The third phase began without warning.

  Surya’s breath was shallow, his limbs screaming in protest. Blood dripped steadily from his side, and each step felt heavier than the last. Yet the flickering runes on the outer wall told him he couldn’t stop. Two runes — two victories — and still, the Trial showed no mercy.

  Another figure emerged from the shadows, larger than the ones before. Its armor gleamed like polished steel, and in its hand, a jagged spear glistened menacingly.

  "You can stop now," a voice whispered in his mind. "Two is enough."

  But Surya clenched his blade tighter.

  "No," he muttered. "Not yet."

  The spear lunged forward. Surya barely twisted in time to dodge it, yet the weapon still grazed his arm. He grimaced as fresh pain flared through him.

  The armored figure pressed the attack, each strike driving Surya back. His muscles screamed, and his grip weakened.

  "I can’t..."

  His legs buckled. The spear shot forward — straight for his heart.

  In that moment, a surge of instinct roared through him. Surya twisted to the side, barely evading death. His sword flicked upward, slicing into the armored figure’s knee joint. The enemy staggered, and Surya drove his blade into its chest.

  The figure crumbled into smoke.

  Another rune flickered to life.

  In the observation hall, Rudra’s expression hardened. "That’s three," he muttered. "He’s now qualified for fortress guard duty." He folded his arms, gaze locked on the glowing runes.

  "He’s pushing himself too far," one of the trainers murmured. "Even seasoned warriors know when to stop."

  "He’s not stopping," Rudra said grimly.

  Surya stood trembling in the Trial arena. His vision blurred, his breath ragged. The pain in his body had dulled, replaced by a cold emptiness — the kind that came before collapse.

  The fourth opponent emerged — a shadowy figure wielding two curved blades. It circled him like a vulture, swift and calculating. Surya forced his trembling arms to lift his sword. His fingers barely held on to the hilt.

  "Too fast... I won’t make it."

  The figure struck — lightning-fast.

  Surya’s sword clashed weakly against the twin blades. He stumbled, his sword knocked from his hands. The figure lunged, one blade carving across Surya’s chest.

  He collapsed to one knee. Blood poured down his torso, soaking his tunic.

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  "Is this it?" Surya’s vision darkened. "Have I reached my limit?"

  The shadow closed in, twin blades gleaming.

  But then — that flicker again.

  The forgotten instinct — that sense of something deeper buried within him — surged forward. The figure’s movements slowed. The rhythm, the pattern — he saw it again.

  His hand shot out, grabbing a fallen spear. He thrust it upward just as the shadow figure lunged. The spear struck true — piercing the figure’s chest. The shadow dissolved in smoke.

  The fourth rune flickered to life.

  "He’s reached four..." Rudra said quietly. His voice was tight. "He’s strong enough now for the elite city sentinels." The murmurs in the hall grew louder.

  "That’s rare," one observer said. "Most never make it past the third."

  "He’s still moving," Rudra muttered.

  The Fight Goes On

  Surya staggered forward, dragging his sword behind him. The fifth figure emerged — a towering brute clad in plated armor. An enormous battle axe rested in its grasp.

  "No more," Surya’s body screamed. His limbs felt like stone. His vision danced with shadows.

  The brute advanced, axe raised high.

  "Move!" Surya’s mind roared. But his body wouldn’t respond.

  The axe came crashing down —

  And in that instant, something awakened within him.

  The world shifted. The axe’s path became clear, its arc predictable. Surya’s body moved on instinct alone — swift, fluid, precise. He rolled under the strike, his sword flashing upward.

  The brute roared in pain as Surya’s blade carved through its leg. Surya twisted, slashing again — this time across the chest. The figure crumbled to smoke.

  The fifth rune lit up.

  "That’s... the defense corps," Rudra breathed. "He’s surpassed most warriors in training."

  The murmurs became shouts of disbelief. Even the king’s advisors leaned forward in their seats.

  "Very few have reached five in recent memory," someone whispered.

  Surya’s battered form dragged itself upright. The sixth foe emerged — a swift, agile figure wielding a scimitar. Surya barely held his sword aloft as the shadow weaved and danced.

  The beast-like figure leapt at him.

  Surya’s Battle Instinct kicked in, guiding his arm to block the strike. His sword slid across the scimitar’s edge, and with a desperate thrust, Surya plunged his blade into the shadow’s heart.

  The sixth rune glowed fiercely.

  "He’s done it..." Rudra murmured. "He’s qualified for the warbands... the strongest warriors short of the elite. Only Virat and a few others have reached this far in recent memory."

  The next round started and seventh figure emerged — a towering shadow wreathed in flames, wielding a blazing sword.

  Surya barely reacted in time as fire arced toward him, scorching his arm. The flaming figure struck again, and Surya barely deflected the strike. Each blow came faster, stronger.

  Desperation surged through him. His limbs faltered. His mind blurred.

  "No... not here..."

  With a roar, Surya drove his sword into the shadow’s blazing core. Fire engulfed him, but his blade struck true.

  The blazing figure roared and pressed forward, flames licking at Surya’s scorched arm. The heat threatened to consume him, but Surya gritted his teeth and held his ground.

  Their blades clashed in a fury of sparks. Each strike drove Surya back, his muscles barely responding. The shadow’s blade swept low — Surya leapt back, but the fire scorched his legs. He stumbled, his grip faltering.

  "No... not now..."

  The flaming figure charged — sword raised high. Surya twisted, his battered instincts guiding him. His blade flicked out — slashing deep into the figure’s side.

  The shadow staggered — then lunged one final time.

  Surya, bloodied and exhausted, thrust his blade into its core. Fire erupted around him, scorching his skin — but he refused to let go. With a final cry, he pushed deeper — and the shadow burst into smoke.

  The seventh rune flickered to life.

  "Ashvamedha," someone gasped. "That’s... impossible."

  "Only Rudra's eldest son, Arjuna, has completed the seventh rune in the last twenty years," another voice murmured. "And Surya... he's still standing."

  "It's happening," Rudra whispered. "He’s still fighting."

  Surya lay on his back in the arena, staring at the ceiling. His breath came in short, ragged gasps. The pain was unbearable, his body battered and torn.

  But he had done it.

  He had won... so far.