private snapped to attention. “S-sir! They won’t let us enter.”

  “They?” Harven repeated.

  The private pointed toward the forest entrance. Two middle-aged men leaned casually against a tree—bows in hand—surrounded by a handful of baffled army officers. The two looked like they belonged to another era entirely.

  Before Harven could speak again, one of the archers pushed himself off the tree with a quiet sigh.

  “How about we walk a little, Colonel?” the man suggested with a leisurely wave, as if strolling through a park and not blocking an entire military operation. “Name’s Rik.”

  Harven followed him down a shaded path, putting some distance between them and the troops’ ears.

  “Right,” Harven said once they were alone. “Explain this… situation.”

  “It’s nothing dramatic,” Rik said. “We simply test all newcomers by having them walk this trail toward the lodge. Helps us determine their observational ability. That way we can recommend which type of archer training they’d take best to. Since we only have them for a month, it saves everyone time.”

  Harven raised an eyebrow. “Archery tests?”

  “It’s more important than you think,” Rik answered with a shrug. “Even basic war archery has multiple drawing styles. We already ran five hundred of your men through the path. Results are… surprisingly diverse.”

  They reached the wooden lodge, where piles of neatly stacked paperwork waited. Rik grabbed the first set and handed it to Harven’s staff officer.

  “Out of five hundred men, we recommend one hundred as hunter-types—or in your army’s terms: scouts. Excellent attention to detail. Sharp instincts.”

  He passed over another stack.

  “Three hundred more qualify as sharpshooters. Good eyesight, steady focus. Nothing too exotic, but extremely reliable.”

  Then Rik reached into his satchel and pulled out a sealed envelope, pressing it into the colonel’s hands with unexpected gravity.

  “Now… the rare ones,” he said quietly. “Around fifty recruits displayed a particular sensitivity—an ability to read emotions and subtle disturbances in living creatures. We call them Human Detectors. There’s nothing special we can teach them as archers… but your army will find them invaluable.”

  Harven blinked. “…Human Detectors? How rare are we talking?”

  Rik leaned closer. “In six hundred years of records—over one hundred thousand people tested—only two have ever been identified. One still alive.”

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Harven’s breath hitched. The envelope suddenly felt heavier.

  “Deliver this directly to your generals,” Rik instructed. “Preferably without anyone else knowing these people exist. They’re… the kind of asset others would rather not let you keep.”

  Before Harven could ask about those six centuries—when all intelligence reports insisted this forest guild had only existed since after the Second World War—Rik moved on briskly.

  “Next: thirty recruits suited for infiltration. They have a knack for spotting hiding places. Unfortunately, most of them are cowards. Do with that what you will.”

  Another stack.

  “And lastly, twenty who excel in rapidly changing environments. Alert, adaptive. Good for watch duty.”

  Harven rubbed his temples. “Just one question. How do you know all this so quickly?”

  “Practice,” Rik said simply. “Six hundred years of perfecting the method helps. You can take the test yourself, if you want. Though knowing it’s a test kind of defeats the purpose.”

  “…I’ll do it.”

  “Thought you might. Off you go, Colonel.”

  The Path

  Harven walked the forest trail with a soldier’s confidence—straight back, measured steps. The forest looked ordinary to him: brown trunks, filtered sunlight, the occasional patch of shadow.

  Nothing suspicious. Nothing clever.

  Frankly, it felt like a joke.

  No examiners. No traps. No puzzles. He was already preparing a complaint when he spotted Rik waiting at the trail’s end.

  Rik held up a hand before Harven even opened his mouth.

  “Let me guess,” he said. “You’re a warrior class.”

  Harven froze. “…How did you know that?”

  “I wonder,” Rik said with a smirk. “Let’s just say the path told me everything. If you were trying to be an archer, I’d advise you to quit immediately.”

  The colonel stiffened. “Excuse me?”

  “You passed fifteen hidden examiners. Didn’t notice a single one. Even the worst archers spot at least seven. Your reaction time after stepping into sun or shade lagged by nearly a full second—far too slow to detect threats or fire accurately. And you spotted none of the distressed animals.”

  Rik handed him the remaining papers.

  “Report these to your generals. And don’t worry, melee fighters never score well on this test. See you soon, Colonel.”

  Harven remained stunned long after Rik left.

  The Report

  “Colonel? Colonel Harven!”

  He blinked, returning to the present. The High Command of Europe stared at him from across the polished table.

  “Are you alright?” the General asked. “You look like someone delivered catastrophic news.”

  “No, sir,” Harven said stiffly. “Just… processing everything I learned.”

  “Very well,” the general said. “Report.”

  Fifteen minutes later, the room was silent, filled with skeptical stares and incredulous frowns.

  “Colonel,” one general finally said, “are you certain about any of this?”

  “…No, sir,” Harven admitted. “But if there was even the slightest chance this information is real, I couldn’t risk ignoring it.”

  He placed the sealed wax envelope onto the table.

  “This was given to me for your eyes only.”

  The general accepted it without a word.

  “You are dismissed, Colonel.”

  Harven saluted. “Thank you, sir.”