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Chapter 3
Morning arrived without sunlight.
The green-tinted clouds still hung low in the sky, unmoving, as if time itself had stalled. Ren woke to the smell of damp earth and rotting leaves, his body stiff from sleeping on bare ground.
Around him, the others slowly stirred.
Some sat up groggily. Others didn't move at all, staring blankly at the sky. A few whispered prayers under their breath.
They were no longer in a classroom.
They were in the wilderness.
Tall grass stretched unevenly around them, broken by clusters of trees and the remains of old wooden structures—collapsed fences, a half-rotted watch post, and what looked like the ruins of a small storage hut made of stone and timber.
A village.
Or what used to be one.
Marcus stood near the edge of the clearing, speaking quietly with several students who could see their interfaces. Their posture was different now—more confident, more alert.
Ren listened.
"We can't stay exposed," Marcus said. "If goblins found us once, they'll come again."
"And wolves," another added, glancing toward the tree line. "My interface shows monster activity nearby."
Marcus nodded. "We need shelter. Something we can defend."
A girl spoke up hesitantly. "What about the ruins?"
"Too unstable," Marcus replied. "But we can reinforce something nearby."
He turned.
His gaze moved naturally toward the others—the ones standing slightly apart.
The ones without interfaces.
Ren felt it immediately.
"Those of us with combat or active skills will handle guard duty," Marcus said. "We'll form a perimeter."
Then, calmly, "The rest of you will gather materials. Wood. Stones. Vines. Anything usable."
No accusation.
No cruelty.
Just division.
Relief flickered across some faces.
Dread across others.
Ren exhaled slowly and stepped forward with the rest.
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They were divided into small groups and sent out.
No weapons.
No skills.
No protection beyond numbers.
Ren's group followed a narrow dirt path leading deeper into the forest. The trees here were old, their roots breaking through the ground like grasping fingers. Somewhere in the distance, something howled.
One boy scoffed loudly. "So we're the labor force now."
Another laughed. "Figures. If you don't have a system, you don't get to fight."
Ren kept his eyes forward.
A third boy glanced at him. "Hey. You still don't have an interface, right?"
Ren nodded once.
The boy smirked. "Then stay close. Monsters love easy kills."
The laughter that followed wasn't loud.
It didn't need to be.
Ren said nothing.
He was already scanning the forest.
Broken branches. Flattened grass. A faint, musky smell.
Something passed through here recently, he thought.
They reached a small clearing where several fallen trees lay scattered, their trunks thick and usable. Nearby, a broken wooden cart lay half-buried in the dirt, its wheels shattered with age.
"Start hauling," someone ordered.
They worked.
Sweat soaked Ren's clothes as he dragged branches, stripped bark, and tied bundles using vines. His hands burned. His muscles screamed.
The others complained loudly.
"This is pointless."
"We should be leveling."
"This world is bullshit."
Ren ignored them.
Instead, he noticed patterns.
The wind always shifted before the forest went quiet.
Birds stopped calling in certain areas.
The ground dipped slightly downhill toward a darker patch of trees.
That's where predators move, he realized.
"Don't go that way," Ren said quietly.
One boy snorted. "Why? Because you're scared?"
"Because it's a path," Ren replied. "Not a random one."
They didn't listen.
Minutes later, a scream rang out from another group deeper in the forest.
Everyone froze.
A goblin burst into view, chasing two fleeing students. Its crude blade flashed as it lunged.
Panic erupted.
"RUN!"
Ren grabbed a thick branch and a coil of vines and bolted—not blindly, but sideways, pulling others with him.
The goblin didn't chase them.
It chased the loudest prey.
By the time Marcus and the fighters arrived, the goblin lay dead.
One student was bleeding.
Again.
Back at the clearing, shelter construction began in earnest.
Rough wooden frames were erected. Stones were stacked into low walls. Vines bound supports together. It wasn't elegant—but it was functional.
Ren worked nonstop.
Someone shoved past him.
"Move," a boy snapped. "You're slowing us down."
Ren stumbled but caught himself.
"Enough," a calm voice said.
The healer stood nearby.
Her presence alone made the others hesitate.
She wasn't loud. She wasn't smiling. But everyone knew her value.
Ren scraped his arm on a splintered beam. Blood welled up immediately.
She noticed.
"Hold still," she said.
Green light shimmered faintly around her palm as she pressed it close to his wound. The bleeding slowed. The pain dulled—but the exhaustion on her face deepened.
"That's all," she said softly. "Don't push it."
Ren nodded. "Thank you."
She studied him for a second. "You pay attention," she said. "That matters."
She turned away before he could respond.
Whispers followed.
"Why'd she help him?"
"He doesn't even have a system."
"Must be pity."
Later, one boy snapped openly.
"Hey," he said loudly. "Why are we even keeping him around? If monsters attack, he'll just die."
Silence spread.
Ren straightened.
Before he could speak, the healer did.
"That's enough," she said.
Her voice wasn't angry.
It was firm.
"He's carried more materials than most of you," she continued. "He warned you about the forest path. And he hasn't complained once."
Someone scoffed. "So what? He's still weak."
She looked at him coldly. "Then stop using what he builds."
No one answered.
Because the shelter stood because of it.
Marcus watched from a distance, eyes thoughtful.
By nightfall, the shelter was complete.
Crude.
Fragile.
But standing.
Ren sat near the edge, staring into the dark forest beyond the firelight.
He felt it again.
That pressure.
Closer now.
Watching.
Still no interface appeared.
Still no system voice spoke.
But Ren understood something important.
In this world, power decided status.
But survival depended on something else entirely.
And whatever the system was testing—
It hadn't finished with him yet.
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