'There are three ways to lure prey into a trap that every hunter should know.'
Ron thought to himself as he held a paintbrush and a stone-carving tool, crafting ornate decorations.Beside him lay the finished pieces—small stone ornaments arranged neatly across the mountaintop.
'The first is joy—pleasure, fondness, the pull of positive emotion that draws the prey closer.'
He placed them down carefully, each one forming a riddle of its own.Now, the mountaintop was filled with puzzles scattered around, all designed to lead toward a single area nearby.
'It's the same as fishing—you use bait that looks tempting until the fish realizes too late that it's hooked.Desire for happiness, for satisfaction—it's universal.'
"Haizzz."
Ron sighed, gazing at the golden hue of the setting sun before glancing back at the slab he was carving.
'Humans are stubborn creatures—stubborn in their pursuit of joy, of pleasure, rarely able to control either.'
He shook his head. From atop the cliff, he spotted someone below, visibly excited upon finding a small stone pillar made of three stacked rocks.
'The second kind of trap is fear. It's subtler, but far more haunting.Fear of abandonment, fear of pain, fear of death, fear of humiliation… and every social fear in between.Even the fiercest dog, beaten enough times, will wag its tail to please its master.A horse avoids the whip by obeying.Humans don't even need the whip—because they are both the horse and the whip.Whether the whip strikes or not depends entirely on who's holding it.'
The man below, who had been overjoyed moments ago, was now frowning, angry as he whispered through his earring.He slammed a fist to the ground before slumping in defeat, digging into the dirt as frustration overtook him.
Ron watched quietly, sipping from a thermos of hot water as the man kept digging, finding nothing.Eventually, he left, muttering curses under his breath.
He was scared now—scared of losing, scared of being left behind.It wouldn't last, but it would last long enough.
Three-person teams. Eight treasures total. Only twenty-four possible winners.Desperation and pride—powerful tools.He was young, barely twenty, still burning with passion and ego.Once humiliated, not by anyone else—but by himself.And now, he craved redemption.
He had to win—to prove himself, to wash away that shame.
When someone confident in their own skill fails… what do they do?A young, fiery man like him would always try to prove himself again.
'And then, there's the third trap—strange yet familiar, distant yet intimate.The cognitive trap.
It's built upon pleasure, pain, and a spectrum of emotions — all bound together and reinforced by consciousness.
It makes you walk willingly into the snare—like clicking on a clickbait headline.
When you shop, where do you go first?When you crave food, which place comes to mind?Through subtle cues—arrangement, design, color, suggestion—people are guided by their own unseen biases.
They don't know they're the prey — and they don't realize they're the ones who walked right into the trap.'
Ron was building exactly that—intricate objects that stirred emotion and shaped behavior.Artificial moss-covered stones, strangely shaped rocks near empty caves—all to create an illusion of meaning.
A single tree with a carved symbol or an odd patch of color would naturally draw attention.Illusory riddles, false trails, fake discoverieslike the open-world games filled with puzzles and hidden paths, making players believe something must be there.
But Ron's codes meant nothing.Each one led only to another meaningless clue, looping endlessly—a road that led nowhere.
All for the chaos that was about to unfold.
"Things are going to get a lot less boring after tomorrow," he murmured with a faint grin.
Pulling out a slice of pizza and a fire scroll, he warmed himself beneath the dusk sky.A lone figure on a mountaintop, surrounded by glowing orange light—A beautiful, almost poetic sight.Completely at odds with the chaos he was preparing.
Thud, thud.
Footsteps echoed as Marcus ran across a sandy stretch.To his right, the endless sea; to his left, golden sand shimmering beneath the sun.
"Huff… huff…"
He finally stopped, collapsing under a palm tree and gulping from his nearly empty bottle.
"Damn it… I'm almost out of water."Only a few drops clung to the bottom of the flask.
He had been running since yesterday morning—no food, no rest, for almost a full day.Even for someone like Marcus, who reinforced his body with mana, it was pure hell.
He was exhausted, on the edge of collapse—but he still had work to do.
Beep. Beep.
He pressed the pizza-shaped earring on his ear, half-conscious.'Please pick up, Ron… please…'
(Marcus?)
"Thank god—it's you!"
(Did you finish what I asked you to do?)
"Of course! Everything went just like you predicted. Seriously, how do you even figure that stuff out?"
(Good. I'll explain later. I'm busy right now.)
Beep.
"...Damn it!"
Marcus threw his head back and groaned.Finding a patch of shade, he finally laid down.
For the first time in a long while, sleep felt precious.The moment his head hit the ground, all worries disappeared.
"Why are you so stubborn, Jax?"
Jax still stood there—the same spot he'd been in since yesterday—staring into a cave that seemed to whisper secrets.
He pressed his pizza-shaped earring.No response.
After a long silence, he turned toward the group approaching from the dunes.Three of them.The one in front gave a command.Another nocked an arrow and drew it back.
And just like that—another fight began.