Chapter 3123: Candidates

Magus Alliance Realm

Vorn Hollow

Several weeks had passed since Emery’s Light Avatar entered the Occulus homeworld under the identity of Ethan Valk. To gain greater access to the faction and uncover its deeper secrets, he had applied to join the ranks of the Dark Magus.

More than three thousand candidates had applied alongside him.

After passing the initial screening, they were gathered for an intensive training program designed to test their capabilities and determine whether they could endure the mark of a Dark Magus.

The training ground was a desolate salt marsh surrounded by black stones that seemed to drink in the light. Even beneath the open sky, the area felt unnaturally dim, as though the surrounding darkness swallowed every trace of warmth.

Instructor Harrow, a Grand Magus whose face had been scarred into an expression of permanent stillness, stood before the assembled recruits. His cold gaze swept across the crowd before he delivered a single rule.

"You may leave whenever you wish. Crush the husk at your belt and walk away. No one will stop you."

Each of the three thousand and forty candidates wore a dried beetle husk hanging from a cord at the hip. It was a simple token, yet its meaning was clear. Those who could no longer endure the training were free to abandon their ambitions by crushing it.

By the following dawn, forty candidates had already crushed their husks.

Nobody mocked them. There were no jeers or whispered insults as the exhausted candidates watched their former companions leave.

After experiencing the first day of training, most understood that the decision was not as shameful as it might have seemed.

The training was brutally demanding.

Every morning, the candidate were handed heavy sacks filled with wet stones and ordered to haul them across the marsh. Their route passed through a series of obstacles designed to push their physiques and endurance to the limit.

Some sections forced them to wade through knee-deep saltwater while carrying their loads. Others required them to climb over jagged black rocks or cross unstable platforms. Whenever someone stumbled, an instructor would order them to start that section again.

There was little time to rest between exercises. The recruits were expected to keep moving until their muscles trembled and their legs could barely support their weight.

Every day, dozens of candidates quit.

Some crushed their husks after collapsing for the third or fourth time. Others simply sat in the mud, unable to force themselves back to their feet. The instructors showed no sympathy, offering neither encouragement nor assistance. They merely watched, recording each failure with the same indifference they might show toward a broken training tool.

For Ethan, however, the situation was completely reversed.

He lifted his sack and felt almost nothing.

The wet stones inside barely registered as a burden against his strength. He could have completed the entire course without breaking a sweat.

Beside him, a young recruit staggered beneath his own load before collapsing with a sound like a dropped wardrobe. The sack struck the ground, sending muddy water splashing across the boy’s legs.

Ethan glanced down at the fallen recruit, then quickly turned his attention toward Instructor Harrow.

"Did he see me? Did he figure it out?"

Compared with the other recruits, his performance was far too effortless.

Ethan immediately adjusted his posture. He allowed his shoulders to sag, shortened his steps, and forced his breathing to become heavier. A moment later, he stumbled slightly on the uneven ground, pretending that the weight was beginning to take its toll.

He even let out a quiet grunt as he hauled the sack over a ridge of black stone.

Only then did he feel that his performance was somewhat more convincing.

"I need to be more careful"

Even at just fifty percent of his true body’s capabilities, the undying clone body was far too powerful compared with any magus. With a battle power of two thousand, he possessed strength comparable to that of Grand Magus in the Second Cosmos.

That was an absurd level of power for someone who was supposed to be an ordinary magus realm candidate.

If the instructors discovered his true capabilities, Ethan would undoubtedly attract special attention. At best, they would subject him to additional examinations. At worst, the faction’s higher-ups might begin investigating his origins.

That was the last thing he needed.

Drawing attention to himself before he had secured a foothold would only make that task more difficult.

Ethan adjusted the sack on his shoulder and continued across the marsh.

The greatest challenge was not the weight of the sacks or the endless obstacles. The marsh itself was laced with poison, its stagnant water and damp soil releasing toxins that gradually weakened the recruits with every passing day.

For Ethan, the poison tasted like lemon water.

His undying clone body processed the toxins in seconds, burning them away before they could cause even the slightest discomfort. While other recruits grew pale, their movements slowing as the poison accumulated in their systems, Ethan felt no different from when he had first arrived.

"I need to act better"

It was harder than it looked. Pretending to be exhausted turned out to be a skill in its own right, much like acting out grief, and Ethan quickly discovered that he was terrible at it.

By the fourth day, however, he had managed to develop a routine. It was far from perfect, but convincing enough.

He established three rules for himself.

Rule one: Never be first. Rule two: Never be last. Rule three: Watch the board.

Every week, Harrow’s staff nailed a ranking board to the training ground’s gate. A few hundreds names were listed in order of performance. The top ten attracted personal visits from the instructors, receiving special attention that Ethan had no desire to invite.

Rank one hundred, he decided. Nobody remembers the hundredth recruit. Nobody envies him, and nobody expects too much from him. Yet he would still be among the top performers in a group of more than three thousand candidates.

Perfect.

By the end of the week, the recruits’ endurance had reached its limit.

Three hundred beetle husks cracked, their brittle shells breaking beneath the pressure of countless fingers.

Then the departing candidates began to gather their belongings, leaving behind the black stones, the poisoned marsh, and the ambitions they had once carried into Vorn Hollow.