Chapter 4: Arrival
For a while after the incident, Leo remained silent.
His scorched fingertips still tingled from where the burning paper had seared his skin, but he tried not to focus on it too much.
Instead, his mind kept repeating one sentence on loop— "Trust no one."
The words from the note echoed relentlessly in his mind, like a hammer striking against glass, each repetition threatening to shatter his fragile composure.
His gaze stayed low, his expression unreadable, as if carved from stone. He dared not meet the eyes of the other passengers, nor acknowledge the serpent-eyed man who had flicked the poison onto the note.
Instead, he chose to listen.
The cart rattled and swayed, metal screeching against metal, but beneath the grinding noise, whispers slithered through the dim space like venomous snakes.
"Basilisk venom works fastest when it hits the bloodstream directly. A scratch across the throat, and it's over in seconds."
"Nah, too quick. You want widow's ink. Makes them choke on their own bile. Slow. Painful."
A sharp chuckle followed, thin and sharp as a dagger's edge.
Across from Leo, a man with yellow, cat-like eyes inspected his blade with an eerie kind of reverence. A thick, oily liquid dripped from its tip, sizzling faintly as it landed on the floor.
"Waste not," the man muttered, dragging his tongue slowly across the edge of the poisoned dagger, his slit pupils narrowing with pleasure.
Leo's stomach churned.
They were casual about it—discussing death, suffering, and toxins as if they were recipes in a kitchen. It wasn't just cruelty; it was normalcy to them.
His fingers twitched against his thigh. The instinct to act—to do something—gnawed at the edge of his composure. But Leo forced himself still, drawing slow, measured breaths through his nose.
Survive. Observe. Wait.
Every muscle in his body was taut, like a wire pulled to its breaking point, but his face remained an impassive mask.
For now, silence was his shield.
The cart continued its violent journey, jostling its passengers, but Leo's focus remained razor-sharp. He wasn't just listening to the conversations; he was cataloging them—the poisons they mentioned, the tones of their voices, the way their hands twitched over their weapons.
Somewhere deep in the back of his mind, a faint thought surfaced—a murmur in the foggy void where his memories should have been.
He'd heard these conversations before.
He'd been surrounded by killers before.
But before he could chase that fleeting thread, the cart screeched to a grinding halt, metal screaming in protest.
The sudden stillness felt louder than the rattling ever had, as outside, the sound of heavy boots and muffled commands echoed faintly through the thin metal walls.
The passengers fell silent, their earlier bravado evaporating into thin air as blades were sheathed and poisons tucked away in one quick motion.
Leo's jaw tightened as a single thought pressed into the forefront of his mind: 'It's starting.'
*Creek*
With a slight creaking sound, the door to the cart groaned open, allowing white light to flood in from beyond the door and cast long, sharp shadows against the metal floor.
Standing in the doorway was a tall, broad-shouldered man clad in a crisp military-style uniform, it's dark fabric adorned with silver insignias that caught the light.
His cold, calculating eyes swept over the passengers, scanning each face as if he could see straight into their souls.
"All eight alive. Good." His voice was sharp and commanding, carrying an edge that felt like a blade against the skin. "At least you're not stupid enough to disregard university rules. Otherwise, I'd have to eliminate you all here."
A chilling silence followed, broken only by the faint sound of someone swallowing hard. The man's implication was clear: If one of them had broken the rule against killing during transit, they would all have paid the price.
But instead of fear, faint snickers and knowing smirks spread across the passengers' faces, as they disregarded the man and his threat as something light.
They began to climb out of the cart, one by one, some with an air of confidence, others with twitchy excitement.
Leo was the last two move, his limbs stiff as he adjusted to standing after hours of stillness, but he managed to follow the others, stepping cautiously towards the edge of the cart.
But just as he was about to jump down, a rough hand clamped around his waist, stopping him from disembarking, as he was pulled back to his spot.
Leo's breath caught in his throat as the uniformed man hoisted him up effortlessly, like a child caught sneaking into a restricted area.
"No concealed weapons allowed here, brat," the man growled, his piercing gaze locking onto Leo's wide eyes. "You wear your utility belt OVER your robes."
Leo froze, his mind blank for a moment. Utility belt?
His eyes darted down to his waist, and sure enough, tucked beneath the coarse black robe he was wearing, there was a leather utility belt strapped tightly around him.
How had he not noticed this earlier?
"Sorry... I didn't—" Leo stammered, fumbling with the belt as he pulled it free and secured it visibly around his waist.
The uniformed man released him with a scoff, stepping back as Leo's gaze dropped to the belt he now wore openly.
It was well-worn but meticulously maintained, fitted with slots and compartments that housed an arsenal:
Twelve sleek daggers arranged in symmetrical sheaths.
Two small, round metal orbs that glinted faintly in the light.
A couple of glass vials filled with strange, shimmering liquids.
Leo's breath caught as his fingers hovered over one of the vials. What were these liquids? What were the orbs?
More importantly...
Why did this belt feel so familiar?
He clenched his teeth, shaking off the unease gnawing at the back of his mind. There was no time for questions—not now.
"Move along!" the uniformed man barked, gesturing sharply towards the others already forming a loose line outside the cart.
Leo jumped down from the cart, landing lightly on the dusty ground below. As he adjusted his belt, his sharp eyes caught glimpses of the environment around him—tall metal fences topped with razor wire, watchtowers looming overhead, and distant shadows moving across large floodlit courtyards.
"Is this a prison?" Leo wondered, as the atmosphere certainly felt like one—heavy with anticipation... and dread.
"Oh man, this year's test is sssooo much sfun," the person ahead of him in the queue slurred, their voice dripping with both excitement and nervous energy.
Suddenly, the queue leader began to move, prompting everyone behind to shuffle forward in unison.
The test was about to begin.