The midday sun scorched the earth, and the air was thick with the smell of hot dust.
The normally bustling training grounds had been cleared. Even the most tireless cicadas seemed to have sensed the oppressive atmosphere and had fallen silent.
Velin stood in the shadow of a high platform, clutching a secret letter from Tristan's father. The edges of the parchment were already wrinkled from the sweat on his palms. The letter's description of "breaking through to Level 5" was only a few short sentences—the kind of experienced advice that could only be left by the very few who had set foot in that realm.
"According to the letter, has everyone not involved been moved five hundred meters away?" Velin asked in a low voice, his gaze locked on the petite figure in the center of the field.
"They're gone. Not even a rat is left."
