Warrior Training System

Before the test at the Den of Fairies, the examiners had mages and warriors choose from separate boxes to determine their testing locations. Cassian had initially assumed this meant the two groups would be separated. However, when the time came, he noticed both mages and warriors entering the same teleportation gates. That discrepancy had already raised questions in his mind.

But now, as he roamed the Den of Fairies, he realized something even stranger—he hadn't encountered a single mage. Instead, the warriors he came across were numerous, and many had fallen in front of him. Yet, inexplicably, some of these very warriors reappeared later, alive and fighting as though they had merely rested and recovered.

This phenomenon added to the confusion and complexity of his situation. Cassian had entered the academy under orders from his superior in the law enforcement force, tasked with uncovering any connection between the academy and the internal strife brewing among multiple kingdoms. The suspicions ran deep, particularly concerning the kingdoms whose heirs were enrolled at the academy. His superiors feared that the academy was brainwashing its students to act as spies or saboteurs, fueling the unrest.

Cassian had shared those suspicions—until now. The apparent indifference of the academy to whether the noble candidates, including kingdom heirs, lived or died threw him off. If the academy intended to brainwash them, why allow them to be killed so easily?

That question gnawed at him until he stumbled upon something that made the situation even more disturbing: the warriors they fought weren't just random combatants. Some of them were exact copies of noble candidates who had already died. These doppelgängers moved and fought with eerie precision, further muddying the waters of Cassian's investigation.

Now, everyone traveling with Cassian had encountered these strange occurrences. Among them, the sharper minds, like Larick and the black-haired girl, Amina, had begun piecing things together.

As Larick munched on a piece of dried bark, he turned to Cassian with a serious expression. After swallowing the bit in his mouth, he asked, his tone grave, "Cassian, tell me the truth..."

Pausing for a moment, he continued with uncharacteristic solemnity, "Are we really being replaced by... whatever those things are?"

Amina, sipping the clear sap that seemed slightly sweet from its appearance, appeared deep in thought. Finally, she spoke instead of cassian, her voice tinged with unease. "I can't think of any other explanation…"

Cassian nodded in agreement, her words aligning with his own suspicions. While this realization clarified their situation, it did nothing to solve the pressing question of how to escape it.

It was undeniable that these clones, or whatever they were, were pushing Cassian to his limits, forcing him to grow stronger with each encounter. They weren't just copies; they were improved versions, designed to be better than the originals. The last one Cassian fought was a testament to that fact—it was nearly on par with Larick, the most talented swordsman in their group, second only to Cassian himself.

What made the fight even more remarkable was how well the clone utilized advanced sword-fighting principles. Its movements were precise, calculated, and deliberate, as if every strike and defense had been rehearsed to perfection. Cassian couldn't afford to hold back, finding himself compelled to draw upon his own understanding of swordsmanship to keep up. The clone's mastery of technique wasn't just impressive; it was challenging enough to make Cassian adapt mid-battle, forcing him to refine his skills in real time.

All in all, he was utterly cornered. He had no idea how to escape this mess, and the more he thought about it, the worse it seemed. The clones weren't just stronger—they were designed to be better in ways he couldn't fully comprehend yet. Who knew how much further they could surpass the originals? And if the clones themselves weren't enough of a threat, there was the looming presence of whoever was behind them.

At this point, it was clear to him: the Valtross Academy wasn't just a prestigious institution. It was the mastermind behind this nightmare, and that realization only deepened the pit of unease growing in his stomach.

Cassian exhaled sharply, his eyes scanning the dense jungle around them. The twisted trees loomed overhead, their gnarled branches dripping with glowing sap that seemed to pulse faintly in the dim light. The eerie chirping of unseen creatures echoed in the background, a constant reminder that they were deep in hostile territory.

"Whatever this is," Cassian said firmly, breaking the tense silence, "we need to find a way out of this damn Den of Fairies first. We can figure out what's really happening later."

His voice carried a determined edge, snapping the others out of their brooding thoughts. Amina, still sipping on the sweet sap, nodded slowly, her black eyes narrowing as if weighing his words. Larick leaned against a nearby tree, his jaw clenched, visibly tired but unwilling to show it.

"And how exactly do you propose we do that?" Larick asked, his tone tinged with frustration. "Every path we've taken so far just leads us back here or deeper into this cursed place."

His words left the three of them in heavy silence, each retreating into their own thoughts. What Larick had said was undeniable.

As Even though the Den of Fairies was vast, by the natural order of things—geological laws and the way nature worked—there should have been some variation in the scenery. A clearing, a stream, or at least a patch of different trees. But no, every inch of the place looked eerily identical.

The same twisted trees, the same glowing sap, the same faint whispers in the air. It was as if they had been walking in circles, yet none of them could pinpoint how or when it started.

They all knew the truth, unspoken but shared: this wasn't natural. It was magic. A spell, likely an illusion designed to trap them in an endless loop.

Knowing the problem didn't mean it was solved. Like so many challenges they had faced, this one loomed unsolved and seemingly insurmountable. But unlike other obstacles, this wasn't a matter of strategy or endurance—it was simply a matter of strength, or rather, their lack of it.n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

The illusion trapping them here was, in theory, one of the easiest to break for a Circle Warrior. But the catch was experience. It required someone with a deeper understanding of their power, someone who had spent years honing their abilities.

Unfortunately for them, they were far from that level. None of them had been Circle Warriors for more than six months. They were fledglings, barely out of the stage of discovery, and still grappling with the fundamentals of their newfound strength.

It wasn't their fault—who could have anticipated being thrust into a situation like this so early in their journey? They had barely begun the path toward becoming their strongest selves, still taking their first tentative steps into a world of power and responsibility.

And now, it seemed as if that journey might end before it even truly started, cut short by forces far beyond their current capabilities. The weight of this realization was crushing, a bitter reminder of how fragile their progress was against the harshness of reality.

Yet, they had embarked on this journey to reshape this harsh reality.