MIGHT AS WELL BE OP

As the timer struck zero, Anthony felt the very fabric of space distort once more.

In the next instant, he found himself back in the open clearing.

But this time, there were no screams of anguish echoing through the air.

Though the metallic scent of blood still lingered, it lacked the overwhelming intensity it carried before.

Without hesitation, the healers sprang into action the moment they arrived, their hands glowing faintly as they moved to mend wounds and restore strength once again.

Though their wounds were mended, many remained visibly drained, their bodies frail, their movements sluggish, the price of having exhausted every last trace of mana in battle.

Once their duty was fulfilled, the healers departed as swiftly and silently as they had arrived, leaving behind only the faint shimmer of residual energy.

From above, Corporal Daniel descended, his presence commanding immediate attention.

"You already know the conditions for passing"

He declared, his voice calm yet flat.

"There is no need for me to repeat myself. Those who have failed will be escorted back to their homes within the next minute"

At his words, a wave of unease rippled through the crowd.

Faces tensed, expressions twisted, the bitter taste of defeat settling in their hearts.

They had failed.

They couldn't win.

In the end, their greatest enemy had not been some monstrous beast or overwhelming foe, it had been themselves.

They fought against their own instincts, their own habits, their own weaknesses, and lost.

Despite knowing themselves better than anyone else ever could, they were still unable to outwit, outlast, or overcome their own reflection.

For some, it felt as though their dreams shattered before their very eyes, fragile aspirations crumbling beneath the crushing weight of their own shortcomings.

Now, only bleak paths remained.

They would be forced to walk the harsh roads of adventurers or mercenaries, fighting day after day for mana crystals, survival, and scraps of glory.

Others might sell their freedom, binding themselves to powerful families through Mana Contracts in exchange for resources, contracts that were little more than chains in disguise.

The rest would tread the loneliest path, cultivating in solitude, struggling desperately for every ounce of strength, clawing their way up from the dirt with bloodied hands and unwavering resolve.

Resources.

The lifeblood of this world.

It is resources that shape ambition.

It is resources that fuel morale.

It is resources that determine power.

Everything revolves around them.

Everyone is bound by them.

Without resources, even the greatest talent is left to wither, potential reduced to nothing more than forgotten promise.

Without them, growth halts.

Progress dies.

Stagnation becomes inevitable.

In this world, effort alone is not enough.

Talent alone is not enough.

Without resources, one is nothing.

Those who had passed the second test, though their faces were pale, their bodies weary from mana depletion, could not suppress the smiles that stretched across their faces.

Victory was theirs.

Like Anthony, several had discerned the flaw within the Adaptive Combat Slime, a subtle imperfection hidden beneath its perfect mimicry.

It wasn't an impossible feat to notice, not for those tempered by battle, sharpened by countless encounters.

For the experienced, the question was clear, and with enough skill, the answer inevitable: Victory.

Yet, not all who emerged victorious had seen through the flaw.

Some relied on instinct.

Others on cunning deception or desperate gambits.

But in the end, none of that mattered.

Victory was absolute.

The method was irrelevant.

The battlefield remembers only the victors, never the means.

Fingers curled into trembling fists, not from fear, but from the exhilaration of possibility.

At long last, they could see it.

The sky, vast, endless, no longer out of reach.

They could ascend.

They could carve their names among the world's greatest.

They could stand at the summit of power, gazing down upon all beneath them.

Each of them lost, if only for a fleeting moment, in their own delusions of grandeur.

Blinded not by arrogance, but by the dreams that had carried them this far.

Dreams that, in this world, were both a blessing, and a curse.

Corporal Daniel, upon seeing the naive glint in their eyes and the foolish smiles tugging at their lips, could only scoff inwardly.

Their delusions were written plainly across their faces, bold, unguarded, almost laughable.

'If only they knew... the true horror that awaits beyond this fleeting victory. Thank the Gods for my lack of talent'

He mused to himself, not with bitterness, but with a grim sense of relief.

After all, he had once stood where they now stood.

Eager.

Hopeful.

Burning with boundless energy.

But reality had been merciless.

Cruel.

Indifferent to dreams or effort.

It had stripped him bare of fantasy, forcing him to confront the world for what it truly was.

He never rose far in military rank, not for lack of trying, but because each mission carved deeper scars into him, leaving him half-dead more times than he cared to remember.

And in surviving… he had learned.

Ambition could drive a man to greatness.

But it could just as easily lead him to an early grave.

Eventually, he found himself in a position far removed from the chaos of the battlefield, tasked with overseeing the recruitment tests and processes year after year.

A role he had come to appreciate deeply.

A role free from the bloodshed and danger that once defined his every waking moment.

A role that provided steady resources, with the military's support to back him.

His lack of extraordinary talent had, ironically, led him here.

To this steady, uneventful post.

He had long since reached the peak of his abilities, the plateau where further growth was impossible.

And in this truth, he found a kind of peace.

He didn't bother with trying to enlighten the recruits.

Reality itself would teach them the lessons they so desperately needed.

The harshness of the world would not be denied.

The lesson was inevitable.

He continued, his voice cutting through the stillness.

"Those of you who have passed will be escorted to another room. You are to rest for the next twenty hours and familiarize yourselves with the area. You will be called to a different location thereafter, and we do not tolerate tardiness. We won't be lenient if you lose your way"

Corporal Daniel's words snapped them out of their private thoughts, drawing their full attention.

They listened in silence, each word sinking in with sharp clarity.

"Now, return your restriction bracelets. Simply throw them toward me"

Obeying without hesitation, they hurled their restriction bracelets in his direction.

With a flick of his wrist, Daniel manipulated his mana, freezing the bracelets midair before effortlessly placing them into his space ring.

Turning to the side, he nodded briefly to two waiting soldiers, then, without another word, ascended into the sky once more, vanishing as swiftly as he had come.

The women approached the recruits in unison, their voices cutting through the air with authority.

"Those who failed, follow me"

"Those who passed, follow me"

In an instant, the group of two thousand split into two distinct factions.

Anthony could hear the faint sounds of sniffling, the unmistakable sobs of those who had failed.

'A cultivator crying? I've never seen that before'

He thought as he followed the woman leading those who had passed.

She guided them to a separate building, one vastly different from the place where they had rested during the trials.

The building's cold, imposing structure contrasted sharply with the temporary haven they had known.

After a brief silence, she gave them a quick tour of the facilities, showing them the rooms and resources available.

Then, without a word, she departed, leaving them to settle in.

As usual, Anthony made his way to the top floor, his steps measured and steady.

He casually selected a room, reasoning that they were all likely identical in function.

But this room was different.

Unlike the sterile, utilitarian space he had occupied during the trials, this one carried a touch of warmth.

The walls, though simple, were adorned with hints of color, a welcome change from the bleakness he had come to expect.

The bed was larger, a proper frame supporting it, offering a level of comfort.

A bathroom and toilet were present, luxuries that had been notably absent in the trial room.

To the side, a small training area was neatly set up, its mana high in purity, providing an ideal space for cultivation.

In the corner, a wardrobe was fitted into the wall, adding a touch of permanence and practicality to the room.

All in all, the difference was stark.

The treatment was a far cry from the cold, impersonal environment they had endured during the trials.